Mirrored

Author's note: So here is a one-off surprise – a chapter from Hermione's point of view! This won't become a trend, I have committed to writing a Draco POV story, but I really wanted to give a short glimpse into her thoughts. As always, JKR is a member of the inquisitorial squad!

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HG HG HG HG HG

It was still very early when Hermione stood in the kitchen of the cottage, warming up the pan to cook some French Toast as the kettle boiled on the stove with a growing whisper. The weather was starting to warm up, and the snow around the countryside had melted. It was still a bit frosty this morning, but she had felt comfortable enough to forego getting rugged up when she woke. She was shuffling around the quaint little kitchen in her transfigured pyjamas; a close fitting t-shirt and loose cotton pants.

Hermione really loved this cottage. As the butter began to sizzle in the pan, she looked around the kitchen and into the living room. Everything had a classic country feel to it, but with all the modern comforts and style of a new home. It was almost as if the place had been designed specifically for her. All the books on the shelves appealed to her, there were even some of her favourite muggle novels scattered around, like Tolkien, C.S Lewis and even some dusty copies of Shakespeare that looked so old she wondered how early the editions were, and where Draco had found them. There were also some little feminine touches around the rooms, and in one corner of the living room overlooking the vegetable garden was a tiny piano. It had been years since she had learned when she was young, and she could only remember one or two simple pieces. On the surface the whole home seemed rustic and disorganised, but she had noticed a certain order to the chaos, and she loved the way the books spilled out from the shelves into small piles here and there. Hermione had found herself briefly considering in her weaker moments, that it was a bit too big a coincidence that Draco Malfoy just happened to have bought and furbished her dream home before he even really knew her. Then she would dismiss that thought as ridiculous.

As the toast browned in the pan, the smell of baking egg and butter filling her senses, Hermione sighed and turned her thoughts to the young man still asleep in the bed they had shared the last few nights. She couldn't stop the slight smile from toying at her lips. Draco had been a complete revelation to her these last weeks since he had rescued her from certain death at Malfoy manor. She couldn't believe that the boy who had been so malicious and cruel in her younger years of school was the same person she had come to know. She thought back to when she had first known him. As a first and second year student Draco had been a spoiled little brat. His first reaction had been to spit insults and whine about everything, but when push came to shove he was a greasy little coward. Harmless really. It wasn't until well after their first year that his behaviour took on a darker side. She knew now that a lot of that could be attributed to the pressure placed on him by his father, but that hadn't made his words sting any less at the time. He had seemed to genuinely look down on her and be disgusted by her muggle heritage. And while she was clever enough not to take it to heart, she couldn't deny the lasting ache of having someone belittle and degrade her in front of any peers who would listen.

Things had changed sometime in their later years. She wasn't sure when he changed, but she had started to notice the difference in their sixth year. How could she not pay attention to him when Harry was constantly obsessing over the blonde Slytherin? She had begun to recognize his presence more and more in the library near where she studied. He had obviously been working really hard too, with his head buried in new books every day. Which was strange, because his grades overall had been slipping. It wasn't until after everything went down that she had realised that he was researching ways to fix that damn vanishing cabinet. But while Harry had been focused on his 'Malfoy is an evil death eater' theory, Hermione had noticed other signs. He always seemed tired, with dark purplish rings under his eyes. And where he used to wear his hair slicked back elegantly, he seemed to spend less time on personal grooming as it became slightly more ruffled, which ironically only made him look more ruggedly handsome. Of course the girls at school had chased after him like crazy that year, but Hermione couldn't help noticing that he didn't seem to pay them as much attention as he had in previous years. And he didn't spend any time with Crabbe or Goyle, in fact she almost thought one reason he came to the library was to get away from them.

Hermione had on more than one occasion felt like Draco had been watching her that year. She often got those little prickles on the back of her neck that told her someone was staring at her. And once or twice when she had raised her eyes she had caught his gaze. He had looked away quickly of course, but it had managed to creep her out nonetheless. She had just assumed at the time that he had been repulsed by having to share the library with a mudblood, and had been glaring at her trying to plot a way to put her in her place. Now of course, she wasn't so sure.

Only a few short months later he had risked his life to save hers.

Every assumption and belief she had held about Malfoy had been fractured that day at the manor. Of course all the usual suspicions had been running through her mind since then. Maybe he was just tricking her into thinking he had saved her so she'd lead him to Harry. Or maybe he was just trying to find a back up plan so that he'd be spared prison if Voldemort lost. But then she had started to actually get to know him. And he had completely pulled the rug out from under her.

It turned out that the real Draco Malfoy was actually kind, gentlemanly, fiercely protective, had a wicked sense of humour and was an intensely passionate human being. Every time he shared a little bit of himself with her, she was amazed at how he had grown into such a good man despite all the horrible influences in his childhood that should have turned him into a villain. He had somehow overcome all the factors that would turn a lesser person into pure evil, and had earned her respect and affection.

Hermione blushed a little bit as she flipped the bread in the pan to brown the other side. She had been overwhelmed by how quickly she had become attracted to Draco. She had let it confuse her for a while, worried that she was just the proverbial damsel in distress and was attracted merely to her white knight, as she had suddenly started to notice how damn sexy he was. She had always scoffed at other girls at Hogwarts for panting after Malfoy, but while he was helping her to heal with such gentleness she had finally seen what they saw; a devastatingly charming young man with an icy, ethereal beauty that was hard not to be drawn to.

But that initial illusion was quickly shattered, and her silly little crush withered and died. When he had returned to the cottage a broken mess from that Death Eater raid, her vision of him as a suspicious but still heroic boy vanished, to be replaced by a much more complex image of Draco Malfoy. She had been wrong to doubt his intentions, and wrong to see him as nothing more than a vain pureblood boy with cool good looks. That was when it had really started for her. Her silly little flutters of interest were gone only to be replaced by a deeper, more overpowering curiosity. She didn't just think about kissing him and then going running back to Ron to start her life anymore. Now when she thought about him, she felt the very foundations of her beliefs splinter into a million pieces. He was a Death Eater, He had done truly terrible things. But she didn't care. She knew him. She knew the man the he was becoming, and she was in awe of his lively spirit and tender heart, especially considering the backdrop of his childhood. Her early feelings seemed silly now, compared to what had taken root in her heart in the weeks since.

And when they kissed…

Hermione bit into her bottom lip so hard she tasted a tiny droplet of blood drawn onto her tongue. She wanted to groan out loud just thinking about it. Those mind numbing kisses made her toes curl up with desire. She had been in real danger of just throwing herself at him and forgetting all about Ron and about their mission, and just letting herself get carried away for once. But that wasn't who she was. She owed it to herself and to Ron to at least go into this using the most rational part of her mind, and not be swayed by the constant throbbing of desire she felt when he touched her or gave her that cheeky smile. The truth was she really liked Draco. And if the circumstances were different she could imagine them being so compatible with one another that the possibilities drove her mental.

There was just one big hurdle that was really bothering her still.

And surprisingly it wasn't the war, or their past, or his family, or even hurting Ron's feelings.

It was that she hadn't quite worked out where he stood.

Draco had saved her life. He had nursed her back to health, given her a home – one that was bizarrely perfect for her – and he had even started to reveal his own desire for her. That last part wasn't the problem either. He had managed to convince her that he really did want her. It was so patently clear in all his actions and his body's responses to her.

But there was something missing. He had sacrificed too much, given her too much, to make sense to her logical mind. Why would he do all this? She had accused him once of helping her only so that he could alleviate his own guilt, but he had vehemently denied that.

Until she had actually started to recover here at the cottage he had barely spoken a full sentence to her - without a jeering crowd watching them - for seven years. So there was no way he had liked her before she arrived at the manor…was there? It was impossible. He had hated her for years. And if she accepted that he had already changed from the petty boy of his youth, then she supposed at the very most he had felt a passive sort of sympathy for her when he rescued her.

No matter how hard Hermione tried to figure out the puzzle that was Draco's feelings, she couldn't make it out. She supposed she could just ask him, but sometimes when she raised these kinds of issues he looked so much like a defensive little animal that she felt horrible for bringing it up.

With a little moan of frustration at the never-ending cycle of thoughts she kept turning over and over in her head, Hermione flipped the French toast out of the pan and onto two pretty blue plates. Honestly, what self-respecting bachelor had this kind of dainty, probably priceless, china in their kitchen? Especially as it was a set designed just perfectly in her favourite colours.

Hermione quickly set up two cups with tea bags to brew as well with the now boiling water. She loved that she knew exactly how Draco liked his tea, and that he knew some of her favourites too. She thought vaguely whether Ron would know anything about her tastes. If they sat at a restaurant together, would he be able to pick one single thing that she liked off the menu? Hermione knew it wasn't fair to compare the two boys; they were so completely different to each other it really wasn't a rational contest. Ron was a very loving and warm person who had strong morals at heart which allowed him to face up to his mistakes, but he could also be quite fickle and was extremely self-absorbed. And while Draco's morals were a bit unclear at times, as he had been given no compass to follow as a child, he was focused and intelligent, and could be intensely passionate. It was no contest really anyway. She knew deep down that she and Draco were just so much more compatible than she had ever been with Ron. Ron would always resent her a little bit for her intelligence and successes. He didn't mean anything spiteful by it, he was just a very jealous person by nature. Draco just complemented her. And on a more basic level, she had never felt anything close to this level of chemistry or desire for Ron.

Hermione put the French toast and teacups onto a tray and crept through the living room and back into the bedroom.

Draco was still half-asleep; he was mumbling and shifting under the covers as he woke up but he wasn't fully lucid yet. He really did look adorable. After she had left he must have missed the warmth of her body because he had dragged her pillow down and curled his body around it. And his soft blonde hair was sticking out in all different directions, giving him an impish quality that made him look even sexier. Hermione blushed and averted her gaze as she placed the tray to balance on the small bedside stand.

"Hrm..ne?" he groaned as his head rose a little bit off his pillow to look at her through swollen, heavy lids.

"Morning," she murmured quietly, slipping onto the bed next to him and leaning back against the headboard.

"What smells so good?" he rumbled as he pushed himself to sit up next to her. He wasn't wearing a shirt, damn him, and Hermione had to bite her lip and focus on removing the tea bags as her cheeks heated up in response.

"I made some French toast," she said with probably too much cheerfulness for so early in the morning. She hastily pulled the plate over to sit between them, before handing him his cup of tea.

"Wow…this is fantastic," he said with awe, looking at her a bit more alert now as he gave her a lazy smile. He looked genuinely impressed.

"Oh come on," she snorted, blowing gently on her own steaming cup of tea, "you must have had servants bringing you breakfast in bed all the time when you were younger."

Draco smirked, that sinfully mischievous look he sometimes got when he was teasing her, and Hermione felt her heart race a bit.

"Actually my mother had a rule that the elves were only allowed to serve breakfast in the dining room. But the table was almost ten metres long, so often I wouldn't have to speak to her or father anyway."

She stared at him doubtfully for a while, trying to work out whether he was serious or not. But when he didn't even bat an eyelid or give her a cheeky grin, she figured her was telling the truth. Which was crazy.

"Poor Draco," she said with a playful smile of her own, "you really had no hope of growing into a normal boy, did you?"

"None at all," he replied as he began to munch on a piece of the toast. As they ate their food together, sipping gently at the scalding tea, Hermione observed the blonde next to her.

She was very conscious of the fact that they had now been sleeping together for almost a week. While they hadn't done anything more than kiss, he had seemed overly happy to lie next to her at night, seeking comfort in each other's presence. She personally found it very difficult. She was constantly conflicted by her desire to stay by his side and explore this new connection with him, and her growing need to return to her friends. And right now she was being incredibly selfish by staying.

There was no doubt about it; Harry needed her. He and Ron by themselves was a recipe for disaster; they were both too impulsive, and didn't think before they jumped into things. Hermione was different. She had tied herself to Harry completely by wiping her parents memories; unlike Ron she had no one else to come home to. So she had vowed to herself early on as the war approached that she would be willing to die for Harry. He was like a brother to her. When they had set off on their hunt for Horcruxes she knew that she might not make it. There was a good chance she would die fighting to protect Harry, which was another reason why she had modified her parents' memory. If she perished in this war, at least they wouldn't be hurt the loss of their only daughter to a world they didn't even understand.

As she wiped off the last few crumbs from breakfast, she saw Draco looking back at her with the same thoughtful, intense expression she sometimes caught him giving her. She had seen it in the library back at Hogwarts and when they were on their date in the village, and sometimes even when they were just eating dinner together or reading on the couch. It was a strange mixture of delight and agony. She couldn't quite put her finger on what he was thinking in those moments.

"Hermione-" he began hesitantly, "I have something I want to give you…but I'm not sure whether you'll feel comfortable with it."

Hermione's curiosity was piqued. She moved all the plates and cups out of the way, brushing a few crumbs away from the bedspread and wriggled closer to give him an encouraging nod.

"Okay,"

Draco quickly padded over to a cupboard and retrieved the bag of his mother's more precious possessions. Hermione swallowed a bit nervously, understanding how uncertain he must be to be handling her things again so soon. He reached into the bag and pulled out a long, thin wand. The wood was quite dark and it was carved into a beautiful, regal handle at the end that reminded her of a leafy design.

"It's…it was my mother's," he paused for a moment as he got control of his trembling hand. Hermione frowned watching him, wondering what he was getting at here. "There's no point me holding onto it, and you need a wand. So I think you should take it."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. Her eyes flickered down to the beautiful wand and she couldn't believe what he was offering her. His mother's wand. She couldn't imagine how hard it must be for him to give it away to her.

"Draco," she began in a shaky voice, "I can't-"

"I want you to have it," he insisted in a quiet voice.

He raised his hand further for her to take it. Hermione reached out, her own hand trembling, and took hold of the hilt of the wand. While there wasn't the same rush of warmth she had felt the first time she held her own wand at Ollivander's, it did feel…accepting. It tingled a bit in her palm, but it wasn't aggressive or unpleasant. She knew this wand would work for her, even if not as comfortably as her old one.

"Draco, are you sure?" she asked, her eyes searching his, but he just smiled sadly and nodded, and there was no doubt or hesitation in his gaze. Hermione swallowed and looked back down at the wand. It felt amazing to be holding one again. She realised then that she had gone without a wand for too long. She felt powerful once more, like she was in control. Not having a wand these last few weeks had felt a bit like not having a limb.

And it opened up a whole realm of possibilities too. With a wand, she could start making moves to find Harry and Ron. She had some ideas for how to track them, but without a wand there'd been no chance.

Hermione felt a wave of guilt flood her, causing a cramping sensation to take hold in her gut. Finding Harry and Ron would mean leaving Draco. She glanced up at him from underneath her hair as she twirled the wand in her fingers. He was looking pleased, though she noticed his gaze had dropped somewhat to her tight pyjama t-shirt. Blushing she considered how upset he would be if she did leave. He had already panicked when she had brought it up once. She had accused him of holding onto her like an anchor for his atonement; his escape from being a Death Eater. Now she wasn't so sure. He seemed to genuinely care about her. But it wasn't enough of a reason to stay. She had a mission to complete and a duty to serve. She couldn't abandon Harry now. This wand held so many implications that it scared her and excited her all at once. And Draco probably had no idea. Judging by the relaxed, even happy expression on his face he had no inkling of the direction of her thoughts. Would he feel like she had betrayed him if she used his mother's wand to leave him?

"What's it made from?" she asked instead in a slightly croaky voice, trying to sound more cheerful than she was feeling.

"Oak, 8 ¾ inches, with a unicorn hair."

She nodded with interest and lifted it in the air. With a little smile to herself she silently cast Wingardium Leviosa on the pillow next to her and watched happily as it floated up into the air. Draco chuckled and batted the pillow away from him.

"Show off," he said in a teasing voice.

Hermione giggled too, before dropping the spell and looking at him seriously.

"Draco…thank you so much," she said with a soft, meaningful smile. He leaned forward slightly, running his hand into her curly hair and tugging her forwards for a slow, almost chaste kiss. She shivered as she felt his cool lips press against hers. Merlin, he was a magnificent kisser. She wasn't sure if he'd had a lot of practice or if he was just a very passionate person, but when he kissed her she could feel it right down to her toes. As if he put his heart and soul into every single little peck and caress. As if his world was consumed by this one simple act.

After a moment he drew back and smiled at her again, and she returned it tentatively, still feeling that gnawing guilt eating away at her. Time was running out, and she felt like she wasn't done exploring these new feelings with him yet. But this was a war. It was bigger than just her. So as much as she would love to stay here in this cottage forever just getting to know this new Draco Malfoy who made her heart pound when he entered the room, it wasn't to be. And he had no idea that by giving her this wand, he had basically just given their time together an expiration date. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned in to rest her forehead against his, breathing in his heady scent.

She'd had a lot of horrible things happen to her in her short life as a witch.

But leaving Draco was going to be the hardest yet.

….

So this is all we'll hear from Hermione; back to Draco next chapter! Try not to worry too much about her leaving… there's a lot of complex things going on, and Draco never goes down without a fight.

Please review – I'd love to hear what you thought of things from Hermione's perspective!