Prologue

"You just don't get it, Ronald, do you?" Hermione, arms akimbo, was red-faced and screaming at Ron in the Gryffindor common room for what seemed to be the millionth time last year.

"Don't get what? The part about you being a selfish prat who can't even pull her nose out of her books long enough to see her boyfriend?!" Ron was equally red-faced, although he was sitting in a chair, propping his head up with the last of his strength. He had known Hermione was a difficult girl before dating her. Served him right.

"Maybe you're right." She smiled sweetly and said, "Goodbye, Ronald Weasley." Hermione turned her back on him, and calmly walked out, ending a scene that the Gryffindors would remember for a long time.

Later that year, Harry Potter proved to be Hermione's most trusted friend. He refused to take a side, and thus divided his time in the library with her or the common room with Ron. Of course, it was always lonely for Hermione when Harry was gone. Madam Pince, while smart, could get annoying from time to time. Plus, students couldn't eat in the library, which only added to Hermione's irritation.

Hermione often found it difficult to talk to Harry, despite his companionship. After the final battle between their sixth and seventh year, during which Harry had finally defeated Voldemort, he became increasingly distant. Though his smile remained the same, his eyes had a deadened look behind them that no one could break. Hermione tried to offer what consolation she could, but the effort proved fruitless. Even when they began dating, Hermione only agreeing to it because she felt sorry for her forlorn friend, Harry always had a glassy look to him, never quite understanding Hermione the way he used to.

As for Hermione, she had few reasons to complain. Why should I stop dating an international celebrity, who happens to be my friend, she thought, even if I don't truly love him? Hermione liked Harry well enough; she just didn't love him. Besides, they knew each other so well, their relationship was like a favorite pair of shoes. That was fine with Harry too, it seemed. After all, love was not something Harry was familiar with.

Chapter 1

Harry and Hermione were sitting on the common room couch during lunch break, watching the roaring fire in the common room. Hermione was content to sit next to him, and feel the soft rise and fall of his chest. She looked up into his eyes, and was not surprised to find them vacant.

"Harry?" Hermione breathed lightly. "Harry, you have an owl."

"Oh. It's probably another paycheck. Go ahead and throw it in my bag."

"Mmmkay." Hermione ripped the letter open, found yet another paycheck for 100,000 galleons, and summoned it into Harry's bag. Harry began receiving compensation checks for killing Voldemort, as well as the loss of Sirius, shortly after the last battle. He received monthly payments so large that he could not possibly spend them all in one lifetime, choosing to deposit them in Gringott's or spend them lavishly on unnecessary luxuries. That suited the Gryffindors well; they loved throwing huge parties to celebrate any occasion.

Harry glanced over at the wall. Lately, Hermione had been investing his money in artwork and philanthropy, explaining the benefits of the arts to Harry as she happily purchased rare Miro's after the closure of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The Wizard Bureau in the U.S. had been unable to supply the necessary funds for the war, and the arts were hit the hardest with the budget cuts, especially in major cities. The MOMA was no exception. The entire collection was liquidated and sold to private buyers, including Hermione Granger.

"Those mud puddles were certainly a waste of money."

Hermione looked at her favorite Miro, a red and black combination.

"You're wrong. They're fascinating. Like in a dream... there's truth without logic. What's his name again... ?"

"Miro," Harry replied flatly. "He'll never amount to a thing, trust me. At least they were cheap."

"Mmm." Hermione stared at the paintings, unsettled by the surrealism. Sometimes, she thought, they were too close to the truth. They left for Potions soon after.

"Good afternoon," Snape droned smoothly. "I hope you were smart enough to dress in layers, as the caustic burn treatment potion we will be brewing today brings with it a large temperature increase. Instructions," Snape waved his wand, "are on the board. Mind you roll your outer robes up or take them off; the potion requires a high fire as well as several acidic ingredients, and I have neither the time nor the patience to treat burns of any sort." Students scrambled to the cabinet, eager to get started.

Malfoy read through the steps on the board. Pathetically easy, he thought. Unlike many of his peers, Malfoy understood the subtle nuances of Potion brewing as only an observant and intelligent person could. Of course, it didn't hurt to be backed by Snape's favoritism, either. Malfoy decided to go to the cabinet and grab the ingredients, gleefully noting the weasel trying to figure out what to get.

"Sorry, weasel." Malfoy 'accidentally' knocked into Ron, causing Ron to spill quite a large amount of Dragon's venom. The red liquid sizzled on the floor. Not two seconds later…

"Mr. Malfoy, I insist that you refrain from being a bumbling idiot in my classroom. Dragon venom is very expensive and difficult to clean up. Ten points from Slytherin." Snape glared, daring Ron to say something. Unfortunately, Ron took the bait.

"Sir, Malfoy deliberately ran into me!" Ron's ears turned red. Arguing was not his strong point.

"Detention for mouthing off, Weasley," Snape smoothly interjected. Malfoy chuckled happily. The day was turning out quite nicely.

"You can join him, Mr. Malfoy, if you enjoy laughing with Mr. Weasley so much." Snape was not in a good mood. Malfoy knew better than to argue, so he rolled his eyes and walked back to his desk to begin his potion.

Later that night at dinner, Hermione and Harry sat down next to Ginny. Ginny had certainly changed over the course of the summer. She had gained weight, and began dressing in all black, the wizard equivalent of a muggle Goth. She wore heavy makeup and smoked behind the quidditch pitch, occasionally with Hermione, unbeknownst to their families. Her trademark Weasley hair was still red as ever, though. Today she was wearing her favorite hideous black plaid pants, complete with holes in the knees.

Sitting across from them was Parvati Patil. She had grown very pretty, and was dating Dean Thomas. She was a good friend of Hermione's, yet failed to be of any real importance when it came to serious matters. Still, Hermione found her trifling prattle comforting.

Hermione took out a cigarette at the table while they were waiting for their food. She lit it up as Parvati rolled her eyes and Ginny looked around indifferently. Parvati glared "you know I don't like that, Hermione. Besides, it's against school rules!" Parvatie glanced around quickly, lest Hermione be seen smoking. She glared at several first years, who were watching them intently.

"She knows." Harry said in a low voice. He deftly took the cigarette from her fingers and stubbed it out with a significant look at Hermione. Food appeared on the table, ending the awkward silence.

Harry tipped a lambchop onto Hermione's plate when she was looking absently around, chin in hand.

"You do like lamb, don't you, sweatpea?" Harry tried to make amends. Hermione glared. No one noticed.

"So, you gonna cut her meat for her too there, Harry?" Ginny was clearly amused. She was rather perceptive, which was one reason that Harry didn't like her to eat with them often. He disliked her tendency to state the obvious truths.

"Harry, I just talked to McGonagall about the new quidditch booths. She said they were fantastic-administration loved them!" Dean was once again discussing the latest developments on his plans to rebuild the quidditch spectator booths.

Hermione butted in. "Do you know of Dr. Freud? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you, Dean."

Parvati looked aghast. "My God, Hermione, what's gotten into—"

"Excuse me." Hermione shoved her plate away and stalked away.

"She's a pistol, Harry. You sure you can handle her?" Ginny was shaking with suppressed mirth. She loved how Hermione was finally getting a backbone.

"Well, I may have to start minding what she reads from now on." Harry feigned unconcern, but the tension was evident in his shoulders as he, too, left the table.

Draco's eyes were cold and icy, yet stormy beneath the surface, blind to the pain of others, yet keenly perceptive. It was unsurprising that Draco harbored a talent for artwork-work that far surpassed the pathetic drawings of the Society for the Enrichments of the Arts at Hogwarts. He sat in his favorite chair in the corner of the common room, working by the natural light of the window. Luckily, Crabbe and Goyle were still stuffing their greedy faces, so he had plenty of time.

Draco smiled to himself as he flipped through his sketchbook. It was, in a way, a scrapbook of his past summer. After his father's imprisonment and his mother's institutionalization, Draco became legally emancipated from his parents. He had savored his delicious freedom all summer long, taking a much-needed break and leaving Malfoy Manor for a change of scenery. Draco had dutifully sketched some of his favorite places and people in his book over the course of his journey.

Rome, June 22. Self-portrait at the top of the Tower of Pisa. The fine lines of Draco's face were shadowed as they observed Rome with the unsentimentality of an outsider, yet soft as he realized the beauty of the ancient city. It was one of Draco's favorites; the only time he was allowed to show his true feelings was when he drew. This portrait did exactly that.

Whales, July 13. Three Clovers Pub. A cluttered pub with rickety chairs. In the corner, a lovely and buxom hostess smiled as she held up mugs of butterbeer. It was here that Draco had first tasted fireballs, won 300 galleons playing a muggle game called poker, and honed his dart skills. He had a dart board under his bed with the faces of the 'golden trio' magicked on it. He derived pleasure from hitting the weasel right between the eyes. He also liked to hit Potter's scar. And he got the most pleasure of all from hitting loudmouth Granger between her two front teeth.

Paris, July 20. Che Longe Douxpas. A roomful of beautiful and naked French girls, lounging on couches. Draco, although still a teenage boy, had an artist's eye. Meaning, he appreciated the beauty of the human body, especially a woman's body. Often taunted as a womanizer and play boy, Draco felt misunderstood. His makeout sessions in Paris only served to, er, broaden his knowledge of the female form. His artwork certainly proved that correct. One had to admit, however, that the women were perfectly proportioned, no matter what their body type. Draco was honest in his work, yet at the same time beautifying.

And on it went. An hour later, Draco realized that his drawing of his pet hawk, Aranith, was going nowhere fast. A half completed sketch of his beautiful hawk stared at him with blank eyes. Draco sighed, wadded it up and shoved it in his pocket. He glanced at the clock and heaved another long sigh. He was late for detention with McGonagall and the weasel, because Malfoy was 'baiting' him in class.

With that, Draco scowled and hurried out of the room, but not before grabbing his sketchbook, just in case.

Hermione was seething with anger. She ran into her dormitory and collapsed onto her bed, sobbing and dry heaving. She wanted to throw up, explode, and sleep at the same time. She gulped and sat up, looking at a mirror. Her eye makeup was smudged, her face blotchy. See how you like me now, Harry Potter, she thought. She hated being the center of attention based on association. She was tired of the Hogwarts grapevine analyzing her every move. And most of all, she was sick of Harry's emotional instability. So what if he killed Voldemort, she thought? I am not his emotional dumping ground, babysitter, and mother rolled into one!

Hermione suddenly bounded over to her dresser, and looked down. Lipstick, hairbrushes, clips, and glitter littered the counter.

"What is all this shit?!" Hermione screamed and shoved it all off, throwing a particularly offensive pink lipgloss at the mirror with all her strength, hating their representation of who she had been forced to become. She looked murderously at her bed, glaring at the frilly pink pillows. Hermione kicked open her trunk and noticed a miniskirt lying on top of some shoes. She threw the skirt under her foot and ground her heel into it with pleasure. Next, she took a pair of chunky black heels out, looked at them, then decisively threw them out the window. They were uncomfortable anyways. Now she could buy some nice loafers. Unfortunately, just after Hermione threw the shoes, Parvati walked in the room.

"Hermione! Stop that!" She rushed over and grabbed Hermione's arms, shoving her to her bed. "I know you're upset about the way things are going with Harry, Hermione, but really! Why don't you resolve your problems for once instead of internalizing everything and acting like a rebellious prat?" Parvati stood, arms akimbo, demanding an answer.

"I don't know, I just don't know." Hermione was hiccupping and rubbing her puffy eyes.

"Go talk to him right now. He's in the common room. I'm sick of this drama." Parvati pointed a finger, but her look softened. "Look, I'm sorry Hermione. I just want what's best for you." Hermione looked at Parvati reproachfully.

"You go ahead. I'll clean this up." Parvati waved her wand and repaired the window. She rubbed her friend's shoulders and whispered into her ear. Hermione was grateful for her companionship as she left the room.

Hermione saw Harry sitting on a couch, head in hands, staring into the fire.

"Harry?" She sensed he was in one of his moods.

"Yes." His speech was clipped and irritated. Not a good sign.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you at dinner or anything…"Hermione trailed off.

"Come here," Harry murmured. He pulled her down next to him and looked earnestly at his girlfriend.

"I just don't know who you've become anymore, Hermione. I'm dealing with so many issues of my own. I can't seem to figure it all out." Hermione said nothing. Harry continued.

"As for dinner, you really embarrassed me. You have to realize that we have to watch what we do and say. The Slytherins, the first-years, the wizards, hell the entire world is watching the boy-who-lived and the girl-who-puts-up-with-him!" Harry nearly shouted. "I can't censor you all the time because you don't have the bloody decency to do it yourself." Hermione saw a muscle in his jaw twitch.

"I'm not changing who I am to fit your needs, Harry! If you want a perfect girlfriend, there are plenty who'll have you. But I'm not throwing away us because of your fame, and you shouldn't either."

"Well I don't even know who you are anymore Hermione!" Harry looked away, seething.

"Then that makes two of us," Hermione snarled, wriggling out of Harry's grasp and running out of the common room.

"Hermione, wait. Don't do that…Aghhh." Harry watched her leave. He decided to write to Remus. Things were getting out of hand.

Draco arrived at Snape's door, knocked lightly, and pushed it open to find Snape talking to someone in the fire.

"Professor?" Draco inquired politely. He had no knowledge of what kind of mood Snape would be in; it would be best to play it safe. Sometimes Snape acted like the fickle French women Draco met; often charming, yet sometimes downright nasty.

Snape spun around in her chair, looking frazzled. Not charming tonight.

"I'm afraid I'll have to cancel detention tonight, Mr. Malfoy. I'm in a rather pressing situation at the moment." Snape ran his fingers through his greasy hair, clearly under pressure. Draco had never seen him look this disheveled, and it intimidated him.

"Thanks Professor." Draco slipped out and closed the door, blowing out a long breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. Thank Merlin he didn't have to scour cauldrons with the weasel. Draco decided to take a stroll to the astronomy tower. He'd been meaning to sketch the view for some time.