A/N Hi, disclaimer that I don't own JK Rowling or Harry Potter by the way. Also, I love writing this. Love it. It's so much fun, so if you have any suggestions, feel free to email me ;)

-Hermione

"Oi, Hermione, watch where you're going!" Ron laughed, steadying her with two firm hands on her shoulders. Hermione had been hurrying to her next class, also the one she dreaded most- potions. No matter how much she read, or how much she studied, she still got frazzled when it came to actually making the potions. To her, it made more sense on paper than in reality. And this year's syllabus had included some of the most complicated potions she had come across- Felix Felicis, Amortentia, Draught of the Living Death, Confusing Concoction, even Pepperup Potion. It was going to be one difficult year, and her mind had been on that rather than where she had been going.

"Sorry, Ron. I'm stressing before I've even walked into the Potions Classroom," Hermione furrowed her brow as she said this, and Ron could tell she was already back to worrying about the upcoming class.

"Hey, at least we'll be in class together," Ron said, taking her bag onto his shoulder as he walked with her towards the classroom. He would always do that when they were dating, something Hermione found charming.

"Gryffindors and Slytherins, unfortunately," Hermione responded absently.

Ron grimaced. "If we could handle them last year, we can handle them this year. At least Snape won't be teaching the class. It's… what's his name?"

Hermione turned to Ron, aghast. "How can you not know our new professor's name? As we are walking to his class? It's Professor Clarke Lewis. He's supposed to be quite good."

Ron opened the door for Hermione with a sheepish grin, and they took their seats next to each other. "I knew, I just forgot." The pair shuffled their way into the cold, intimidating dungeon where potions class would be held.

The professor was turned toward the board, but Hermione was surprised to find he was quite young. He could only be a little older than they were! His brown hair curled to his ears, and when he turned, Hermione could see he had a spattering of freckles and pretty hazel eyes. He was quite attractive, and Hermione rolled her eyes at the girls that were giggling and whispering as they took their seats. At least he was better than Lockhart. That man had had quite an effect on the girls of the class.

Harry sat next to Lavender, who was glaring at Hermione, probably because Lavender herself had wanted to sit with Ron, and Draco sat behind Hermione with Astoria Greengrass. Stupid prat, of course he would sit behind her. She could feel his presence as clearly as she could feel one of her own limbs. She had always been able to do that. It used to be because she didn't want to walk unwittingly into his ruthless teasing, but now… now it was different. She wanted the teasing. Wanted the fights that sparked her anger, reminding the brunette that she still had a full range of emotion, even after the war had taken so much. She was still alive.

"Class, let's settle down. I have made a sample potion of some of the more complicated potions we will be making this year, and I would like you to get a chance to look at all of them, but first I have to deal with names and seating." Even his voice was sexy, but in a boyish, playful way. Not like Malfoy's gravelly voice that gave Hermione shivers. Not that she was comparing.

"I am Professor Clarke Lewis. I didn't go to Hogwarts, unfortunately, but I am well acquainted with the school and the houses. Now, I will occasionally switch up lab partners for some house unity, but the seats you have chosen are yours for the rest of the year."

Some people groaned, like Lavender, but most were happy. Hermione was, at least. Front row, and next to Ron, someone she trusted.

"I'm going to call you up in rows to come look at the potions. I have a little activity for you guys today, as well. Whoever wants to partake in a draw for the Felix Felicis should take a Veritaserum shot and allow the class to ask three questions of them for a little trust-building and house integration."

Hermione perked up along with the rest of her classmates. This was unexpected. She didn't trust the Slytherins, but for a chance at liquid luck? She had to do it. She slid out of her desk and into the line, the first person.

"What do you need luck for, Granger?" a velvety voice asked from behind her. She turned to find Malfoy looking at her intently. "Trying to get a certain redheaded prat back in bed with you? Oh wait, you never actually went to bed with him, did you?"

Hermione glared up at the blond, once again finding herself infuriated with him. "How do you know I didn't" she asked petulantly.

Malfoy laughed, a biting sound. "Darling, you reek of innocence. I doubt you've even been kissed. As for Ron, even he isn't dumb enough to leave you if you were shagging him."

Hermione lifted her head. "You're wrong. I have been kissed, Malfoy. And that's not why Ron left, you git."

Malfoy reached down to brush the pad of his thumb across her mouth. Hermione stood, frozen. No one was paying attention to the pair since each student was chatting about whether or not they should risk three truthful responses for a chance at luck. Hermione and Draco were in their own little world. Hermione swore she could feel each swirl of his thumbprint against her lips, electrifying her nerves.

"You misunderstood me, Granger. When I said never been kissed, I didn't mean you've never engaged in the juvenile act of pressing your lips into someone else's." His voice dripped with disgust, but still sounded hot as hell. "I meant you've never been set on fire, deprived of any thought of oxygen because his lips were all you could think about, all you wanted." Draco smirked and stepped back as he watched the blush he was looking for stain her skin an enticing shade of pink.

"I-"

"Hermione! Are you actually going to do it?" Harry asked, oblivious to Malfoy's presence.

"Harry- I- Yes. I want the chance to try out the potion."

Harry smiled. "I think I'm going to sit this one out, as I've already had my fair share of liquid luck. I'll try to be one of your questions."

"Thanks, Harry." Hermione shook out her curls, clearing her head and refusing to look at a certain silver-eyed boy who was still smirking. She turned towards Professor Lewis. He was leaning against his desk, his glasses slightly askew.

"It's Hermione, right?" Professor Lewis asked, handing her the shot.

"Yes. It's very nice to meet you, Professor Lewis. I look forward to your class," Hermione said shyly. He was extremely attractive, after all, and Hermione was a normal teenage girl in that regard. Draco scoffed behind her, and she fought the urge to turn and punch him. She drank the vial of veritaserum he handed her as quickly as possible.

"I've heard great things about you from the other professors. Congratulations on Head Girl. I understand that's a big deal here at Hogwarts."

The Veritaserum already kicking in, Hermione answered honestly, her excitement obvious. "It is! I'm so happy I was chosen."

Professor Lewis laughed. "It's good to hear such enthusiasm from students."

She nodded brightly. "Did you really make all these potions perfectly yourself? That's quite impressive. I don't think I've ever brewed Amortentia correctly. I've always wondered what it would smell like if I ever got it right."

The professor smiled, offering her a vial of Amortentia. "Would you like to smell it?"

Hermione paused, but her curiosity won out. She gingerly took the vial, and wafted it towards her nose. She breathed in freshly cut grass, apples, and… cologne? Hmm, it smelled familiar to the witch, but she couldn't quite place it. "Thank you, now I will have an accurate comparison for when we brew it during class."

Lewis took the vial back and set it down. "No problem. Head up to the front and we will have your questions asked while I give the shots to the rest of the line."

Hermione went to the front of the classroom and smoothed her robes down, nervous about this.

Professor Lewis handed the next vial to Malfoy as he asked the class to raise their hands for their questions. Harry's shot up like he promised, and Professor Lewis called on him.

"How old are you?" Harry asked, and everyone groaned at his stupid question, but Hermione was grateful. "Seventeen years old."

The class laughed and Professor Lewis called on Astoria Greengrass next. "Do you like sharing a dorm with Draco?" Astoria had one eyebrow raised defiantly, daring Granger to answer.

"I don't mind it, though it's annoying when he breaks our rules. We fight a lot, but usually I enjoy it." Hermione answered truthfully, and was surprised to find she really didn't' mind it. The rest of the class looked equally surprised, but Draco just smirked and raised his hand. Lewis called on him, and Hermione wanted to sink through the floor. He was going to ask her something horrible, she just knew it.

"What did the Amortentia smell like to you?" He looked her right in the eye, dangerous curiosity highlighted in the silver pools staring through her. He was daring her to answer, the git!

Hermione swallowed. "I- I smelt freshly cut grass, um, apples, and- and cologne." She studied Draco as his cool exterior dropped for a few moments. He looked confused, and strangely pleased. His eyes glinted with victory, which confused Hermione. She shuffled back to her seat, and buried her head into her folded arms as Draco took to the front.

He looked annoyed, even uncomfortable. He didn't do the whole sharing thing, but he was about to allow three truths to be pried from him. And damn it all if Hermione wasn't going to use this opportunity to get sme answers. Astoria asked him if he liked potions class, and he said it was his favorite. Another person asked him if he liked being a Slytherin.

"Is it possible to dislike something that's been a part of your life since birth? It's like disliking yourself." Hermione wanted to counter that what he said wasn't really a response, but she wanted to ask her own question more. When Lewis called on her, the honest question she had spilled out. Maybe it was the last of the Veritaserum, or maybe it was the fact that she had to know. Either way, once she had said it, the whole class broke out in whispers.

"Has your hatred for me always been because I'm a mudblood?"

The class went dead silent, looking at Draco expectantly. Lewis sat back in his chair, an eyebrow raised, waiting with everyone else to see what Draco would say.

"No, Hermione. The reason I hated you was more selfish than that."

Hermione stared, stunned. Draco's gaze burned through her, into her, with such scrutiny the rest of the class held their breath, certain one or both students would burst into flame. Hermione looked away first, mind racing with questions. What selfish reasons could he have for hating her? She had never done anything to personally affront him, so what?

"Um, well, thank you for your honesty. Next student?" Professor Lewis asked, his eyes trained on the visibly shaking brunette. Malfoy glared daggers at the professor before taking his seat.

-Malfoy

Malfoy watched as the professor went to Hermione, reaching a hand out before thinking better of it and walking by. Draco knew Hermione was beautiful and smart, but he hated the fact that the professor was obviously noticing as well. Her brain dead friends certainly didn't notice it, and that's how Draco liked it.

To him, Hermione was still the innocent, bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl inside. The sweet little girl that had lent a blond little boy a quill when he didn't have one, and explained Hogwarts, A History to him when they had a pop quiz on it during the first week of school. That was before he had to ruin it all. He felt horrible, but he was eleven, and his mother told him his father would kill him without a second thought if he was friends with her. So Draco had been relentlessly cruel. He pushed her away to save himself, even though she was the closest thing to a friend he had ever had, which was sad since the short friendly relationship lasted all of two weeks before he became a prat to protect his own life.

As Draco got older, he regretted the decision to save himself more and more. He was always mean to her, but he started noticing things. Like how her curls calmed down, and she would absently tug on the bottoms and let them spring back into their tight spirals. Or how absolutely perfect her tiny, cramped handwriting was. She could fit an alarming amount of words on one piece of parchment. Or how she hummed softly to herself when she was concentrating.

His favorite thing about Hermione was how easily he could read her emotions. He didn't know if it was because he had studied her for so long, or if it was because she wore her emotions so plainly, but he could read Hermione Jean Granger like one of the books she loves so much.

And now Lewis was looking at her. And Draco would be damned before he let that prat have Hermione. Clarke Lewis would be perfect for Hermione, and she would fall for him. He was older, obviously intelligent, and more mature than Ron. But Draco couldn't take it if Hermione started screwing their professor. Not when he was living in the same dorm with her, forced to see her everyday. He couldn't watch her be so happy, so in love, when he still felt like an empty shell whenever he wasn't fighting with her. He was too selfish, always had been, always will be.

-Hermione

Walking back to the dorms, Hermione was mentally planning out how she was going to go through her homework assignments. She walked through the courtyard outside, heading up to her room. It was a cool, crisp fall day, but there was sunlight speckling the concrete, highlighting the lone girl humming softly to herself.

Whispering the password to Godric Gryffindor, the person in their dorm's portrait, she swung the door open and walked in to see Draco standing with one hand leaning on the window pane, looking out at the perfect fall view. Without turning, he ran a hand through his hair, directing his question at the air around him, not necessarily Hermione.

"Don't you love days like this? The leaves look so beautiful, all those colors… but they're all just representations of the different stages of decay. Their beauty wouldn't be possible without their inevitable death."

Hermione tilted her head, considering Draco's question as she set her bookbag and robe on the table, crossing her arms over her button up shirt. "That's a morbid way of thinking about it. I always used to think of it like the leaves were making the world as colorful as possible to make up for all the white to come in winter."

Draco turned, and unreadable expression in his eyes. To Hermione, he looked lost. "How can you think like that? You have lost as much as I have, maybe more, yet you still see beauty. How?" Hermione could tell he wasn't asking out of random curiosity. There was a desperate gleam to his eyes, something she had felt herself before. She sighed, curling into the couch with her book.

"The war has changed my outlook, sure, but during the day it's easier to convince myself that I'm happy and whole. It's only at night when I can't seem to keep out reality long enough to fall asleep." Hermione sucked in a breath, wanting to take back her too truthful words. They hung in the air, an admission of guilt, though Hermione wasn't she what she felt guilty of.

"I have the same problem." Draco had turned back to the window, and the words were whispered so softly Hermione could have sworn she had imagined them. But she hadn't. She could tell by the tense way Draco stood as he glared out the window at the swirling leaves. Hermione stared, engrossed at the sight of the usually so composed Malfoy looking so lost.

She couldn't imagine what he was going through, and that made her mad. She had never thought about the other side of the war, had just viewed them as evil and bigoted. After all, his family were the ones who carved the word 'mudblood' into her skin, branding her. But watching Draco run his hand through his normally impeccable hair was making her think that maybe it wasn't so black and white. Maybe the other side was more like the leaves whirling around outside, in different stages of decay, different shades of their death. Different levels of comprehension and willingness and evil.

"Draco-" Hermione started.

"Don't, Granger. I'm not someone to pity, or one of your house elves you can force into the light. I am made of shadows. You can't reach a shadow, no matter how hard you try. I'll always consist of darkness."

Hermione abruptly stood up from the couch, watching as Malfoy stalked into his room. That was the first time they had had a conversation that went deeper than their usual games, and it made Hermione confused. There was more to Draco than she had thought, and what she wanted to do most was barge into his room and force him to look at her, listen to her. She didn't want him to feel hopeless, like he was a shadow of a person. He was more, and Hermione wanted to know more.

Curling back into the couch, she tucked a soft throw around herself, leafing through her book to find her page as she looked outside at the early autumn evening. Light chased away shadows, and if she was half the Princess of Light the papers claimed she was, then she could certainly chase Draco's shadows away so she could see the man underneath.

A/N Sorry it's been a while- this chapter was actually quite difficult to write. It's hard to write deeper, emotional scenes when I want to keep things more light and fun, but I think they're necessary for the romance and individual progression. Keep reviewing! It helps a lot! Love you all ;)