A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks so much for the enormous amount of reviews on the last chapter (even though it was short)! I want to thank everyone also for the birthday wishes and for those who were concerned about the wreck. You all are wonderful!

And a HUGE thanks to nady for her Draco/Hermione fan art as a birthday present… I loved it!

My week at camp (DOG (Disciples of God) Week for leadership staff) was wonderful. I'm home for a few days before I go back for the rest of the summer. Updates will be much fewer and I'm sad to say far between. I'll be gone for eight weeks. I'll come home for a weekend every now and then and I will try and get chapters out to you all then.

Some of you will be disappointed because there is no Draco/Hermione interaction in this chapter per say… but there will be next chapter… I promise! This had to come first before the two could meet again!

Only Draco

Chapter 8

SPG

When Hermione arrived home, she took what might have been the quickest shower in the history of the wizarding world.

She was, of course, short on time to get ready for her… dinner… with Harry. She couldn't bring herself the call the meeting a date.

The main reason for her rush was neither Harry nor her appearance. From the moment she had hastily shoved Draco's journal back into the endless back, her hands had been burning with the desire to hold it again.

She had always been a highly curious person, but the situation with Draco heightened that habit even more. Not only did she have a former enemy turned eccentric in her care, but there might possibly be a spell involved—a spell of which she had never heard the slightest whisper.

She sprinted from the shower at a speed that sent her slipping and sliding across the floor. Her hair, hung damp and curly on her bare shoulders as she reached the black velvet bag and reached in deep, searching for the journal.

She retrieved the leather-bound journal and perched herself carefully on the edge of her bed. She opened the book to the very first page and began to read the small elegant scrawl of Draco Malfoy.

August 7, 1994

It happened today. The last few months my Father's meetings have been growing more frequent and lengthy. I knew that they were up to something, but I had hoped more than I've ever hoped for anything else that it had nothing to do with me. Don't get me wrong. Purity of blood is highly important, and people like Granger will always be worth their weight in dirt, but the last thing I want now is to be a death eater like my Father. The Dark Lord for all his so called genius is going about this in completely the wrong way. A true Slytherin would never declare open war against Potter and his band of merry mudbloods. A good Slytherin smart Slytherin does things under the radar. Besides if all the mudbloods were gone, Purity of blood would no longer hold the same value because we would all be the same. I for one rather enjoy having people beneath me. I'm getting off topic.

Like I said, the thing I'd been dreading—it happened today. My Father called me into his study and I was worried and more than slightly terrified when I caught sight of the pale long fingers that were resting on the arm of the chair turned away from me. I'm not ashamed to say that I fear the Dark Lord, any sane person would. But I, I have far greater reason to fear him. I, with only my sixteen years of magical training, disagree and have no wish to follow the Dark Lord—that is why I have so much fear. I don't claim to have much of a heart, but the little I have is plainly and completely in defiance of the Dark Lord.

When my Father told me of the mission I was to complete, I swear I felt my heart stop beating. I noticed my Father's voice was strained and he was glaring particularly fiercely in my direction. I gathered all the cunning and shrewdness I possessed and prepared to try and worm out of the situation. I explained that Potter constantly watches me, and it would be highly dangerous if Potter became anymore suspicious than he already was. I reasoned that I would be much more valuable as a spy if my position held no chance of being compromised. But I'm afraid the Dark Lord sensed the true meaning for my hesitancy. When he spoke, his voice was hard, as though the mere sound could cut through my flesh. His words were fierce and so cold that I felt the blood freeze in my veins. He… punished… me for my disobedience and made clear the stipulations of which my duty held.

If my task was not completed, he would kill my family. I'll admit that my first thoughts were of saving my own life for my Father didn't mean much to me. But then a vision of my Mother, bloody and mangled, invaded my mind and I was shaken. My mother was often cold and distant, but only because she had to be. Lucius ruled with an iron hand, and there were to be no emotions shown under his roof. I remember when I was seven and my mother first taught me to play the piano. She sang me a song she had written specifically for the two of us. She sang of how, one day we'd have a life away from darkness and a life away from pain. She sang of sunshine and raindrops and flying through the trees with the breeze at our backs. My true moments with my mother were few. So few, that I could count them with my fingers, but I felt more loved in just one of those moments than I've felt in all the other moments of my life combined.

It was then that I agreed to the task. I knew that I had to find a way to complete it, because my mother and I had not yet reached that day—the day when we would fly away from our darkness and our pain. I had to make sure that the both of us reached that day.

Hermione read the last words and realized that a steady stream of tears had flowed from her eyes across the swell of her cheeks. She certainly didn't like Draco Malfoy; she was offended by his beliefs and disgusted by his comments. But she was also heartbroken over the situation that he had been forced into at the mere age of 16. Sixteen—it seemed so long ago now. The past five years of his life had been completely changed by that one day, that one decision.

Her curiosity coupled with her lack of sufficient time induced her to turn to the very last page rather than reading onto the next page.

She opened the back of the book and flipped through several blank pages at the end until she came to the final entry.

The writing was much less elegant than before and the entry was short. It was obvious that he'd written it in a hurry before leaving the journal behind forever.

He killed her. I tried to save her. We were going to run, escape. But he killed her and Lucius let him. He just let him. I'm scheduled to die in the morning. But… Snape… Severus is going to help me escape. I leave at Midnight, and then I'm on my own… forever.

Hermione felt a pang in her stomach as she read the words. Voldemort had killed his mother and Draco, only seventeen years old, had managed to escape with the help of Severus and ran. She quickly did the math and realized that Draco had survived on the run for roughly three years before he was put into St. Mungo's.

Again, she was perplexed by this turn. It was obvious to her from his few moments of sanity that he certainly didn't want to be crazy. So that ruled out the idea that he might place himself in St. Mungo's. She was fairly confident that it wasn't the doing of the light. If Harry ever got his hands on Draco, she was sure he would have met a much worse fate than St. Mungo's. That left only the dark.

Had he been captured? Why not just kill him? And why all of a sudden was the spell (if that's what it was) wearing off now? It was obvious that Lucius had not died as punishment for Draco's failure, he had, after all, been captured earlier in the week.

Then it clicked… Lucius.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry Potter was nervous. Hell, he was more nervous now than he'd been fighting Voldemort. Blood, Gore, Violence—those were things he could handle. But love? What guy in this world really knew anything about it?

The Savior of the wizarding world was currently pacing back and forth in front of the entrance to apartment 26B clad in an expensive looking tuxedo. The hero of the Great War was reduced to a puddle of nerves as he stood at the door of the woman he'd loved for as long as he could remember.

What if she didn't love him back? What if she thought of them as 'just friends'? What if she was in love with someone else? What if it ruined their friendship?

Questions were bombarding his mind and it took everything he had not to scream out in frustration. As he prepared himself, he closely resembled a man preparing to receive an Avada straight to the chest.

He grimaced and knocked on the door 3 quick times. He heard a rustling behind the door and something that sounded distinctly like "Shit!"

"'Mione? You alright in there?" he called and gently opened the door to peek his head in.

"Ahhh!" Hermione screamed before hiding behind the couch.

Harry Potter blushed from the scar on his forehead down to his toes. He'd just walked in on Hermione Granger, Know-it-all bookworm, his best friend, and the girl he loved… only in a towel.

He let out a horrified, "I'm sorry!" before slamming the door back in place.

"Uh… it—it's okay Harry! I, uh, just got a little distracted and lost track of time, I'll be out in no time. Uh, just let me get into my room and then you can wait in here." She called.

Harry heard more rustling and the padding of feet across the floor. When he heard the click of a door he carefully opened the door, his left hand plastered across his eyes. When he heard no scream, he removed his hand, and saw that Hermione was already in her room.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Hermione despised using magic to fix her hair, but under the circumstances she had no other option. With a wave of her hand, her hair was dried and set in ringlets with one side pulled above her ear and held with a golden clip.

She quickly pulled on her undergarments, followed by a shimmering golden knee-length dress that brought out the natural glow in her hair. As she slipped into her golden heels, she applied her makeup with the wave of her wand.

She tucked the journal carefully back into the black velvet bag. A strange sensation told her to keep the bag with her so she tucked it gently into her golden clutch.

She was mortified about the situation that lay ahead of her. She was more confused than she'd ever been in her life. And Hermione Granger prided herself on always understanding everything.

She opened the door silently and watched in amusement as Harry held his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth furiously, muttering things to himself under his breath.

She smiled and cleared her throat gently. His head shot up, his eyes wide in surprise, embarrassment, and a small twinge of fear. His eyes softened as he took her in completely. Hermione blushed under his scrutiny and lowered her head.

Her heartbeat quickened as she watched his feet near her. She didn't dare let her eyes travel up to the rest of the person attached to those feet. She had a strong feeling that she'd be doing a great deal of blushing tonight.

His feet came to a stop directly in front of hers, "You're beautiful 'Mione."

Her throat felt oddly dry and she looked up. She'd been told that she looked beautiful on a few occasions, but that was different than being called beautiful.

He held out his hand for her to take and she noticed 4 small scars completely in a line across his palm. The sight was oddly familiar and she had a suspicion that Draco's hand's held the same scars.

She placed her hand underneath his and brought his palm closer to his face. She could see the look of panic on his face at her bizarre action and quickly asked, "What are these scars from Harry?"

He cleared his through lightly and turned his hand so that their palms met.

"They're cuts from my own fingernails," he replied, "from fighting the cruciatus."

A strange sensation washed over her, but she didn't have time to name it because Harry gently pulled on her hand and tucked it behind his elbow.

"Shall we?" he asked.

She sighed playfully, "If we have to…"

Their gentle laughter began the night as they left her apartment. Harry had arranged for them to travel in a horse drawn carriage. Hermione was delighted and impressed. The night was like something she might have seen in a muggle movie.

There was only slight problem. When she watched those movies, and pictured nights liked this, there was always a distinct feeling that came along with it. It was a mixture of excitement and anxiety and adoration and hope and lust and maybe even love.

When Harry gently draped an arm across her shoulder and wrapped a curl of her hair around his finger, she didn't experience that giddy sensation that she'd always associated with romance.

It wasn't that she wasn't enjoying the time. She loved it all! Everything was beautiful. The conversation was smooth and easy, and she was already having a fabulous time. But if felt no different than everyday, it was just a normal day where she happened to be dressed up and doing something special. Did that make any sense?

She resisted the urge to growl in frustration. Shouldn't a moment like this be so amazing that her mind would be unable to focus on anything else? Instead her mind was occupied with thoughts about what this should feel like and what it didn't feel like.

They reached the restaurant and still she had reached no resolution to her worries. She and Harry continued chatting about his work and about the latest raids. They gossiped about Ron and Luna and Neville's potions professorship at Hogwarts.

As they entered the restaurant, she blushed a deep crimson. It seemed every guest was staring or whispering. A few were brave enough to even snap a few pictures. She glanced at Harry and He pulled her into a secluded room, where they couldn't be seen.

She was overwhelmed as she entered the room. The dark room was lit by candle light and a small band sat off to the side playing a slow and enchanting tune.

As Harry pulled out her seat for her she said, "Harry, this is amazing. You really didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"Like you said Hermione," he said, "the war is over. It's time for me to do all the things I never had the chance to do before."

"Well," she laughed, "I'm honored that an elegant dinner with me was at the top of your list." she smiled.

He slowly reached across the table and covered hers with his own, "Hermione… you've always been at the top of my list. You are my list."

Hermione's stomach dropped. This was exactly what she had been afraid of. She wasn't completely blind. She had thought that Harry might have feelings for her, but she had never really been prepared to answer him.

She could probably marry Harry one day and live a perfectly happy life. But was it so wrong to want something more? How could she spend the rest of her life getting to know Harry if she already knew everything about him?

Was it wrong to want that thrill? Didn't she deserve to feel that feeling—the feeling of being upside down and right side up all at the same time?

She supposed it wouldn't hurt to maybe date Harry and see if maybe that feeling would just come with time.

She never got the chance to reply because at that moment a large grey owl swept into their room and landed with a loud hoot on her shoulder.

"I, uh…" she mumbled as she removed the letter from the owl's leg.

Dear Healer Granger,

St. Mungo's is terribly sorry for the inconvenience this may cause you, but we are in dire need of your assistance. We have been unable to contain your patient, Draco, and have been told that he took to you rather nicely. Again, we hate to do this to you, but for the good of St. Mungo's and the health of your patient, we request your immediate presence at the Permanent Ward.

Sincerely,

Thomas A. Grayling

Head of St. Mungo's Permanent Ward

'Oh no… Draco' she thought.

"Harry I hate to do this to you, but I really have to go. That was St. Mungo's and they need me immediately. Thank you for all for all of this and I promise I'll make it up to you somehow."

She placed a light kiss on his cheek and flew from the room.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was left alone with out an answer to his profession of his feelings, without a date, and without a clue of whom Hermione had left him for.

As Hermione flew from the room without Harry in her wake, a new wave of whispering started and a dozen or so cameras were flashed in her direction.

As bizarre as it seemed, neither the gossip, the cameras, nor even Harry was on her mind…

Only Draco.

A/N: Well… that's all. I had intended to make it longer, but my time off disappeared rather quickly. It's 2 am and I'm leaving tomorrow and am no where near packed.

I'll get the next chapter out as soon as I have a weekend off where I can come home!

Thank you all for everything! And wish me luck at camp! If you believe in prayer, your prayers would be greatly appreciated.