Hello everyone! I just wanted to give a disclaimer that while the third year flashback is not canon, I wanted to write it this way and I hope you can still enjoy/respect it! There is a lot of tension in this chapter as well, and while there aren't any serious lemons, there will be soon.

Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed the story thus far, and for those who review/message me, I appreciate you so much!

Enjoy!x


Autumn 1993 – 3rd Year

He'd always been the type of person who would start something and see it through to the end. Ever since his failed attempt at learning the piano as a child, Draco had promised himself to always see things through. He knew his stubbornness had influenced this mentality, however he rationalized it as his Slytherin ambition… and that had been that. Until that day.

It had started out with his bruised ego and embarrassment. The bloody creature could have fatally wounded him! He'd acted out of sheer rage and panic when he'd told his father of the situation and then it escalated. Draco had only wanted the beast off the premises and out of sight, not for it to be executed. Lucius Malfoy had other plans and had taken this as an opportunity to once again show Hogwarts how influential and powerful their family could be.

At first, Draco had unquestionably swallowed his father's ideals and had supported him to the best of his abilities, however upon seeing the helpless creature in front of the Oaf's hut, a wave of guilt had washed over him. He felt cruel for allowing such an extreme punishment and the idea of becoming like his father had scared him for the first time in his entire life.

"What are you doing Malfoy?" said a familiar voice.

Draco turned to find Crabbe and Goyle approaching him, the voice in question belonging to Crabbe.

Not wanting to appear sympathetic to Buckbeak, the blonde Slytherin sneered as he said, "waiting for the beast to be slaughtered, maybe they'll do it today." He hoped he'd sounded convincing, as his insides felt tempestuous.

The two meatheads snickered and grew closer to his vantage point, where they could witness the entire situation as well.

"Wicked!" Goyle declared as he patted Draco on the back in a congratulatory manner. Their cruel joy was only making him feel more of a monster than he already felt.

As they chatted for several torturous minutes, Draco prayed the execution would not occur today—he didn't know if he could stomach it, especially with the company he currently held.

He was suddenly snapped out of his reverie, with the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. "You—" a female voice spat with sheer venom.

He spun and found himself face to face with Hermione Granger's wand—a place he never expected to find himself. She must have been especially furious with him considering her feelings for him, and upon seeing Potter and Weasley's expressions, Draco knew he should be worried.

"You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!" she fumed, her wand and gaze never leaving him.

As much as he detested the muggleborn witch, he knew she was powerful and could do some serious damage. While he felt like absolute shite, and was seriously guilt-ridden, he did not want to face Hermione Granger's wrath. He'd been used to the complete opposite for the last 3 years… he nearly missed that version of her then.

Filled with tension, guilt and fear, Draco couldn't help the shallow breaths escaping him as he faced her. He took notice of her brown eyes, which looked molten amber as her anger flooded them—they were almost…pretty. Her gaze was filled with so much anger and intensity, Draco cowardly looked away as shame weighed heavily upon him. He'd never felt this way before, and it was making his heart race almost painfully.

"He's not worth it!" Weasley reasoned, trying to dissuade Granger.

Her expression faltered for a moment, and Draco thought she must have been at odds with herself.

Hermione released a breath, lowered her wand, and turned from him. The relief had been immediate, and reflexively, Draco let out a nervous snicker.

A split second later, Draco felt her fist collide with his face. For a brief moment, he was stunned, and all he could think was that it was not punishment enough. He quickly recovered though, as he tasted the metallic tang of his blood.

His friends quickly came to his aid and the three Slytherins ran inside. "That felt good," he thought he heard Hermione say to her friends, and he felt his cheeks heat up.

"That mudblood bitch!" Crabbe spat as they finally entered their commons, which had thankfully been empty.

"How dare she touch you with her filthy hand!" Goyle added, his voice as venomous as his other friend's.

"My father will surely hear about this!" Draco said angrily, pretending as though he was seething at her. He really was upset; however, his anger was directed at himself more so than Granger. The Malfoy heir would surely get his revenge out of principle, but something inside of him was telling him that he deserved worse than what he'd gotten—and from someone he'd hated too no less.

That night, he'd barely slept and when he did, he'd had the same dream of himself trying to save the condemned creature and failing each time. When he'd wake, Draco could almost see the disgust and hatred pouring from a pair of molten amber eyes haunting him… and he supposed they always would, in some way.


Present Day

Ginny knew Hermione was in a much better place than she'd been just a few short weeks ago. It made her really happy to know that her closest friend was finally starting to get the recognition and affections she deserved. If anyone deserved to be cared for and loved, it was certainly Hermione Granger.

So, when the girl invited her to watch the Slytherin and Ravenclaw match that was taking place in an hour, she hastily agreed. How could she not support her friend's romantic endeavours… after all, she'd been the one to encourage both parties.

They'd found a place to sit in the chilly stands, and Ginny couldn't help the feeling of happiness she felt as she looked over at Hermione who had been blushing since they'd made their way to the pitch.

It was a brisk autumn day, and the air smelled of dead leaves and dew. It was one of the best times of the year to play, as the nippy weather helped with the intensity of the match, bringing down body temperatures and tempers alike. There was nothing like autumn at Hogwarts.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" a familiar female voice asked Hermione.

"Sure," Hermione replied tightly, obviously a little uncomfortable.

Ginny looked over to find Pansy Parkinson seated next to her friend, her heart rate instantly quickening. "Parkinson," she nodded her head.

Pansy's gaze flickered to her and as their eyes made contact, Ginny noticed how the Slytherin's eyes darkened. It made her cheeks feel hot, and she hoped the other girl would think nothing of it—it was cold after all, and Ginny was paler than most.

"Ginny," Pansy said with a smirk, "how have you been?"

"Fine, thanks," the red head said in a clipped tone, remembering how the girl had treated Hermione, "and yourself?"

"I've been better," the Slytherin said pensively, "too bad it's not Gryffindor playing today, would have been interesting to watch you play."

If her cheeks had been hot before, they were flaming then. What was she playing at?

"Next time," Ginny simply said, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much she'd affected.

"I'll be back girls," Hermione said almost knowingly, "just going to say hi to Luna."

As she got up, Pansy scooted closer to Ginny and offered her blanket to share. Ginny instinctively took it and realized immediately that it had not been a good idea, as Pansy had taken her hand under the cover and interlaced it with her own.

"My hands are cold," she whispered, and while true, Ginny knew the girl could have used a heating charm… fucking hell.

"Right," she finally found her courage coming back to her as she smirked.

Pansy chuckled nervously, "am I that obvious?"

"Not to everyone else maybe…" Ginny said cheekily, "but heating charms and warm drinks do exist."

"Right," Pansy faltered, "but I like this method of warming up better."

Ginny wanted to fault her for how she'd treated her best friend. She wanted to make a snarky remark about how she'd tried to interfere with Hermione and Draco's…situation. She wanted to tell her to bugger off—and yet, she also really liked holding her hand. Ginny had made mistakes too and had also interfered. A part of her understood Pansy, and it scared her. She scared her.

They sat in silence, comfortably holding hands and occasionally stealing "innocent" touches, even when Hermione returned.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" Pansy whispered.

"What do you mean?" Ginny countered, deciding she wanted to act innocent. At the very least, she could make her work for it.

"Do you want to go somewhere more private?" the girl asked, more ardently.

Ginny felt her stomach flip. After all the teasing and forbidden touches they'd stolen throughout the match, she wanted nothing more than to go somewhere alone with the witch.

"Yes," Ginny said, trying to keep her tone even and discreet. She knew Hermione wouldn't care or judge, but she couldn't be sure who else could hear and she was not ready for people to know of her personal life just yet… if there would even be anything to tell.


"He's got the snitch! Draco Malfoy has captured the golden snitch!" Hermione heard, but she couldn't see him. She cheered, nonetheless.

She'd been sitting alone in the stands for some time, Ginny and Pansy having abandoned her a while back. Hermione nearly laughed at their attempt at discretion—it was cute.

In the meantime, she'd been alone with her thoughts, trying to watch Draco while simultaneously not wanting to appear too eager that he'd even invited her. As much as it pleased her that he was interested in her, and apparently unashamed… Hermione couldn't completely let her guard down.

"There he is!" she heard someone shout, and the crowd cheered even more once they spotted him.

Holding the snitch, riding his broom, and having removed his safety goggles, was Draco Malfoy in all his glory. Uncharacteristically, he was smiling, and Hermione couldn't help but smile as well. It was a welcomed sight.

As the quidditch players made their way back to their locker rooms, the students began making their way out of the stands. She was unsure whether she should wait for him outside the locker room, or simply go back to Gryffindor tower. While making her way down, she couldn't help but remember the last time she'd waited for Draco outside the locker rooms. It had been Valentine's Day of third year, and it had not gone well.

Thankfully, the weather was quite mild for the time of year and Hermione was able to contemplate her thoughts for a little while longer as she stood outside the entrance of the locker room area. She noticed that while all Slytherin players were already inside, many Ravenclaws had stayed outside and chatted with their housemates. Stifling a chuckle, she thought it fitting and very telling of the different cultures of each house. Hermione knew for a fact that Gryffindor attendees would jump on the quidditch players after matches, win or lose.

There was no one familiar enough to her outside to chat with, but it didn't matter anyway. She thought only of Draco, and whether she wanted to wait inside for him or not—actually, not so much if she wanted to, but if she should. Hermione knew it was irrational, as he'd shown her nothing but remorse and kindness… yet, when she thought of that day or any other time when she'd put herself out there and he'd hurt her, the doubts would creep back in.

It wasn't the idea that he may not feel as she did, because she'd been used to it. The false hope and ensuing disappointment were what frightened her more.

"Granger, there you are," a voice sounded, and Hermione spun, finding a dishevelled, post-quidditch Draco Malfoy approaching her from inside. She took a moment to appreciate his unusually tousled blonde hair, pink cheeks and rolled up sleeves. He looked beautifully messy, and Hermione loved it.

"Malfoy," she countered; her voice squeakier than she would have liked, "sorry I've been—"

"I searched for you inside, sorry I didn't think to come here sooner," he offered, as he finally stopped in front of her.

Hermione gave him a small smile before replying, "I didn't know if I should wait inside, considering what happened last time…"

He looked down, "I can't tell you how sorry—"

"You have already," she took his hand, "I just got in my own head."

"Well, I'm sorry for that too and…" he said, before pulling her to him from their adjoined hands, "thank you for coming despite everything."

Their faces were only a breath apart, and Hermione barely processed a word he'd said. If this was how being with Draco Malfoy would be, then she only wished he'd realized his feelings sooner. She leaned forward and gave him a small kiss.

He smiled, and kissed her back with equal gentleness. She loved the juxtaposition of his soft lips with his cheek stubble. She also loved the way he smelled of his usual cologne, mixed with his own musk—it was masculine in the best way possible.

As the kiss deepened, Hermione couldn't help the small moan that had escaped her lips, and Draco immediately pulled away. She tensed, but only for a second, as she saw his expression. He looked how she felt—and it made her feel warm all over.

"Sorry Granger," he said with a breathy voice, "I didn't shower or change because I wanted to come find you, but if it isn't too much to ask, would you accompany me to the dungeons and wait in my dormitory while I freshen up?"

The dungeons… she almost shivered at the thought. The last time she'd been down there was at the party. It felt like a lifetime ago, even if it had only been a few weeks. So much had changed in such a short amount of time.

"Sure."

He looked at her sideways, clearly trying to gauge if she was being sincere. She was, however she was also nervous—he made her nervous, but she refused to let him know that. She shook off any unease and gave him a smile, as she took his hand and marched inside Hogwarts.

Hermione Granger had been hurt, embarrassed, teased and rejected by this boy. She now held his hand and was accompanying him to his chambers, which he invited her to. She'd been brave before, without any reason for it. She would be brave now too, and hopefully bring that out of Malfoy in the process.

A small part of her knew the process had already begun with his letter, and the thought alone made her smile inwardly.

They'd walked in a comfortable silence and luckily had not run into anyone along the way. Most students were likely preparing for dinner or Friday evening activities, so the halls were empty. Hermione was grateful for it, as she did not want everyone at Hogwarts knowing her personal business just yet. Despite her enduring efforts, this "relationship" with Draco was fresh and Hermione was not fully confident in his feelings—he could change his mind, or simply want her for the wrong reasons. She wasn't even certain of what she wanted from him anymore.

Hermione Granger was no longer the 11-year-old little girl chasing after the Slytherin prince. Things had changed.

Upon arriving in front of the Slytherin common room, Draco uttered the password. He finally let go of her hand, and Hermione immediately missed his warmth.

"Come this way," he said as he walked in and to what appeared to be the boys' dormitories.

She obeyed, and followed him down a long hallway, until they reached the last door. Hermione couldn't help but think it deliberate that Draco Malfoy had the last room at the end of the hallway. The last room was the most coveted room for any house, as it was larger, more private and demonstrated to housemates that you were respected by the Head of house. Even in Gryffindor, everyone knew the 'last room' was designated for seventh years, specifically seventh year prefects and it was bestowed upon the best prefects by the Head of each house. Draco was a sixth-year prefect, but a sixth year, nonetheless.

She thought it funny how money and politics were so engrained in Slytherins that even their children saw the benefits of their families' wealth and influence at school. Sure, many Slytherins had money and power—but everyone knew the Malfoy's were a step above the rest.

"Last room huh?" she smirked.

"Obviously," he said, his voice sarcastically aristocratic.

He opened the door for her.

She stood before him, observing his shared room.

She looked back at him and rolled her eyes. "Brat."

He laughed, "would you just go in?"

"Fine, but you're still a brat," Hermione stuck her tongue out at him as she finally entered the room.

As he closed the door behind her, she looked around and noted the four canopy beds covered in green. The curtains, duvet cover and pillows were all Slytherin green. There were some silver accents in the room, which contrasted nicely and even felt cozy. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it hadn't been this. There was a fireplace on one side of the room, and a view of the black lake on the other. It smelled of Draco and something that she did not recognize. The ceiling was similar to the charm in the Great Hall, however it appeared to only be stars—it was beautiful. Hermione couldn't help but also notice how neat this room was compared to her male counterparts in Gryffindor tower.

"Which bed is yours?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.

"The one with my trunk at the end of it," he replied cheekily and pointed to the plainest bed in the room.

While the others had several pillows, extra blankets folded at the ends and decorative items on their respective night tables, Draco's just had two pillows, no blankets, and a photograph of his mother on his night table. Granted, his trunk was the largest of all and a large "D.M." was engraved at the front of it, but Hermione was too lost in her thoughts to have noticed it.

"Right," she said as she sat atop his bed, "comfortable enough."

"You think so?" he replied, etching closer to her and his expression darkening. She couldn't help but look at his lips, especially when he looked at her like that.

"Not as comfortable as mine, but I suppose it's good enough for the likes of you," Hermione smirked, enjoying their flirty banter. It felt nice to not be so serious with him.

"I'll pretend like you didn't say that" Draco said, stopping in front of her, "otherwise, I wouldn't do this," he added, as he leaned into her.

Before she could reply, his mouth was on hers. Hermione kissed him back instantly, with much more fervor than earlier, and he practically growled in response. Now that they were alone, the rules were different—he knew it too. As soon as she opened her mouth for him, the girl knew she was done for. The feel of his tongue against hers, paired with their breaths mingling, was enough for her to feel heat pool between her thighs. His lips were warm, and he was kissing her like he needed her. Hermione took his bottom lip between her teeth and sucked on it—she felt him instantly harden and then kiss her even harder.

She lay back and Draco followed, settling on top of her and their mouths never breaking apart. He tasted of apples and she wanted more—so much more. Hermione tried to show him just how much more she wanted, as she ground herself into him.

"Fuck," he let out breathily, "you're driving me crazy."

"Am I?" she said huskily, wanting to provoke him further. Hermione couldn't help it, the look of desire in his eyes, coupled with his tousled hair and swollen lips was making her go crazy herself. She didn't think herself capable of such lusty behaviour but…

"Ugh, you minx," he said as he kissed her again, this time grinding himself into her.

She let out a loud moan and he broke away from her again.

"If I don't shower now," he said with his forehead against hers, "I will never leave this bed."

She chuckled, "you'd better go then."

With that, he kissed her softly once more and made his leave.

Despite her disappointment at not going further with Draco, Hermione knew it was probably for the best. Things were escalating very quickly, and while she wanted all of that… she knew it was early.

Better to make him wait, she thought, especially with how easy it was to rile him up. Granted, it was apparently easy to rile her up also, but she liked to think she had more self-control than a teenage boy.

She hoped, anyway.


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