A/N: Hey loves! I've read so many stories highlighting this scenario and I love, love, love them! But I do apologize if you've read a million of these and mine seems redundant. Hopefully, I've put my own little spin on it enough to make it interesting. I love the idea of Draco and Hermione returning to Hogwarts and being forced to coexist, while also realizing that there's more to the other person than each originally thought. Like I said, I hope it's not overdone! Spoilers - this is a Dramione fic, the steam is coming in the final chapter...xoxoxoxo

The nights were terrifying, but somehow the mornings were worse. All the fears that tormented her fitful attempts at sleeping faded into the background with the light of day. They never really went away, they just tucked themselves into the quiet recesses of her brain, taunting her - the logical part of her would convince the rest of her sleep-deprived self that they were just dreams, that things would get better over time, and that - most importantly - they weren't real.

But they sure felt real. Waking with a scream, covered with cold sweat, convinced she was back in that room, writhing on the floor in agony again. That felt real. Walking around in the daytime was now the part of her days that didn't feel real. Getting to class on time, buttering her morning toast, listening to anyone, caring about literally anything….it all felt fuzzy. Numb. Nothing was real. Nothing mattered.

When Hermione started her eighth year at Hogwarts, she began like she began everything - with gusto. Surely, she had thought, this is how I'll recover. She convinced herself that by just getting back to some sort of normalcy in her day to day life she would feel better. She could focus again. She could forget.

But that didn't happen.

Without her two best friends (Harry and Ron decided to start Auror training instead of returning to finish school) she knew things would be different. But that was okay, she was certain. Simply returning to her beloved school would be enough of a comfort to her that she was certain she could overlook any loneliness she might feel.

When asked to be Head Girl by Headmistress McGonagall, she was honored and excited. She accepted the position happily, embracing the added responsibilities (which would keep her blessedly busy) and the additional freedoms it afforded (a private dorm room would keep her constant nightmares a secret from her classmates).

What she had not planned on, however, was having to share the heads' common room with one Draco Malfoy.

After the war and the defeat of Voldemort, the Malfoy family had suffered its own losses - Lucius: the dementor's kiss in Azkaban, Narcissa: house arrest in the Manor, and Draco: another year at Hogwarts as everyone's least favorite person. But McGonagall had a soft spot for the young Malfoy, just like the headmaster before her, which was why she chose him as Head Boy. He certainly had the grades to earn such a position, but more than that, she thought the boy needed a chance to prove himself. She knew he was a young man who never really had a choice and she was going to give him the opportunity he never had before - to walk out from his father's shadow.

Hermione understood all this, in a logical sense. She understood that he really didn't have a chance to be a decent person when he was raised from infancy to hate an entire segment of the wizarding population based solely on their blood status. She understood that his actions during the war were out of fear - both for his own life and the lives of his family. She spoke on his behalf at his trial over the summer because she knew these things - logically.

But, all the same, she didn't have to like him.

When they first moved into the head dorms, Hermione was convinced that Malfoy would say something snide or sneer at her the way he always had or insult her appearance/intelligence/ parentage. But he didn't. He actually didn't say... anything. He would glance in her direction, bow his head and turn away. It was actually quite unnerving. She would come back from class and if he was sitting on the couch before the fire, he would immediately gather his things and clear out to his room without a word.

Initially, she was annoyed, if not downright offended. She was certain it was his same old pureblood ideology that made him want to leave her presence. But his eyes told a different story.

It happened one day in mid-October. She had had that same old nightmare again, which meant she floated through the entire day in a fog of caffeine-induced wakefulness. When she finally returned to their shared common room after dinner, she was completely exhausted and barely registered that Malfoy was sitting on the couch studying until he stood abruptly, gathering his books.

"Stop!" The harshness of her tone surprised even herself, let alone the tall blond before her.

His only response was to stare at her, mouth agape, brows furrowed, with books stacked haphazardly in his arms.

"Why do you do that?" she all but shouted at him.

"Do what, exactly?"

She groaned in frustration. "You scurry out of here like some…" Ferret, she thought, shaking her head. "Why can't you even be in the same room with me? Afraid you might catch something?"

He only blinked as she stormed by toward her room. She just reached the stairs when he finally spoke up.

"I'm just trying to give you some space."

She turned to face him and it occurred to her that she had never really looked at him without either of them scowling or insulting each other. His grey eyes were wide and apologetic and his mouth twisted as he struggled to find the right words.

"I just... I'm sure this living situation isn't ideal for you. You shouldn't have to feel uncomfortable in your own common room." He paused but she offered no reply. "I meant no offense, I promise."

"Oh." She swallowed hard and looked at the floor. She didn't like that her first response was to assume the worst. "Well, thank you, I guess." He still stood there, looking at her, so she soldiered on. "But it's your common room, too. You go ahead and stay. I'm headed to bed anyway."

"Alright."

"Alright." She turned back toward the doorway and was halfway up the stone steps before she thought she heard a faint "Goodnight, Granger " from the common room.

…

The autumn wore on. Nearly every night she dreamt some collection of horrors from the past year of her young life and every day she trudged through her classes, meals, studies, and limited social interactions in a muddled daze of weariness.

Malfoy was her only comfort, of sorts. After she snapped at him, their routine changed only slightly in that he would often be studying in the common room when she would return for the evening, but instead of scrambling to flee the scene upon her entrance, he would look up warily and gauge his response based on her appearance. If she offered a tight-lipped smile when the portrait swung closed behind her, he could safely nod and offer a low "Granger" before returning to his studies. If, however, she seemed harried or distraught in any way - as was sometimes the case - he would remain silent and ignore her. She took no offense to his lack of address - on the contrary, she appreciated not having to put on appearances for him. Every friend she had these days - the few she truly had at school - felt the need to badger her with concerned questions when she was having a particularly hard day. On those days, she did not want to talk about 'how she was feeling' or if she was getting 'proper sleep'. It was all bollocks, as far as she was concerned. Recovering from traumatic events is hard and there were bad days and slightly better days, but she had yet to have any good days just yet. She didn't feel hopeless, she knew it would take time, but she didn't want to pretend everything was great when it just plain wasn't.

On bad days, she could count on Malfoy to silently ignore her as she walked back to her room, closed the door, and had a good cry or took a long shower or laid down to shut her eyes and pretend she could sleep like normal people. When she would emerge after calming down and ask him innocuous questions about his day or what he was studying he would pretend for her - that nothing was amiss. He would answer her questions and ask her none. It was exactly what she needed.

…..

Late one night, as she feigned sleep, Hermione heard a loud crash and a scream. Sitting upright in her bed, she listened for a moment before venturing toward her door to peek out. The common room was empty, the remains of the fire burning quite low, leaving only dim light in the normally cozy room. As she stood for a moment listening to her own quick breaths, the silence was shattered again by another crash, a scream, and a string of obscenities coming from Malfoy's room.

Never one to leave well enough alone - after all, she was already not sleeping - she crept up the steps leading to Malfoy's room, wand in hand. She hesitated only a moment before knocking firmly and calling out his name.

Silence followed and she nearly turned to head back to her room just before the door was flung roughly open and she was face to face with a disheveled Malfoy pulling on a muggle t-shirt.

"Granger. What are you…?" He seemed startled but surprisingly not angry - she somehow assumed he would be angry at her intrusion.

"I... I'm sorry...I just...I heard a loud noise and I… I just wanted to check on you."

"Oh." His cheeks flushed and he looked down at his bare feet.

"I'm alright, you know."

"Hmm?" he examined her with furrowed brows.

"It's just... you were screaming... you screamed my name."

"I'm sorry about that. I have nigh….I must have forgotten my silencing charms."

"It's alright." Hermione was also curious about the loud crashes she heard but couldn't see any evidence of anything broken inside his room and didn't really want to ask.

There was a brief, awkward pause before they both spoke at once.

"I hope I didn't wake you."

"So you have nightmares too?"

He smiled slightly and motioned for her to answer first.

"No. You didn't wake me. I wasn't actually sleeping. It's a bit hard for me to relax sometimes." She couldn't help but twist the bottom hem of her jumper with both hands.

"Yeah. Me, too." His lack of answer to her question was all the confirmation she needed.

"So…" Come on, brave Gryffindor…. "Do you die in yours?" She attempted a laugh as she spoke.

Malfoy snorted and looked quite taken aback at her blunt question, but deep down, he found it quite refreshing to actually talk about his dark dreams with one of the only people who could possibly understand.

"Sometimes. You?"

"Always." His eyes went wide at her reply but he remained silent. "But who does it and how is always different."

"Do you... do you want to... talk about it?" Draco was never one for discussing - or even admitting feelings, but there was something new and special happening here that he didn't want to pass up. But the personal nature of his question felt foreign on his tongue.

"Not really. Do you?"

Draco could only shake his head and look down again.

"Well... I should go….pretend to sleep." She gave him a weak smile and turned toward the stairs.

"Granger?" He called after her.

"Yes?"

"Thanks" He rapped his knuckles nervously on his doorframe. "For checking. You didn't have to do that."

"It's alright. You don't have to hide, you know? We have something in common now." She smirked at him (did she ever do that? Or had he just never caught it before?).

Draco couldn't help but smile. "I suppose we do. Well, maybe you shouldn't hide either, then? If you have to listen to my late night ranting I might as well listen to yours."

She laughed sardonically. "Alright, Malfoy. It's a deal."

She actually slept quite well that night.

That's the end of chapter one! I hope you enjoyed it! The rest of this fic is written but needs a few tweaks in a couple places - I promise to post chapter two within a week. Make sure to 'follow' so you don't miss any updates.

I do not own Harry Potter - all characters/places mentioned belong to JKR