I own nothing but the plot.

January 6th, 1999

There was a hushed silence in the library, occasional whispers breaking out as students put their heads together to speak in undertones, wary eyes glancing around to make sure they weren't caught out by the prowling librarian. Hermione was one of the few students in the entire school who wasn't afraid of Madam Pince, years spent sequestered in the stacks and countless books checked in and out having fostered a wary alliance between the two. It was the main reason that Hermione felt so safe in the library and had taken to spending the majority of her time there when she wasn't in classes. She wasn't hiding from anyone, or so she kept trying to convince herself. Some days it worked, but most it didn't. If she was honest, she was definitely hiding from the Head Boy, struggling to sort out her feelings around the blonde Slytherin and what he meant to her, the heated kiss they had shared on Christmas Eve giving her new levels of confusion and occasional anxiety.

She was struggling with her feelings surrounding Ron as well, their last argument having reached a level that it never had before. She had never known him to be capable of turning to physical violence, at least not against her. Sure, he had a temper, but before the war that had been the extent of it. The war had changed a lot in them all though, and his fuse was shorter than ever before. It was hard for her to tell since she hadn't been around him much since the school year had started, but she didn't think that he was dealing too well with what had happened in the final battle. All the Weasley's were struggling with Fred's death, not to mention the other atrocities that had occurred. Returning to school was helping her deal and process with things, but he didn't have that, and she didn't know if he, or even Harry, were doing anything to help themselves heal.

Giving a sigh, she reached forwards to one of the sheets of parchment on her claimed table, pulling it in front of herself as another thought came to her. Re-inking her quill, she moved the nib to the parchment and scratched the letters she needed, another con about Ron making its way onto the list she'd started. Ever since she was a little girl, Hermione needed control, and needed to control her decisions. From that, her desire for lists had been born and she had them for everything. Lists and charts dictated so many major decisions in her life and to her, this was no reason not to fall back to her comforting way of decision making. The pros and cons of Ronald Weasley had made their way onto ink and parchment, a similar list next on the back of the sheet, listing the pros and cons of Draco Malfoy. She was disappointed in the length of cons she'd found for both men and didn't even know what to make of the way the pros were almost all skewed in Malfoy's favour.

Besides loyalty, the only thing she'd managed to find for Ron was his persistence, but that was starting to look more like a con. He had sent her chocolates every day since Christmas, each heart shaped box scrawled with the phrase "I'm sorry" on it. She knew he felt bad for what had happened, but she also wanted him to feel bad. What he had done wasn't acceptable in her book, no matter how stressed or upset he was, or how much he was struggling with things after the war. They were all struggling, but that was no reason to raise a hand like that.

"'Mione?" Hermione was startled out of her thoughts by the voice of the man she had just been thinking about, quickly dragging her essay back on top of the list she had started to make sure it was out of sight. Glancing around, she looked in the area around her to find out where the voice was coming from, tamping down her disappointment that the voice belonged to a redhead, not a blonde.

"'Mione?" Draco Malfoy whipped his head up from the potions book he'd been pouring over as he heard a grating male voice, one that he knew all too well as belonging to the youngest male Weasel.

"'Mione?" Ron called again, earning a glare from Madam Pince as his voice broke the quietness of the literary sanctuary.

Malfoy felt his jaw clench, a tick forming in his cheek as he slammed his potions book shut. He was worn out and on edge, not to mention frustrated. Granger had been avoiding him since Christmas, and he was starting to miss the witch more and more, and was growing increasingly frustrated at her successful attempts to avoid him. He didn't know what to make of the kiss yet, but he wanted to at least talk it out with her if she'd give him the chance. Getting that chance didn't seem on the cards though, at least not in the near future. The presence of the Weasel though was just what he needed to vent.

He didn't know what had driven the Gryffindor buffoon to strike Granger, but he didn't even care. For all his faults, that was one thing that Malfoy wouldn't stand for, especially after witnessing how his Father had treated Mother all his life, and the violence that had ensued at Lucius Malfoy's hand. Leaving the book where it was, Malfoy rose to his feet and stepped around the bookshelves, prowling towards the bumbling idiot.

"'Mione!" Ron turned as he heard footsteps behind him, sighing in relief before he saw who was in front of him, a scowl marring his face. "What do you want, Death Eater?"

Malfoy didn't even care to draw his wand, his fingers closing as he made a fist, drawing his arm back only to thrust it forwards, delivering a blistering punch to Ron's scowling, freckled face. While he was against violence perpetrated against women by their partners, he had no such issue with making sure that Weasel felt something similar, as long as it came from him. Ron doubled over with a pained groan, his hands coming to his face as blood gushed out of his now clearly broken nose. Malfoy stood over him, fist still raised, adrenaline pumping through his veins, blood pounding in his ears. It took him a moment to register that the name being screeched was his, head turning a moment later to see who it was, a guilty look crossing his face.

"MR MALFOY!" Professor McGonagall shouted, aghast at what she had just witnessed. "My office, RIGHT NOW!" She was livid, pointing out of the library. Malfoy dropped his fist, straightening his school tie with his other hand to make sure that he still looked presentable as he stalked out of the library, knocking into Weasley on purpose as he strode purposefully towards the Headmistress's office.

Hermione shoved her books and parchments into her back, hastily packing everything away as she heard her hated nickname again, followed by some scuffles and McGonagall's furious voice calling the name of the other source of her internal conflict.

"Ron?" Hermione called out as she stepped between the shelves, her eyes widening as she saw the doubled over redhead, eyes drawn to the blood dripping through her fingers. "Jesus Christ! What happened?!" She rushed over, wand out a she quickly vanished the blood, wincing as more continued to pour from his clearly broken nose.

"Dat bloody deaf eaber!" Ron's words were thick, but she understood him well enough to know what he was saying.

"Stand still, let me fix it," Hermione's spine straightened as she took on a far more clinical stance, a few muttered spells coming from her as she moved her wand, Ron's grunts of pain mixing with the occasional click of bone as she reset and healed his nose.

"That scumbag! Fucking attacked me!" Ron's voice wasn't nearly as thick now, though blood still covered the bottom half of his face.

"Not here!" Hermione hissed, grabbing his hand, dragging the now healed visitor out of the library and away from the approaching Madam Pince, the librarian at her wit's end with the volume in her precious space.

"Mr Malfoy, what on Earth were you thinking?" McGonagall fumed. She hadn't even sat down yet, currently standing behind her desk, hands planted on the surface. The portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses snoozed behind her, though the two most recent additions were alert and listening. Malfoy for his part stood in front of the wooden desk, the adrenaline starting to fade from his system, acutely aware of the growing throb in his hand. He knew Weasley was hardheaded, but he hadn't considered that in a literal sense, and two of his fingers definitely felt misplaced. Muggle boxing wasn't a sport he had bothered to learn or show interest in, and though he knew enough about muggle ways of duelling, it wasn't something he took up that often and it showed.

"I tripped," Malfoy kept his eyes forwards, gaze not fixing on anything. He could feel the stares of two portraits, the one of his Godfather listening with a scowl, the other with the former Headmaster that he had been tasked to kill listening with a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

"You tripped? Do you seriously expect me to believe that you tripped, fist first, into Mr Weasley's face, Mr Malfoy?" McGonagall stared at him, incredulously.

"I tripped," Malfoy repeated the statement, his eyes flicking to the portraits against his better judgement, scowl forming as he swear Dumbledore started to smile.

"Never in all my years have I seen a Head Boy assault a former student!" McGonagall was furious. She had spent a long time going over Wizengamot transcripts and consulting with the remainder of the staff as well as taking advice from the portraits of her predecessors to accept the troubled Slytherin back into the school, and in a position of authority at that.

"I'm not apologising. He had it coming," Malfoy felt compelled to justify himself, and clarify that he wasn't going to apologise to the git. No, it was deserved after he had raised a hand to Granger.

"Had it… HE HAD IT COMING!?" McGonagall spluttered before resorting to shouting, a few other portraits grumpily waking.

Malfoy just nodded, keeping is arms at his sides as the throbbing in his hand intensified, bracing himself for the storm that was about to be thrown his way.

"I didn't mean to, 'Mione, I swear! I just… snapped," Ron pleaded with Hermione, the blood now cleaned from his face as they sat together in an alcove.

"Then you need to figure out a better way to control yourself, Ronald," Hermione shook her head, arms folded over her chest. She wasn't in the mood to fight, and by no means was ready to just forgive and forget, but he had come to the castle, and just had his nose broken. Part of her was pleased that he had been dealt the blow, but she would never admit that out loud out – she barely wanted to admit it to herself.

"I will, I will. It was just… you made me snap," He pleaded again, pulling out his best puppy expression. He was drowning in guilt over what happened on Christmas Eve, and needed her to forgive him.

"I didn't make you do anything, Ronald. You need to figure out a better method of dealing with emotions," Hermione sighed, reaching up to rub her temple. It had been a long day, and her confused thoughts and feelings weren't leading her anywhere good right now.

"Look, I'm sorry. Can't you just forgive me, and we can move on? I'm staying at the Three Broomsticks, why don't you come back with me, we can spend some time together," Ron was getting frustrated. He just needed her to forgive him so they could go back to normal. Once things were normal, he'd be fine. It was the wrong thing to say however, Hermione rising to her feet and taking a few steps out of the alcove.

"No, Ronald. Not this time. What you did wasn't okay," Hermione took a few more steps away, still rubbing her temple.

"So what, you're dumping me?" Ron stood as well, his brow furrowed as he tried to work out why she was acting like this. "Wait, are you on… is it… y'know, that time?"

"Oh for the love of – no, Ronald, I am not menstruating. I'm not dumping you, either. I'm not ready to forgive you, but I'm not dumping you. Get some help. Find a better way to deal, I'll speak with you in a few days," Hermione was done, not in the mood to entertain this any longer.

"It was Malfoy's fault anyway, 'Mione! He's scum!" Ron tried one last tactic, unable to comprehend that she wasn't folding to him.

"This is about us, Ronald, not Malfoy! Stop brining him into everything! Yes, he was a jerk to us, but we were just as bad to him!" Hermione shook her head again, turning away from him. "I'm going back to my dormitory, and I'll speak to you in a few days. Get some help, Ronald."

"'Mione!" Ron called out to her disappearing back, completely confused as to why she didn't just accept his apology. Muttering under his breath about women, he shoved his hands in his pockets and trekked back through the castle, slipping out of the front doors to go back to the Three Broomsticks for the night, a blonde Gryffindor witch sneaking out of the castle a few minutes after him.

Draco Malfoy sat on the low couch before the crackling fire in the hearth, his tie thrown over the coffee table, the first few buttons of his shirt undone now, sleeves of his white oxford rolled to his elbows, exposing the ink on his left hand. His right hand was bruising, but the bones had been reset, some rudimentary healing magic having fixed it as best as he could. He turned his attention away from the flames as the portrait opened, hoping to God that the Gryffindor witch was still in one piece.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth as the portrait closed behind her, not sure what to say. She didn't agree with what Malfoy had done at all, but part of her still felt gratitude towards him for standing up for her.

"… thank you," Hermione spoke softly, her gaze taking in the rather dishevelled man on the couch. "Did you get in much trouble?"

"Detention every Saturday for the rest of the term," Malfoy shrugged, turning his attention back to the burning embers.

"I'm sorry," Hermione was still speaking softly, and her heart sank to know that he was being punished for defending her honour.

"I'm not. I'd do it again," Malfoy didn't bother to look at her, those words the last ones he felt like saying at the moment, disappearing back into his thoughts. Hermione didn't give a response either, giving him a lingering, sad look before making her way through the common room. She only paused near him long enough to lean down, pressing a thankful kiss to his cheek before moving again, going to the stairs to her room, disappearing up them a moment later.

Waiting until he heard the door to her bedroom close softly, Malfoy raised his hand to his cheek, still feeling her lips against his skin.