A/N: I know I haven't updated in almost a year, but life got in the way. I also lost my muse for this extremely quickly due to the extreme liberty I took in regards to the characters of both Draco and Hermione. I don't like what I did to Hermione in the last chapter, but since I started the story this way, I figured I may as well run with it. Instead of making this character IC Hermione, since it is extremely difficult to do due to the circumstances I stupidly put her in, I mixed the Hermione we know and love wiht a character I previously created. I know this isn't what you'd expect from a Hermione/Draco fic, and it's not even very good, but I felt the urge to write to relieve a bunch of stress from school and college apps and stuff, so here's the chapter. It's kinda short, and it leaves off in the middle of nowhere, but I am definetly planning on updating soon, because I desperately need to start writing again. It actually feels really good to start writing again. So please ignore the fact that the characters aren't exactly as in character as they should be; pay more attention to the plot, the writing, the mistakes, and how in character Draco and Hermione are given the circumstances (yes, Draco is a softie, deal with it). I would really like reviews... I don't care if they're good or bad, I just want them. So please take the time to read and review. I will love you forever. 3


Her back was flush against the headboard on her bed, her legs pulled protectively up to her chest. Her mind was reeling, spinning out of control, swirling, diving, tumbling into a brief oblivion. She couldn't think, or rather, she couldn't think coherently. Nothing made sense. Then again, nothing ever made sense. Her entire life was filled with the proverbial questions of why and what if. And her life was built around the void these unanswered questions left. She felt empty as she sat there, reflecting upon the words that continued to ring constantly in the recesses of her mind. Well, then try talking to someone who can handle it. Try talking to someone who will empathize instead of sympathize. How could anyone know how it felt to have to live in the desecrated, defamed, brutalized body that she lived in every day? How could anyone know how it felt to live with the undying sense of insufficiency, of inadequacy? How could anyone live with themselves day after day, month after month, year after year, if they have been through what she has been through? How could anyone live with the bruises, the harsh words, the pain, the torment? How could anyone empathize? And yet, even that wasn't the basis of the unsettling feeling which began to form, swirling and growing un-mercilessly in the pit of her stomach. It was that, despite the horrid, vile, sadistic creature that is Draco Malfoy, she would not wish that fate upon anyone, not even him. And yet, his words insinuated that he had an idea of what the constant torment, the constant pain, the constant memories could do to a person. He had an idea what they did to her. And that scared her.

It didn't scare her for the reasons one would expect. She wasn't frightened that Malfoy would exploit her weakness, pick at it until it was bruised and bloody, until she was reduced to a heaping pile of tears and regrets. She wasn't frightened that he would showcase her pain to the entire school. She was frightened for him, not for what he would do to her. She was scared that he had to endure pain similar to hers; she was scared that he had to endure pain that was worse. And she couldn't live with those thoughts. She couldn't sit there idly, close to tears, with the knowledge that someone knew, firsthand, the pain which she constantly experiences. She wanted to get up, she wanted the courage to stand up and talk to him. She wanted to know that if she were to approach him, he wouldn't throw insults at her that threw her back in time, back to the summer, back to Christmas break, back to the seclusion, the fear, the loneliness, the undeniable pain she felt when his hand would roam her body, when he would slap her, when he would hold her down so painfully that it left bruises for the next two weeks. She didn't want to hear it: any of it. She didn't want to have to deal with the pain his insults caused her; she didn't want to have to deal with once again looking at him, and, instead of seeing his piercing grey eyes and white blonde hair, seeing the salt and pepper hair and dark, menacing eyes characteristic of her father. She couldn't deal with it anymore. She just couldn't. And yet, if he threw insults at her, per usual, it would, obviously, be no different than normal. So, by speaking to him, she had nothing to lose. Right?

Hesitancy enveloped her as her legs stretched out to their full length on her bed, as they threw themselves over the side, crumpling her previously meticulous bed sheets in the process. Her breathing became shallow as her never-ceasing mind seemed bombarded with worst case scenarios. What was she thinking? He couldn't be sympathetic. Scratch that. He couldn't even be apathetic. Only antagonistic. Only sadistic. Only an uncaring, unfeeling, selfish, pain inflicting bastard. Yet, she would prefer him to her father any day. That was probably the only realistic thought which propelled her legs forward, which motivated her to move towards the door, which, with every step, seemed to be moving further and further away. And then her fingers latched on to the doorknob, yet she didn't turn it. She just stood there, as if it was a life or death situation. And, in a sense, it was. He offered to help her, he offered to be there for her, whether he meant to or not. She needed that. She needed someone besides the blank pages of her journal to confide in. She needed someone who would talk back, who would rub her back as she cried and screamed, as she relived the horrors of her past and attempted to put it behind her so that she could face the future. She just needed someone, someone who could understand. And although she knew Harry would understand, she didn't want to inflict that burden on him. He was dealing with so much; she didn't want to put the burden of her problems on his shoulders as well. She couldn't do that to him. So all she had was herself and her journal. And now, possibly, the most unlikely of suitors: Draco Malfoy.

Her tentative hand twisted the doorknob and allowed it to swing opened, unaware of the chance it just allowed Hermione to have, unaware that it just opened the door to something one could only describe as wonderful, wonderful and scary. It was then she realized what scared her the most about the upcoming encounter. It wasn't the fear of rejection; it wasn't the fear of insults and harsh words. Rather, it was the fact that she didn't know the outcome. She didn't have the safety and security that she had when writing in her journal. She couldn't predict how he was going to act, because his actions have been so unpredictable lately. And not knowing scared her. She prided herself on knowing so much, on being able to read people, on keeping everything safe and normal. Yet, this was so completely out of her comfort zone. All she wanted to do was run back into her room and shut her door before Malfoy saw her.

Too late.

His cold, callous, slate grey eyes met her honey brown ones, shrouded in fear and sudden regret. She was frozen in place, unable to move, barely able to breathe, and even less able to think. And she waited. Although it was her idea to come out and speak to him, she was waiting for him to speak first. She was waiting for the acceptance she rarely received. She was waiting for a sincere smile, a kind word, an offering of help. She was waiting for something so un-Malofy-like, that she highly doubted it would ever happen. Suddenly, the doubt which was eating at the back of her mind became much more of a reality than the hope which deluded the negative thoughts which seemed to preach the truth. As suddenly as the negative thoughts began to bombard her mind and could her vision, she saw a smile settle on the lips of the one student she could easily say she hated. The smile was not one of malice or mockery, nor was it one of superiority or bloodthirsty intent. It was a sincere smile, an empathetic smile; it was the smile of someone who cared, not the smile of someone who wanted to inflict harm upon others. Relief flooded her like waves flood the shore at high tide. Her honey brown eyes seemed to glow with relief as her breathing returned to normal.

"I was wondering - " she began, her voice soft, hesitant, showing her unwanted fear of being hurt, of being rejected because of her past, because of her present, because of her obvious future. But she was cut off by the smooth, once irritating, now welcomed voice of Draco Malfoy, who, in the process of speaking, was slowly approaching her as if she was an animal about to pounce. But she was far from that. Far from it.

"I think I should explain…. Well…. I guess I couldexplain… well, maybe it would be right to explain what I meant. Yeah, I guess it would…" he began, his voice just as unsteady, just as unsure as hers was, not because he was scared to explain, but because he too was scared of being rejected for his attempts at showing his true self. He too wanted someone to confide in; yes, now was not the time, but if she trusted him with her secrets, he knew that he could trust her with his. So he bit back the comments which he was so used to making, the degrading, tear invoking, character defaming words which would previously slip unnoticed out of his thin, pink lips, and he made an attempt to explain his previous statement. He made an attempt to befriend someone who could actually understand the pain he feels day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. He tried to befriend someone who could understand the person he is, not the person he tries to be.

Well, then try talking to someone who can handle it. Try talking to someone who will empathize instead of sympathize.

"I- I guess I was just trying to say that… that by the way you sounded when you were dreaming… you have had some experiences that… aren't very pleasant. And I guess I was trying to say that maybe… maybe I understand at least part of what you are going through. And maybe I can help. Yeah; I guess that is what I was trying to say…" His voice was unsteady, unsure. The olive branch has been offered. He was attempting to not only make up for the past six years of torment and harsh words, but he was also making an attempt to kindle a friendship that could possibly outlast any scorn they would receive from either house, from their friends, from their peers, and maybe even from their professors. And with a gracious smile, she accepted.

"Well… maybe … maybe you can help… maybe I would like you to help…." she replied, her response growing softer with each word, her cheeks tinged a slight pink as she allowed her chestnut brown locks to block they shyness which was creeping into her soft gaze. Her eyes were averted towards the ground as she waited for a response to her sudden and unlikely acceptance of his offer for help. It was then that she felt a soft hand brush against her burning cheeks, gently prodding her to look up at Draco – not Malfoy, Draco – instead of at the ground. The same hand softly brushed her fountain of curls behind her ear so that the uncharacteristic softness in his gaze could be received by this uncharacteristically weak, shy, and jaded Hermione Granger. His breath seemed to dance across her lips, though they weren't uncomfortably close; it just seemed that way.

"Well, then I guess I will just have to try," he replied, a soft smile playing on his lips where his usual smirk would be. His speech was quiet, spoken softly enough for the sound to float away as soon as it left his lips, but loudly enough for her to hear every word he said. Or maybe she felt it as his words danced across her slightly parted lips letter by letter. It was then, and only then, that he let his hand drop from her cheek, though, that he let her decide for herself what the next move would be. He wouldn't push anything. It was her story, and she would tell it in time. But until then, and even after, he would be there for her. He would always be there for her. At that moment, he knew that their past rivalry meant nothing; he knew that he found a kindred spirit in the very unlikely Miss Hermione Jean Granger.