See end of chapter for author's note.

I do not own anything but my own mistakes

-o-o-o-

"Hermione Granger!" Hermione startled when she heard the Headmistress voice. She had been spotted.

Hiding the cigarette behind her back was truly a futile attempt since McGongalls eyes already had caught sight of the glowing stick between her fingers before she had the chance. Hermione did her best not to act like a child who had been caught by her teacher. She was an adult after all. Free to make her one choices.

Even bad ones.

McGonocall looked utterly disappointed and it made Hermione feel guilty. She wasn't oblivious to how bad smoking was, but she lived in Britain after all, and smoking amongst muggles wasn't all that uncommon.

"That thing will dig you an early grave you know," the Headmistress critiqued and Hermione nodded. She was aware albeit in denial about it.

She felt a sudden urge to defend herself. "I'm grown enough to make my own choices", Hermione exclaimed while standing up. Not wanting to be seated while having this conversation.

"Yes. I suppose I expected more from you" McGonogall said, sounding a little regretful for her outburst, she had probably been shocked, seeing Hermione seated with a cigarette in hand did not mesh well with the image the Headmistress had of Hermione during her school years.

Hermione felt her chest constricting at McGonocall's words. Expected. That was the problem wasn't it. She was downright tired of people expecting her to be a certain way, expecting her to be like before. Harry and Ron had tried that after the war to no avail. In her defence, neither Harry nor Ron had to endure the torture she did at Malfoy manner, they hadn't lived their entire lives trying to live up to a perfect image in order to fit in, to belong, to earn a place in the wizarding world as a muggle-born. They weren't bullied and taunted for their blood, and their skin wasn't carved with that awful word, not branded like livestock, not like her.

Hermione was seething, but it wasn't really about the headmistress as much as the source for her bad habits.

Her gaze landed on her shoes.

McGonogall broke the silence when Hermione didn't reply. "I can't tell you what to do. You are one of the brightest witches I ever had the pleasure teaching." She walked closer to Hermione and put one hand on the young witch's shoulder in an attempt to steady her. Noticing there was something going on in her mind. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way. I am only wanting the best for you, and it has not gone unnoticed with me that you've experienced troubles post-war. It's understandable. I'm not saying it to judge you but neither will I pretend I approve of such behaviour. You are no longer my student but I consider you a friend." McGonogall continued, eying Hermione with serious eyes, old and wise.

Hermione warmed at the words, calmed down a few notches, but couldn't help but still felt attacked.

"Yes. Even though work is progressing well and I'm very invested in my career, there are still things from the war that are still with me, everyday in different ways. It's a coping mechanism." Hermione explained, thinking she'd summarized it well considering she rarely let those thoughts in. Saying the words out loud felt effective, forced her to realise maybe she still had some recovery to do. The realisation only made her more annoyed by the absurdity of the conversation.

"If you think less of me for it then so be it." Hermione said, hoping she didn't. She had the utmost respect for the Headmistress.

McGonocall's expression softened at her words. And Hermione exhaled for what felt like ages.

"I could never think less of you Hermione. I care for your wellbeing. That is all," Mcgonocall said calmly, caressing her shoulder with her hand.

Hermione was still rattled by the confrontation by her former teacher, she felt as though she was fifteen again, having points deducted from Gryffindor house for antics with Harry and Ron.

As she walked the halls of Hogwarts she almost felt ill. She looked at the repaired classrooms to her left, remembering how they'd looked when she'd run off with Ron to the Chamber of secrets during the battle. The walls had been torn to pieces, stones crumbled on the floor along with injured body's, spells of all colours shooting everywhere around.

She stopped in her steps, resting her back against a wall and closed her eyes. She needed to calm down or she'd have a panic attack. She needed something to take her mind off of the images that flooded her mind. She rarely let herself get carried away with memories of the war, but the conversation with McGonogall had triggered it, and it didn't help that she found herself at the very place of the final battle.

She took a few deep breaths and smoothed her skirt. Gripping her wand tightly. Students began rushing out of the classrooms next to her, she steadied herself as much as she could, and walked the familiar path to the library, it had always been her sanctuary after all. Maybe a book would help her thoughts stop racing.

As she walked she regretted her shoes, her heels made a lot of noise against the stone floor, and earned many glances from curious students as she hurried past. She could only hope she looked more calm on the outside than she felt on the inside.

The library was busy with students from all houses and Hermione wondered if she'd ever seen so many people in the library during her time at Hogwarts.

She noticed a lot on eyes on her as she entered and tried to shoot smiles to the curious students, stopping to interact with a few of them, giving some advice on the draught of living death, a potion they were writing an essay on. It helped take her mind off things, if only for a short time.

The atmosphere in the library made her heart rate steady. The never ending rows of bookshelves, filled with books and knowledge felt familiar, in a good way, the kind of way that warmed her heart. She stalked towards the more secluded parts of the library, hoping to find a book she could humour herself with until lunchtime. She and Draco were to attend herbology class next, and she looked forward to catching up with Neville Longbottom, her old friend, and now a Hogwarts professor. Maybe she could even try and find him and ask to have lunch together, for old times sake.

When she was away from the students prying eyes, the conversation with McGonogall flooded her brain again, and she hugged herself with her arms. She needed a book for distraction.

Draco was perusing the arithmancy bookshelf at the far end of the library. He'd been stopped a few times on his way there, by students, asking him questions, or wanting to welcome him to Hogwarts. Mostly Slyterhin's. He was certain some students whispered about him as he walked past and he did his best to ignore them, even though he overheard his name and Astoria's more times than he liked.

He was aware of what people were thinking, that the two of them were a couple. Never having read any gossip magazines himself, he was not entirely sure as to what had been written, but he'd caught the gist of it. His friend Blaise Zabini had jokingly called to congratulate him on being engaged, it caused Draco to choke on his tea. In ways the gossip was flattering. Astoria Greengrass was a stunning woman, there was no denying that. It was her personality he didn't care for, that and the fact she'd led him on for several months, only to break it off because she thought being seen with him would ruin her reputation in the pureblood circles. He would never admit to being hurt about it, but it hadn't been all that great either.

Astoria was not the only pureblood that found Draco's work with D.M Unity a betrayal to the cause, as they call it. The cause being the very thing that blew up into war. He didn't take offence in general though. Draco had not been committed to the cause in a long time, possibly even partially before the war ended. He didn't identify Harry Potter when the trio showed up at Malfoy Manor, captured by snatchers. To this day, he still wasn't entirely certain as to why that was.

Draco was focusing a book on arithmancy in his hands, studying a numerical chart when he caught wind of the same scent he'd smelled this morning at breakfast.

He looked up to find Hermione's curly hair as she rounded a bookshelf. Draco followed. She was leaning against a shelf with her hands wrapped around herself, looking deep in thought. Hermione glanced up at him, startled by his presence. Her mood seemed low in comparison to when she'd scolded him outside of the DADA classroom for having the audacity to hog a book for so many years without returning it.

He treaded with caution, not wanting to stick around if she was going to get emotional. He didn't do well with his own emotions, less someone else's. He walked towards her anyways; part of him did want to find out what was going on. He didn't comprehend just why that was.

Hermione pulled at his polo jumper with both hands, and before he could complain that she was stretching the fabric of his favourite cashmere clothing, her lips smacked onto his. The interaction startled him, but he leaned into the kiss when the surprise of it subsided. The kiss itself felt different, demanding, it affected his lower parts all the same. She moaned into his mouth, it made him want to ravish her, right there right now, but he didn't. Her tongue slipped into his mouth with vigour and he was quick to respond, deepening their kiss. She tasted of the breath mint she still had. Draco placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her body closer and they were both unaware of the one Ravenclaw student walking by in search for the arithmancy shelf.

They didn't stop until they ran out of oxygen. Both of them breathed heavily. Hermione looked up at him, and there was a moment of stillness.

Draco gathered himself. "What's that about?" he asked, his chest heaving visibly affected. He bit down on the breath mint he now had inside of his mouth, making a crunching sound.

"I don't know," Hermione answered, looking frazzled.

Draco was still confused from being caught off guard. "I'm not complaining. Fantasy of yours? Snogging in the library?" he teased to defuse the tension.

"I wasn't- I didn't snog you," she complained. Blushing faintly.

"Sure did," he continued teasing. It was strange. They never really just snogged so he wanted to make a point of it.

"If you must know. McGonogall had some things to say about me smoking, and I didn't enjoy that so much," Hermione reluctantly explained. "And then, here you were, probably stalking me or whatever, and I just wanted to kiss you," she shrugged her shoulders, looking completely indifferent.

"I was not stalking you Hermione." Draco growled. Hermione rolled her eyes at him. It only made him want to pin her against the bookshelf to see if she'd dare do it again. "And what's this thing about McGonogall?"

"As I said. She saw me smoking and had a thing or two to say about," she said and proceeded to mumble something unintelligible under her breath.

"About time," Draco said without thinking. Regretting his words as soon as they were spoken. He didn't want to get involved with her habits they didn't bother him. It shouldn't. I wasn't as though the two of them cared that way for each other. Hermione's mouth fell open at his words.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him sternly, all the heat from their snogging session gone. He was suddenly reminded that this was the woman who'd trapped Rita Skeeter in a jar in her animagus form. She really could be terrifying when she wanted to.

He contemplated his answer, as to not repeat his mistake and avoid a second scolding today. "I just thought you'd given those up by now. I'm aware I shared one with you last night, and I don't see anything wrong with enjoying such things on occasion, it's just not good in the long run."

Hermione looked baffled by his words. And declared she was going to try and find Neville Longbottom, to have lunch, and then she hurried off, hitting her heels hard against the floor as she did.

Draco reckoned he might have crossed a line. When they used to meet up post-war he never gave his thoughts on her habits, it wasn't his place, and it still wasn't. When they met it was for fun, even though unspoken scars and traumas undeniably had been present throughout.

They had never been friends or romantically involved, so it was easy to keep it physical, taking what they needed from the other person, without judgment. Finding comfort in the one person that wouldn't try and mould them back to who they used to be, like his mother and father tried to with him, like Ron and Harry demanded from her. Draco had never cared for the person Hermione was before war, and didn't know her well enough to want her to go back to whoever that was. Draco presumed it was the same for Hermione. They simply lacked reason, not expecting anything from the other person in the way friends and family do.

Hermione wandered to the Herbology classroom to see if she could find Neville. Accompanied by yet another conversation to overthink. It had almost sounded as if he cared. She was unsure if she found it flattering or abysmal.

When she found Neville he was concentrated fully on the mandrake in front of him. She knocked on the wall as she entered the space, to not startle him. She hoped for dear life he was not about to pull it out of its pot since she was not wearing any protective gear over her ears.

"Hermione!" he called, beaming when he heard her knock.

"Neville, how are you?" she asked, smiling back and walking further into the classroom. "How's Hannah?"

"We're both good, thank you. How are you?" he asked while embracing her in a suffocating hug. Hermione felt her worries wafting away at the mere sight of her old friend. He looked healthy, clearly fitting right in as the new herbology professor.

"Oh I'm glad to hear! I'm good too thank you," she said taking a step back from the hug. "I know me and Dra- Malfoy will be sitting in as guests in your class this afternoon, but I wondered if you are free now? We could have some lunch, catch up?" It probably would not have been a big deal to call him Draco instead of using his surname, but she was not sure how Neville felt about him, he had been pretty brutal towards Neville during their school years. If Neville noticed, he didn't seem to care, he still had a big smile plastered on his face.

"I have time. As professor I have the privilege of using the floo network. How about lunch at the Leaky Cauldron?" Neville suggested while tugging a hand through his dark brown hair. Hannah Abott, Nevilles wife, was the landlady at the Leaky Cauldron.

"That sounds perfect, I would love to see Hannah," Hermione answered. She and Hannah had not spent much time together when they were both attending Hogwarts, but it would be nice to have lunch with them both, and to get away from the grounds for an hour.

-o-o-o-

Huge thanks to those who have subscribed and/or reviewed, I find it encouraging.

Please note that this story is uploaded under the same pen-name at AO3

Next chapter will contain a bit more steam!