Chapter 2

Hermione was trying to catch up to the whirlwind that had become her life. It all started on her eleventh birthday when a stern woman in old fashioned clothing had showed up on the doorstep of her childhood home, asked to have a talk with her and her parents, and informed them all that Hermione was a witch. Professor McGonagall, for that was the woman -the witch's- name, invited her to attend a special school where she would learn to wield her magic. She could tell that her parents were surprised but that they were primarily relieved, she knew because she felt it too; here, finally, was an explanation for all the strange things that happened to her, the reason she couldn't seem to fit in anywhere. She was different, not a freak at all, but special. She spent the next several months floating around on cloud nine, no longer worried about her lack of social life, sure it would all be fixed when she got to Hogwarts.

Then came the incredible experience of Diagon Alley, getting her wand, all her supplies, and especially the books. She didn't just read them, she absorbed them. She was determined not to be too far behind due to her lack of magical background. When September 1st rolled around she was sure she was ready.

A few hours into the journey and she was feeling a little dejected, but was still upbeat. It had become very clear by then that coming from non-magical parents left most of the student population decidedly unimpressed, but that was okay, she'd gotten the impression that may be the case from some of her books, she'd just be a little quieter about her background. Her mum and dad would understand, she could never be ashamed of them, she simply wanted to fit in.

Which made the next couple of months utterly heartbreaking for the young witch. She had been thrilled to be sorted into Gryffindor, her reading told her it was the best of all the houses and her observations told her that they were the darlings of the school and she so longed to be liked. She was even more pleased to find that she was good at magic, not behind at all but actually surpassing those raised in the magical world in almost every subject. But that didn't mean she fit in. Nobody seemed interested in putting the same amount of effort into their studies that she deemed necessary, and she was scorned for it.

It was devastating for her to realize that it may not have been magic that made her different. She was as ineffective at making friends with her new roommates as she had been with muggle girls her age. But all they seemed to want to discuss was makeup, and fashion, and boys, which were only of minor interest to Hermione. There were just so many more important things to consider! And goodness, they were only eleven.

By the time Ron Weasley called her a nightmare and pointed out that she didn't have any friends after she had just been trying to help him, it felt as if her world was falling apart. Nothing was going right. She'd staked all her hopes on Hogwarts and it was failing her spectacularly. That feeling only intensified when she went to go have a good cry in the girl's bathroom to try and forget her housemate's callous words, and ended up being attacked by a mountain troll.

When Ron and, of all people, Harry Potter saved her from that troll she found new hope. At least they cared enough not to let her die, and the experience bonded them. They had been especially grateful that she'd lied to the professors and hadn't revealed the real reason she'd been in the bathroom in the first place.

But the fact was that they were clueless boys, and Harry was muggle raised, as ignorant to this new world as she was. And, despite being a pureblood, Ron was not a font of information about magic. Honestly, she wondered to herself what he had been doing with the first eleven years of his life because he was utterly clueless about the non-magical world too. And, really, wasn't there a limit to how much time one could spend either talking about or playing quidditch and chess?

There was no orientation at Hogwarts, no explanation about the basic tenants of wizarding society. It was like they just threw the muggleborn children into the deep end of the pool and hoped they could swim. Hermione wanted desperately to swim, but with each passing day it became increasingly clear to her that there were things she was missing, unspoken rules that those raised by magical parents knew to follow automatically, and that there were a myriad of background political machinations occurring that went entirely over her head. The manners and rules of etiquette even seemed different to her.

So, when she got off the Hogwarts Express in London for the Christmas holidays she begged her parents to take her to Diagon Alley and made a beeline for Flourish and Blotts. This time she wasn't seeking spellbooks or potions guides but information about British magical society and customs. What she found instead was a more helpful resource than she ever could have imagined in the form of the mother of one of her most hated classmates. When she'd literally run into Draco Malfoy inside the bookshop she'd expected an embarrassing scene, especially because it had been her fault. She hadn't been looking and had plowed right into him and she just knew he was going to point that out to her in his usual scathing manner. But his mother had other ideas.

If it wasn't for their matching white-blond hair, which was a color Hermione had never seen on any other person, she would have had a hard time believing that the woman who appeared around the bookshelf just as she was picking herself up off the floor was Draco's mother. She was just so lovely and kind. She was the most beautiful woman Hermione had ever seen in real life, and she had a casual elegance about her that Hermione knew the silly girls she roomed with would have given their wand arms to possess. Hermione herself was more than a little jealous. Mrs. Malfoy had seemed immediately taken with her, for some reason, and within minutes was inviting her and her parents for dinner. Hermione couldn't imagine how this woman had raised the prejudiced prat who was more than a bit of a bully to boot, that she knew Draco to be.

He scowled at her all through dinner even as his mother kindly encouraged her to show her parents some of the magic she'd learned and his cousin, Claire, chatted happily to her. They made arrangements along with her mother to have a girls' day shopping in the muggle world which had the ponce looking like somebody had just informed him that the sky was falling. She could not understand what his problem was.

Despite Draco's attitude, things were definitely looking up for Hermione as a result of running into the Malfoys. She just couldn't understand what she'd done to have such a sophisticated witch take an interest in her. She wasn't naive enough not to understand that Lady Malfoy didn't generally keep company with muggleborns. In fact, Claire had confided that her aunt was picky about who she associated with in general, explaining that she was extremely perceptive and simply didn't like what she saw in most people. The Malfoys belonged to the upper echelons of society so she could afford to be choosy. Hermione wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The rest of her holidays were great fun. She was thrilled to spend time with her parents and she took comfort in the familiarity of the many Christmas traditions that had become so important to the Granger family over the years. The day out with her mother, Mrs. Malfoy, and Claire in London was a success. Mrs. Malfoy was obviously unfamiliar with the muggle world so Hermione felt more than a little smug about how much she obviously enjoyed their outing.

Only days after she arrived back at Hogwarts after the turn of the new year Hermione received an unexpected package: magical hair products from Narcissa Malfoy. The range and type of products that had been sent indicated that careful thought had gone into their purchase and Hermione was infinitely grateful. It had come up during their day in London that her hair, always unruly, was particularly unmanageable in the castle. That wasn't particularly surprising, it had been hard to manage in the steady environment of her primary school. Hogwarts, meanwhile, was located in the unforgiving climate of the Scottish Highlands and she regularly traversed the drafty halls between the entrance to the Gryffindor common room all the way up on the seventh floor and the hot, humid dungeon classroom where she had her potions lessons. What else would her hair have been other than a complete mess in that climate? She'd barely managed to keep it out of her way since the beginning of term.

It hadn't occurred to her before that her hair, like every part of her body, was an extension of her magic. And she'd had no way to know that her muggle products were most likely exacerbating the problem, as they couldn't work with her magic, and it would have been fighting them, not until Mrs. Malfoy had told her, that is. It had her wondering how many other things, seemingly obvious things to any witch raised in the magical world, she was missing.

The products worked quite well, her curls were still a little wild, but they were distinguishable as curls and not just a bushy mess. Most importantly, she could pull them back and make sure they were out of her face in lessons, especially Potions, and she could see some beauty in the chaos. Really, she quite liked the results. For the first time her hair became a source of confidence, not a beast that could only be unreliably contained.

Mrs. Malfoy wrote her throughout the term, and Hermione corresponded with Claire even more often; it was easy to talk to the slightly older French girl. She explained the increase in the frequency of her post to her friends as the result of a friendship with a girl she'd met over the holidays who attended Beauxbatons. It wasn't exactly a lie, and Harry and Ron were 11 year old boys with no inclination to question her about a female pen pal. She felt a little guilty about her obfuscation, but she knew enough to realize that a Gryffindor admitting to an association with the Malfoy family would be social suicide, especially considering how hard won her few friends and acquaintances had been.

When she saw Draco he ignored her, or, if forced to interact, he was unfailingly if rigidly polite. He was never friendly and still remained openly hostile with Harry and Ron. But it was an improvement, his mother had obviously warned him about his behavior towards her and she knew she couldn't complain. Still, she found herself disappointed, and she had no idea why. She'd shared one meal with him, and he'd been obviously uncomfortable the whole time. But for some reason she'd unknowingly hoped that her relationship with his mother and cousin might cultivate one between them as well, or at the very least, a civil alliance. But she couldn't understand why she would desire that, he'd certainly done nothing to recommend himself to her.

So, she was more than surprised when one day in early February he approached her at her usual table in the library (it had taken only weeks after her arrival at Hogwarts for her to establish a usual table). He shoved a letter in her general direction.

"My mother wanted me to pass this along to you," he explained, not looking at her.

"Oh," she breathed, surprised, "thank you," she took the letter, careful not to touch him as she knew he would take offense if she did.

He sighed.

"Why are you writing my mother?" he asked suddenly.

"I like your mother," she answered, startled.

"I just don't understand why she likes you," he snapped nastily.

"Oh," she responded, for lack of anything else to say.

The comment hurt her, though again she didn't know why. Despite her odd desire to gain his approval she didn't actually like him, he said cruel things like that all the time, just not usually to her anymore. But being polite to her on his mother's orders didn't make him a good person. He sighed again, making it very clear that he was put upon.

"Granger, look, it's just weird, okay?"

It wasn't an apology, not at all, but she got the impression it was as close as he'd ever come to making one, there was at least a hint of regret in his voice. And frankly, she'd forgiven Harry and Ron quite a lot, she could give Narcissa Malfoy's son a chance.

"I don't know why she likes me either," she finally admitted quietly, she'd been asking herself the same question ever since that day in Diagon Alley, no matter what Claire said, she couldn't understand why such a sophisticated witch would take an interest in her to treat her almost like a surrogate daughter.

"She wants us to be friends," he said, leaning awkwardly against her table.

"Um," she said, ineloquently, "yes, she's mentioned as much to me."

In fact, she was quite sure that was the reason she'd sent a letter for Hermione along with Draco's, as opposed to sending a separate owl as she usually did. She was trying to force them to interact: mission accomplished.

"She seems to think it's important, she's been very insistent, she isn't usually like that with me," he griped.

Hermione bit back a smile. He was so spoiled, she wondered if this was the first time he'd ever been asked to do something he clearly didn't want to do. He sighed theatrically.

"And the thing is that she's usually right," he admitted.

"What?" she asked, losing the thread of the conversation.

"She's usually right, even about things that don't make sense. Like being friends with somebody like you," he sneered, "she always seems to know what's best, even Father says so."

She flinched, she knew exactly what he meant by that, what he thought of her blood status even if his mother didn't seem to mind so much. But before she could process the rest of what he'd said he suddenly spoke again.

"Truce?" he questioned, and to her astonishment, extended his hand.

She took it hesitantly. He was warmer than she probably would have imagined given his sharp personality, but his grip was firm and very human.

"Truce," she agreed.

"This doesn't extend to your stupid friends," he sneered, it was his most common expression, and it nearly ruined the goodwill, "and nobody hears about this either," he added hastily.

She rolled her eyes.

"Of course not," she agreed, that would be as bad, if not worse for her than it would be for him if their classmates found out.

After that he occasionally sought her out, it was always he who found her, and usually in the library. She was always glad when he did. She tried to put it out of her mind, but the time that they spent together, here and there, made her day every time she got a few minutes with him, and she missed him when she didn't see him. But she knew better than to go looking for him, this was very much a one-sided relationship, and she was far too cautious to risk pushing him away. And while their interactions were pleasant enough, they mainly consisted of small talk or comparing assignments, it would have been a stretch to label them friends. It wasn't for many weeks that they found a subject to truly bond over and it came from an unexpected quarter.

Draco wasn't at breakfast one morning, his distinctive hair meant that she only had to briefly glance at the Slytherin table to know he was missing. She was immediately concerned, like every other boy their age he seemed programmed to eat voraciously and regularly, and he appeared in the Great Hall at or before 7:30 everyday like clockwork. His absence suggested something was wrong.

Her question was answered with the arrival of the post. Mrs. Malfoy had written to explain that Mr. Malfoy's father had died and they had pulled Draco from Hogwarts for a few days to mourn with his family and attend the funeral. Hermione was touched that she would take the time to write to her during what she was sure to be a trying time, but her heart lurched for the Malfoys.

She had lost her own grandmother only two years before and it had been exquisitely painful, they had been very close. She didn't know anything about Draco's relationship with his grandfather, but keeping her own experience in mind she made sure to seek him out when he returned to Hogwarts the following week. She was careful to be discrete though. She found him in an out-of-the-way nook of the library that she knew he favored, curled up in an armchair with a book.

"Hi," she said quietly.

He looked up and gave her a curt nod in greeting. She was not deterred, that wasn't unusual. If he truly objected to her presence he would make it clear.

"I don't know if your mum told you but she wrote me about your grandfather. I just wanted to pass on my condolences."

"Mother told me you wrote," he said, turning back to his book.

"Well, you know, I meant in person, it's not the same in a letter."

He didn't respond. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and sat down. He didn't react in any way but she was determined to make sure he was actually okay, and if he wasn't to offer her support. She knew through observation that Slytherins disguised their emotions as a matter of course. Which meant that just as he was reticent to share his feelings, his housemates would be unlikely to encourage him to open up. So, as far a she was concerned, it was up to his one and only Gryffindor acquaintance to make him talk, even if he didn't think he wanted to. She couldn't, in good conscience, allow him to suffer alone.

"My grandmother died a couple of years ago, not long before I got my Hogwarts letter, actually," she offered a little of her own experience with a sigh, "I really wish she'd gotten to see that."

Her Grandmère would have been so thrilled. She had been Hermione's biggest cheerleader, always telling her how special she was. Draco looked up, frowning and studied Hermione very carefully.

"Okay."

She shifted uncomfortably. 'Okay.' What was that supposed to mean?

"I just…it helped to talk about her, after she was gone. I mean nothing made it okay but talking about her made it a little better, made me miss her a little less. So I was thinking, if you wanted to talk, well you could talk to me and I would understand," she said, stumbling all over her words while she fought her embarrassment and tried to explain it so that he would understand.

There'd was a long- and for Hermione highly uncomfortable- silence. Draco just sat there, book forgotten, frowning at her.

"You really loved her, huh?" he finally said.

She was taken aback, he sounded almost confused by the concept.

"Well yes, of course," she replied immediately.

She stopped abruptly as she suddenly realized that his confusion might stem from the fact that his feelings for his grandfather were not quite so clear cut.

"I mean," she started again, attempting to reign in her declaration a bit, "we were really close. Both of my parents work and instead of getting a nanny for me when I was little, I stayed with her during the day. And then when I went to primary school I'd still go to her in the afternoons and she would help me with my homework and get me to my dance classes and piano lessons and such. So it was really hard on me when she suddenly wasn't there, I really missed her."

He continued to stare at her, his deep blue eyes piercing. She squirmed but refused to look away.

"How did she die?" he suddenly asked.

Maybe she should have been offended by the blunt question, but she wasn't. She'd been pushing him to talk so it only seemed fair, and she didn't think he was trying to be insensitive.

"A heart attack. She was so healthy before that, we were so surprised. She was in hospital for a couple of weeks but it had done too much damage."

She gave a little shrug. As much as she missed her, her grandmother had lived a good life and to an old age, for a muggle. She had been in good health into her eighties which had allowed her to be an active participant in her only granddaughter's life. Hermione tried to be thankful for that.

"Grandfather had dragon pox, he held on for over a year but there's really no curing it in older people," he explained matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry," she replied quietly, assuming the protracted illness had been hard on him.

"I'm not," he responded immediately and forcefully.

Hermione was glad she was too stunned to respond because she surely would have put her foot in her mouth.

"He and Grandmother moved to France when he was diagnosed, they thought the climate might be better for him. I was glad, glad he wasn't in the Manor anymore, glad he wouldn't be coming back. I hated him," he spat.

Hermione tried to school her features but knew she wasn't entirely successful. The ice in his voice convinced her that he spoke nothing but the truth and that frightened her. What could have happened between them to make an eleven year old boy declare that he hated his own grandfather? More frightening still, his eyes had taken on a distant quality that made her wonder if he was even talking to her anymore or reliving some horror she didn't even want to consider. She remained quiet both to let him process his thoughts and because she couldn't think of a single thing to say. After a few moments his eyes snapped back into focus and he glared at her defiantly.

Hermione was shocked by his declaration, but she decided that she didn't have a right to judge. She knew nothing of the situation, wasn't sure she wanted to know, and she was not naive enough to think there weren't some terrible people in the world, who's to say the elder Malfoy hadn't been one of them? And she hadn't missed his comment about the Manor, if Draco had lived most of his life with a man who'd given him reason to hate him, that was terrible, and actually explained a lot about his bullying behavior. She knew enough about muggle psychology to know that children mimicked what they were taught at home and she found it impossible to believe he'd learned cruelty at his mother's knee.

"He wasn't very nice?" she ventured hesitantly.

He face immediately screwed into an expression of distaste.

"No, he wasn't. And my father… Father was different around him, I didn't like it."

It was such a sorrowful admission that Hermione got the impression that he was actually understating things quite a lot.

"You know, Draco, you shouldn't feel bad. You're entitled to your feelings," she said sympathetically, resisting the urge to reach out and comfort him.

He made an odd sound, something between a snort and a sob.

"You won't tell anybody," it was an order.

"Of course not," she said immediately and then, instinctively knowing that this portion of the conversation was over, she abruptly changed the subject to schoolwork.

After that he seemed to give up putting so much effort into acting like he didn't like her. He'd shared a big secret with her, and even if she didn't know exactly what that secret was, there was something between them now. She was surprised to realize how honored she felt by that. She didn't think for one moment that his trust was something he gave easily and she took it seriously.

Meanwhile, she along with Harry and Ron became increasingly immersed in the mystery of what a Cerberus could be guarding on the forbidden third floor, though she tried to tell herself that she was only trying to keep them out of trouble. She was glad to be helpful, and even better, to be included, but she was happy when the Easter holidays arrived and she could take a break. Her parents had insisted she come home, and while she was worried about her impetuous friends, she couldn't bring herself to refuse. She hardly got to see her family anymore, and while Hogwarts was quickly becoming dear to her, it wasn't home. On the way back to London she shared a compartment with Draco.

Author's Note: I thought it was about time we heard from Hermione, didn't you? Thanks for all the support, all the favs, follows, and especially the reviews. I'm a bit overwhelmed and so grateful for the response to this story so far. If you have a minute I would love some feedback, I don't have a beta so I only know if this makes sense to me. I want to avoid plot holes, grammatical errors, etc. that I might not catch just because I'm too close to the story. That said, if anybody is interested in a beta position I'm looking, just let me know. Do I need to disclaim? I haven't been, but in case anybody is confused, I don't own Harry Potter or his universe. It belongs to JKR and I'm just honored to play here. Thanks for reading!