A/N: Okay, so this is my longest chapter yet. I'm expecting at least two or three reviews. Or at least I'm hoping for some. Come on, you guys, let me know what you think. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks to everyone who reads!

What If You?

He couldn't remember the trek across the lawn from the forest to the castle ever being longer. Had it always seemed hours long? Had the castle always seemed to be further and further away with every step he took? Or was it just his current state that had the minutes passing by at a torturously slow pace.

With every step, he could feel his muscles scream in protest. He felt the throb of his arms that were now covered in rough bruises and scratches. He felt his head pounding from the multiple blows he had received. Who knew a fist could do so much damage? And, more than anything, he felt the deep, searing cuts that now marked his shirt-covered chest. He had expected no less upon returning to the manor. He knew his father would never go easy on him. It had never been in his nature to be merciful. Cruelty and hatred were all Draco had known for the majority of his childhood.

Finally, he had entered the tall castle doors. But he still had seven floors to go. The stairs were the worst. Every time he lifted his legs to ascend another step, they ached violently, threatening to give way beneath him. As he climbed, he thought of what waited for him. Against his will, his mind created a vision he had never imagined before.

He would open the portrait. There would be a warm fire crackling and the smell of tea wafting through the air. There, sitting on the couch before him, would be Hermione. She would be curled up, reading one of her many textbooks, of course. He would see her softly chewing on the end of her quill, as he had seen so many times before during class. As he entered, she would look up at him, her chocolate eyes wide and innocent. And she would smile. At him. For him.

Try as he might to banish this enticing vision away, he couldn't get the image of her brilliant smile out of his head. He had seen her smile like that before, but never at him. It was something he longed for, despite logic telling him it was forbidden. He knew he should stay away from her. Not because he thought her inferior, as others may believe. Oh no, in fact it was quite the opposite.

He knew she was so far beyond him. He knew it the second he saw her in his home all those months ago. He knew she didn't deserve that torture. And the fact that he stood there in his own fear and allowed it to happen proved to him just how unworthy he was of any form of affection from her. She was everything he wasn't. Good, virtuous, pure, kind, loving, even forgiving of someone like him. She was a dream to him, something he longed for and to be, but was out of his reach. And for good reason.

By Merlin's name he knew he was the last person on earth to deserve her. It was for this very reason he had tried so hard this past month to stay away from her. Every time he felt the need to talk to her, to see her, he squashed it. He couldn't resist the occasional greeting they shared, as it was the highlight of his day. But he had somehow refrained from anything more.

But now, that had changed. That very day she had took pity on him, and relieved him of his daily loneliness. She had said he didn't deserve to be lonely. He laughed inwardly at how wrong she was, but was grateful to her all the same. He saw now that he would not be able to resist her any longer. She was too fascinating. She intoxicated him like he couldn't believe. In just one class period she had managed to make him happier than he thought he had ever felt, and they barely even talked! He tried, in vain, to identify this feeling within him. Maybe, he thought, it was longing for a friend. He had never truly had a friend. He didn't know what it was like, but he had always craved it. He smiled. Who would've thought his deepest desire would be to befriend a muggleborn, and Hermione Granger at that!

As he climbed the last set of stairs, he vowed that he would do everything in his power to see that smile. He could stop there. He would have to stop there. Anything more would be too much to ask, but if he could just see that smile, he would be satisfied.

At last, he was at the portrait. "Fiddlesticks," he blurted out the ridiculous password Hermione had created, anxious to get inside and see if perhaps his vision could be real. However, upon entering the Common Room, he saw that his imagination had been far from reality.

There was a fire crackling, and Hermione was curled op on the couch. But those were the only similarities. There was no scent of tea, there were no textbooks in sight, and Hermione was anything but calm and quiet. He watched in horror as she sobbed openly, a piece of parchment clenched in her right fist.

"G-Granger?" he called out as he approached her cautiously. He didn't know what to do here. He never did with crying women. To be quite honest, they scared him. Should he leave her be? She might want that since they had only have a handful of cordial conversations. Should he comfort her? He doubted she would oblige to that. And even if she did, he had no idea how to go about doing that.

She didn't respond. If anything, she cried harder. She pulled her knees to her chest, curling herself into the fetal position, her sobs started increasing in frequency and strength. He pushed aside his inhibitions and ran the remaining few feet to her. He crouched down to her level and took hold of her shoulders.

"Hermione!" he barked, shaking her slightly. She didn't even look at him. Instead, she continued muttering to herself, something he had just noticed she was doing. He could vaguely make out what she was saying. He heard the words "everything ruined," and "I've lost him." He had no idea what they meant. Suddenly, he reached down and pulled her into his arms. He didn't know why he did it, he just felt it. It was as if it was instinctual. As he stood with her, he ignored his muscles screaming in pain. This was more important.

He headed up to her room, deciding at the moment that was probably the best place for her. He briefly considered going to find the Weasley girl, surely she would know what was wrong. But it was far past curfew and the Weaslette would be sleeping by now. As he ascended her staircase, she turned her face into his chest, and it seemed her cries quieted some, if only minutely. His heartbeat quickened and his breath caught as her left hand closed around his shirt. He opened her door and made it quickly to her bedside.

He went to deposit her onto her bed, but as he lifted himself back up, she clung to him. She let out a small whimper, and his heart clenched. She had no idea what she was asking, or who he even was, he was certain. But at the sound of her broken-hearted cry, he couldn't refuse her. He moved her over a little and laid down beside her. As he did so, she unknowingly maneuvered herself so she was pressed right up against him. He froze. This was far too intimate. If she only knew what was happening, he was sure she'd hex him. Any minute now, she would snap out of it. She would realize who it was she clung to, and she would scream at him. She would hit him, and curse him. Or, even worse, she would be embarrassed and never speak to him again. However, as the minutes ticked by, and her sobs continued, she didn't come out of her state. Hesitantly, he allowed himself to wrap his arms around her now still form.

"Shh," he whispered. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. I've got you now. I won't let anyone hurt you. It's alright, Hermione. Shh." As he kept up what he hoped were comforting words, he heard her sobs finally begin to quiet. Soon enough, he could hear her breathing even out and knew she was asleep.

What on earth had he done? He was lying in Hermione Granger's bed, holding her to him as a lover would. As this thought crossed his mind, he couldn't help but notice how extraordinarily she fit to him. He felt her every curve so deliciously pressed to his form. He could feel her warm breath against his neck, causing goose bumps to erupt over his skin. He could smell the absolutely intoxicating scent of her wafting from her hair. Why had he never done this before? He needed a distraction.

He quickly looked about her room. It was much like his, only decked in the red and gold of Gryffindor instead of the green and silver he was accustomed to. There were various pictures adorning the walls. He noticed a few in particular that held the image of two older people that didn't move. He assumed it was a muggle photograph and the couple was her parents. He noticed briefly that she looked very much like her father. One of the moving, wizard photos contained the beauty in his arms along with Potter and Weasley. She was smiling that smile. The one that held so much happiness and warmth it made his heart swell. He felt a pang of jealousy that it was for those two dunderheads and not for him. He looked away and saw assorted knick-knacks here and there. Over by her window was a desk covered in textbooks, parchment, quills, and ink wells. He chuckled lightly. It was so…Hermione. The room fit her well.

He looked down at her and could see tearstains on her cheeks. For the first time, he wondered why she had been crying. He had been so concerned with helping her, he hadn't even thought of what was causing her such distress. What could it be? He knew it had to be important. Hermione was not one of those blubbering bimbos he had known in Slytherin house. She had fought against the Dark Lord. She had lost so many near to her. She had survived. She was a fighter, and braver than anyone he knew. What could have weakened her so much? He caught a glimpse of the parchment still loosely clutched in her right hand. It was a letter, he realized. What did it contain? Had someone died? It would make sense, considering her mutterings of losing someone earlier. Against his better judgment, he gingerly pried it from her hand, careful not to wake her.

As he read it, his head spun. So, the Weasel had left her. But it didn't make sense. Hermione wasn't the kind of girl to shed tears for a boy. She was much stronger than that. There had to be more to it, he was sure. Maybe he could ask her in the morning. He doubted she would confide in him, but he would try.

But he couldn't help but feel absolute rage at that red-headed oaf for leaving her. And for someone as stupid as the Gryffindor slut. Was he blind? Did he not see how good he had it? He had the most kind and loving girl in all of Europe, and he gave her up for some common whore. And he thought her jealous of his fame? He clearly did not know Hermione at all after their seven years of friendship. Draco had only spent a month with her now, and they weren't even friends. Still, even he knew that fame was the last thing she wanted. She preferred the quiet, the serenity. Ron Weasley was without a doubt the most idiotic prat he had ever had the displeasure of knowing. Any man would be lucky to have Hermione!

Slowly, his anger died down. He looked once again at the sleeping angel in his arms, and realized how incredibly lucky he was just for this moment. He stayed awake as long as he could, knowing it would end all too soon once she awakened. He lifted his hand to her face and delicately ran his fingers across her cheekbone. Her skin was so smooth, soft as silk, he thought. And as his hand caressed her jaw, he felt sleep finally overtake him.

He saw it all from the outside. He could see his sleeping form holding Hermione. It was like he was having an out of body experience. A small smile lit her face in her sleep and his heart soared. She felt comfortable with him. Before he could think more on it, though, a figure emerged from the dark shadows of her room. The hooded figure moved toward the girl, wand held high and aimed at her.

"No!" he screamed, but he couldn't hear his own voice. He tried to move, but he was immobilized. He simply had to watch in horror as the figure pulled back its hood. Black, crazy hair swam into his vision.

"No. You're dead! Leave her alone! Stop it!" he yelled at his deceased aunt. She turned to him, as if only now realizing his actual presence outside his body.

"Hello, nephew. What a shame it is to catch you like this," she seethed, pointing at his body which held Hermione's. "What have you been doing, Draco? Consorting with Mudbloods? Absolutely despicable. No matter, I'll soon put an end to your little…friend here."

"No, please no," he begged.

"Don't be such a blood-traitor, Draco. It will all be over soon. I do think I'll have a little fun with her first though. As I remember it, I do love to hear this one scream. Crucio."

"NO!"

"Malfoy!"

He was drenched in sweat again. It was just a dream. Thank Merlin, it was just a dream. He turned, and saw Hermione staring at him with confused and concerned eyes. Oh bless her, she was concerned about him.

"Hermione!" He grabbed her into a fierce hug. He felt her freeze beneath him, but didn't care. She was safe, and that's all that mattered. "It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream. Thank Merlin," he mumbled his thoughts aloud into her hair.

He felt her arms wrap around him and awkwardly pat his back. "Uh…it's okay?" she mumbled.

He laughed and pulled back, grabbing her face between his palms. "You're alright," he said joyously.

"Of course I'm alright, you oaf."

It was meant to be an insult, but he could hear her teasing tone, and he could see curious amusement in her eyes.

"Right, of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I just…uh." How could he explain it to her? I just had a nightmare that my deceased, crazed aunt tortured you and then intended on killing you for the sole reason that I care about you deeply? Yes, that would go over well. He would be lucky to make it out of the room without having his balls hexed off.

"You had a nightmare," she finished for him.

"Well, yes," he admitted. Why did he feel so small beneath her gaze?

"Right, well, I'm sorry about that and all, but can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he answered immediately, and a little more abruptly than he would've liked. She looked at him curiously before continuing.

"What in the bloody hell are doing in my bed?"

He froze. Right. How to explain this?

"Well, um…." He trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

"Malfoy," she uttered menacingly.

"Okay, just let me explain. And promise me that you won't hex me." Oh crap, that didn't sound good.

"Malfoy! What did you do?" Her scream was enough to make him jump. Suddenly, he lost his balance and found himself on the floor staring up at her.

"Nothing! Just please let me explain," he begged, putting his hands up in surrender.

"Fine. Explain!"

"When I got in last night, well, I found you crying in the Common Room." Her face paled. It seemed she just now remembered the events of last night. He stood up now at her level and continued, if only to keep her from thinking on it too long.

"I tried to call out to you but you weren't responding. So, I carried you up here so you could at least be in your own room. But when I tried to lay you down, well, you um…see, the thing is-"

"I what?" she asked, and he noticed for the first time her voice was nervous.

"You wouldn't let me go," he whispered, waiting for her reaction. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open in shock. Her eyes shot to the ground as a brilliant blush formed across her cheeks.

"I…oh. I see," she mumbled embarrassedly. "I um…I'm so sorry. I assure you had I known, I wouldn't have, uh, inconvenienced you like that. I apol-"

"Granger, would you just stop?" She looked up at him questioningly. "Don't apologize for crying. And if I didn't want to help you I would've left you in the Common Room. Not that I ever could have done that," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"But, you…I thought…" her voice trailed off and she stared up at him intensely. He found himself again squirming under her penetrating gaze. "You really have changed, haven't you?" she breathed. He could only nod, not trusting himself to speak. "Wow. Well then, I…I suppose I should thank you-"

"Don't thank me. Not for that," he spoke, cutting her off. "Never for that."

She looked shocked again. He couldn't blame her. How often did you wake up in the arms of your supposed enemy and learned they care about you? Though, he suspected she didn't actually know he cared for her, at least not to the extent he truly did.

"Right. Well…Malfoy, what happened to you?"

He looked down at himself, wondering what she meant. He saw his tattered shirt covered in his own blood, the scratches and bruises adorning his skin wherever visible. For the first time that morning, he remember just what had happened to him the previous night.

"Oh, um, that. It's nothing-"

"Malfoy, that isn't nothing." She jumped off the bed and immediately started checking over his wounds. She delicately touched a particularly nasty cut on his left cheek and he hissed in pain. He could feel the pain everywhere now. How had he not felt that earlier?

"Malfoy…you look like you've been beaten nearly to death," she whispered sadly. He hissed again as her fingertips ran across his collarbone, but this time not in pain. Her touch was so light, yet it set fire to his skin wherever it went. Suddenly, he felt her hands start to unbutton his shirt. His eyes shot open. He hadn't even realized he had closed them.

"W-what are you doing?" he stuttered as he jumped away from her.

"I have to heal your wounds," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Look, Granger, you don't have to do that. I can take care of myself," he shot. He was trying to scare her away. Truth was, he was far too nervous around her, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't look like this," she shot right back, gesturing at his beaten appearance. He tried to glare at her, but found he couldn't put enough force behind it. Her eyes softened.

"Look, you've already lost too much blood. Besides, I want to help you too," she said sincerely. Oh no, she was doing that thing where she looked up at him from under her eyelashes. He was a goner.

"Fine," he grumbled. He reached down and started unbuttoning his shirt himself, ignoring how his arms shrieked in pain. There was no way he was going to let her undress him. He was sure he'd be unable to control himself-Whoa where did that come from? She's your friend, sort of. Just a friend. Leave the poor girl alone.

He noticed her eyes widen, then run appreciatively over his bare chest. His pride swelled inside, but he fought back the arrogant smirk and comment resting on his lips. No need to make her hate him again.

She reached for her wand, which had been sitting on her nightstand, and began murmuring healing spells. He watched, entranced as she guided her wand over his marred flesh. He watched as each cut and scratch and bruise slowly faded until his skin was smooth once again. There weren't even scars, save for the few he already had. When she was done, she gently ran her hand across one just above where his heart rested, and he sighed.

"I got that one my first Christmas back home from Hogwarts. Father wasn't too pleased to hear I was second in my class to a muggleborn," he laughed darkly, silently cursing the wretched man. He had no clue why he was telling her that. He had never told anyone, not even Blaise who was the closest thing he ever had to a friend. But looking at her, already feeling so vulnerable, the words just came tumbling out.

She looked up at him in disgust. "Your father did that to you?" Again, he could only nod. Recognition flashed in her eyes. "Last night, McGonagall said you were tending to personal matters. You went home, didn't you? He beat you last night."

He didn't even nod this time. She already knew she was right. He gingerly raised his hand up to her face. So softly, he ran his fingertips across her cheek like he had the previous night. He reveled at the fact that she involuntarily leaned into his hand. "I shouldn't be telling you this," he whispered.

"I'm glad you are." She was so close. He could see every one of her eyelashes. He could count every freckle painted across her nose. He could practically feel her lips, soft and plump against his. He shook his head lightly. Now wasn't the time. She was in pain, vulnerable as he. Speaking of…

"Granger," he said, using her surname to snap them out of their daze. "Why were you crying last night?"

She blushed and removed her hand from his chest. He instantly missed the warmth, but pushed the feeling aside.

"Oh, I um got a letter from Ron-"

"I read the letter," he blurted unthinkingly. Violating her privacy certainly wasn't going to help him get on her good side.

"You what?" her eyes flashed angrily. Oh, if only she knew how beautiful she was right in that instant. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to grab her into his arms and throw her down on the bed-Stop that!

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried, I know," he said apologetically, looking down in shame. He heard her huff and knew he would be forgiven.

"If you already read the letter then why did you ask?" she questioned, her voice much softer.

"Well because that can't be it. You're not the type to cry over some stupid bloke, who doesn't even deserve you by the way. There's something else," he spoke honestly. He had to know. Somehow he thought, if only he knew, he could fix it. He could stop her pain. He would do almost anything to never see her like that again.

"I'm not the type? You don't know the first thing about me! Don't pretend to act like you care about my wellbeing all of a sudden. We're not even friends," she shouted at him defensively. His jaw snapped shut as her words cut him like a knife. It was true. He didn't truly know her. And, as she had so harshly pointed out, they weren't friends. That was something he realized he could only dream of.

"You're right, we're not," he murmured dejectedly. He noticed remorse cross her face, but he didn't deserve it. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. It won't happen again."

He quickly gathered his shirt and fled the room. He didn't stop till he was locked inside his own.

Three more weeks had passed. They hadn't spoken at all. She didn't sit by him in class. He didn't wait up for her in the Common Room. They had a silent agreement: avoid each other at all costs. It pained him for it to be so. After having a taste of what it was to know her, all he wanted was more. But, he knew it was better this way.

He continued his now weekly "personal" visits. Luckily, he had yet to come back harmed, though he knew it was only a matter of time before he was beaten again. This was why it was better he stayed away from her. He would only endanger her. Because his "personal" matters weren't personal at all. They were missions. Missions of such security she would be killed if she knew. He regretted every time he had to leave the castle to go to that dreaded manor and take part in obscene tasks. But, it was necessary. He had to get back on father's good side. What he was involved in held no place for her. It was best he stay away.

At least, that's what he told himself. He knew it was true, he did. But he couldn't help the ache he had for her. He knew she could break him. Thankfully, he also knew she wouldn't. She was safe so long as she stayed away from him because in all honesty, he knew he wouldn't have the strength to stay away from her.

It was the first day of December, a Saturday, and the winter weather had just set in. Snow drifted through the castle windows in the corridors. Icicles hung precariously from the outside doorways. The grounds were blanketed in a sheet of white. For the first time in his life, he could look at it and honestly see it for it's beauty.

It was late in the day when it happened. He was sitting in his own room, a courtesy he paid her. He had let her be close to the library for a reason. He wasn't going to have her avoid it because he was too proud to leave her be. So, he had retreated to the solitude he had become accustomed to. It was true, now the only person willing to talk to him was Blaise. He realized, in those weeks, that Blaise actually could be a good friend. He was kind, and loyal. He was one of the few Slytherins who had never held much stock in the whole blood purity nonsense. If only Draco felt like opening up to him and letting him in. Instead, he had been withdrawn and sullen as usual.

Suddenly, a rapid knocking on his door brought him out of his reverie. Confused, he swiftly went to open it. On the other side was none other than the girl who haunted his thoughts and his dreams. Her hand was still raised from knocking. She dropped it awkwardly and looked down.

"Granger," he greeted, his tone to soft for his liking.

"Can I come in?" she muttered, still not meeting his eyes. He stepped aside and allowed her to enter. She walked in quickly and went to his window, keeping her back to him. Abruptly she turned.

"What is this about?" he asked the same time she blurted, "I'm sorry."

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded. What on earth did she have to be sorry about?

"I said I'm sorry. That day, in my room, I shouldn't have been so rude to you," she said. He looked at her with surprise. She felt guilty?

"Granger, you have nothing to be sorry for. You were right-"

"No, I wasn't," she stated firmly. She sighed deeply before continuing. "Look, I know what you've done. But I've also come to realize that you obviously regret it. Since the moment we arrived here, I've held a grudge against you. However, you've proven to be nothing but kind and understanding, even when I'm completely rude to you. You, of all people, were there for me when my own friends couldn't be. And because of my own stupid pride, I was still short with you. You've done nothing but show that you've changed. I'm sorry to have been cruel, and I hope I am not too late to gain your friendship."

Did he hear her right? Had this not been exactly what he had been praying for every night? She truly was an angel sent to him from heaven. He could only stare at her. This couldn't be real. She was playing a cruel joke on him, which he would deserve. Or maybe he was dreaming, only this time it was pleasant. As he looked upon her, he saw her start to shift around nervously.

"Um, Malfoy? I kind of just swallowed all my pride there. Could you at least answer?" she mumbled shyly.

"I would love nothing more than to be your friend," he finally answered, his face lighting up in a grin. Slowly, he watched as her lips tugged upward into a gentle, somewhat shy smile. It wasn't the one he had been pining for, but it was a smile all the same. And it was for him.

"Great," she responded brightly. She stood there for another moment, then looked around awkwardly.

"I uh, I guess I'll go now," she giggled nervously. "I-I'll see you later?"

"You will," he answered. And she would.