A/N: Okay, well I'm back! At least I'm updating again (and it's not taking me nearly a year to do so). I know that with each chapter, Hermione and Draco become less in character, but it's just the way the story is bringing me. Hermione is becoming more like a character I have been developing for about two years now, which could be why I keep falling into that comfort zone. I'm not one to plan my stories out in advance; I just write what I feel like writing. That's also why this chapter may not fit cohesively with the previous chapter, but I tried. I also know this chapter doesn't show my writing skills very well (in other words, it sucks), but I decided to post it anyway, because right now, I don't think I'd come up with anything better. Please read and review. I value reviews a lot, even if they are saying my work sucks completely. If you are going to completely bash what I wrote, please give me reasons though; just saying it sucks isn't acceptable. I want to improve my writing, and if you can give me critiques, I will love you forever. If you just want to say you really like the story I wouldn't mind either. D

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed in the past. If you have reviewed, please keep the reviews coming. I will really appreciate it. D

Also, the big section (in the middle) in italics is one of Draco's flashbacks, incase it is unclear.

If you recognize anything from the Harry Potter series, it obviously isn't mine. Of course, one can always wish...


The feel of his lean fingers caressing her face would be comforting to any other person; the feel of his breath dancing across her slightly parted lips would cause any other girl's heart to beat wildly in her chest from anticipation. Any other person would lean into his touch, especially after accepting his offer to help. Any other person would allow a soft sigh of contentment to leave her lips at the first sign of safety and comfort. Any other person would allow a soft smile to grace those same lips. Then again, any normal person would not have had this conversation at all. She is obviously not any normal person; she hasn't been normal for years. She will never be normal again. And that is why his uncharacteristic kindness was not met with the same response as it would have been had she been normal. Instead of feeling comfort by the delicate dance of his fingers against her soft skin, she seized up in fear. Flashes of memories carefully buried and locked away escaped as if they had not been imprisoned at all. A hand against her face had never been a product of love; it had been a punishment' it had been a harsh reminder of what she never had, of what she never will have. And he was no longer the boy trying to help her through her living hell; he was a manifestation of her father, haunting her both in her dreams and now in reality.

Despite her most fevered attempts at convincing herself of the reality of the situation, her fear began creeping from the pit of her stomach to the forefront of her eyes to the tips of her now shaking fingers. She couldn't stop a small whimper of fear from escaping her lips. She couldn't stop the formation of tears which glistened in the dimming light of the room. An involuntary step forward on his part with the intent to comfort was all it took for her to lose control. A quick step backwards sent her sprawling on the floor. The small semblance of control she had was all but lost. Her limbs were tangled in a hasty attempt to gain control of the situation, her vision blurry with the now falling tears. Her unfocused honey brown eyes never left his face. They seemed to be beseeching him not to hurt her. It was all she could do to protect herself; it was all she could ever do to protect herself.

Known for her rational, carefully planned actions, her sudden irrational behavior worried Draco. She never showed weakness; she never showed fear. Or maybe he just never cared enough to notice it. If he were to have paid attention, he would have seen that her biting words and harsh glares were merely a weak attempt to hide the ever present, albeit slightly irrational fear that he would turn on her just as her father had. Yet, he had never validated her fear. Before, he would never do anything like that because he would not wish that pain upon anyone. Now, though, he would never hurt her like that because, over the course of the past hour, he realized that he cares about her and would not only never hurt her, but would do his best to protect her as well.

The distress in her average yet beautiful features ignited a yearning within him to hold her close and kiss away her worries. Who would have ever thought that a couple of hours ago, he hated her immensely? Evidently, understanding not only leads to acceptance, but can lead to a dramatically altered view of a person as well. He slowly stepped forwards as if he was approaching a fearful and injured animal; any sudden movements and it would no longer even think of accepting his help. His eyes were kind, his steps unthreatening. He knew, firsthand, how to deal with someone in this situation. He himself had been hurt beyond belief; but he has also been close to those who have not only been beaten, but raped as well. His father was not one for discretion; his activities were known to both Draco and his mother. And after his father left his "conquest" to recover or slowly die, Draco would sneak in and attempt to comfort the victim.


"Y-you're not going to h-hurt me too, are you?" she whispered, her bloody wisps of blonde hair falling in front of her piercing green eyes. Her body, restrained and mutilated involuntarily shook from the arbitrary use of the Cruciatus curse and a variety of other morally questionable curses primarily used for torture and to inflict mass amounts of pain.

He slowly approached her as disgust and pity flashed across his ten year old features. His eyes roamed over her body, her boyish figure, her flat chest. She looked to be not much older than him. He stepped slowly in her direction; a burning desire to help her was pumped through his veins as his heart hammered in his chest.

"N-no," he said quietly, sincerity evident in his eyes. And then a question he already knew the answer to spilled from his slightly parted lips. "Who did this to you?"

He knew it was his father, but he wished to hear another name fall from her bloody, chapped lips. He wanted to hold on to the idealized view of his father for as long as he possibly could. He wanted to hold on to the beliefs he grew up with instead of watching it all crash before his eyes as easily as a mirror falling upon cement.

"A-a blonde man," she began, her voice soft, suppressing a whimper of fear which threatened to become known as he stepped forward in an attempt to comfort her. "He looked kind of like you, but older a-and taller. He had a cane and a f-funny wooden stick… t-that hurt a l-lot…"

The next steps he took towards someone he would normally and unflinchingly christen a Mudblood were swift and worried. When he finally reached her, he knelt down to her level in an attempt to see her pain and rid her of it. Fear palpably clouded the young girl's vision as she attempted to craw away. Her attempt was thwarted as her body began to involuntarily convulse once again. Almost immediately, Draco was at her side, his scrawny arms wrapping protectively around her body until her shaking subside dand only her breathtakingly morose tears remained.

He never asked what happened and she never told. He just sat there, cradling her in silence until she calmed down tremendously. It was then that his father walked into the room, watching the couple with a look of betrayal and disgust. A harsh clearing of his throat was all it took for the perfect picture of carefully constructed comfort to tumble and smash into a million pieces.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, demanding an answer immediately from the ten year old boy who was frozen in fear, whose eyes mirrored images of panic and treachery which he was always warned would spoil the Malfoy name.

"N-nothing father," was Draco's reply, his voice shaking with fear and unreleased hatred.

His father's grey eyes seemed to be searching his son for signs of obvious betrayal. Draco kept trying to look away, knowing that his father was looking into his mind, but no matter how hard he tried he could not break the gaze. With a firm nod of his head, the older man calmly took out his wand and uttered those two irreversible words. "Avada Kedavra."

A burst of green light shot from the wand, illuminating the emerald green of the girl's frightened eyes. And then she was dead, limp and lifeless in his young arms. And he did nothing to stop her death; he did nothing to save her. And for that, he knew he would never forgive himself.


He was still standing in front of her as this memory, and others similar to it, began flooding back into his memory. He was still offering her understanding and protection with kind eyes and an outstretched hand as he has done so many times in the past. He knew that he had to help her, comfort her, protect her, save her. He knew that he wanted to. It was now up to her to either accept the help she had previously accepted or deny him and his well intentioned altruism. Her long honey eyes, usually filled with wisdom and fire met his eyes, though this time they were filled with apprehension and fear, expelling softly shed tears. Inherently, she knew that he would no longer cause her harm; she attempted to shake the irrational fear which has held her prisoner for nearly a decade. And slowly, her rational side began to win out. She took his outstretched hand with an air of uneasiness but did not flinch as he pulled her into a comforting embrace.

The tears which left red, damp lines on her face were beginning to dry up as he rubbed comforting circles on her back, whispering quiet nothings in her ear to give her a sense of peace. His cheek was resting against the side of her head, her bushy, sweet smelling hair tickling his nose as he continued to whisper to her promises of today and hopes for tomorrow. He told her that he was planning on protecting her, that he was planning on saving her. He told her that as long as she was with him, she wouldn't be hurt. He didn't even know what truly happened to her; he could only speculate that she was either brutally beaten or raped. And he would protect her from either one in the future. He would protect her from any pain. He would be her guardian angel if he had to be. He knew he would do anything for her, and he continually reassured her of that as she consistently began to ease into his embrace, as she began to tacitly accept his help.

Her legs began to feel weak as she continued to stand there; she began to lean more heavily on him than she previously was. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and go to sleep; she hadn't slept well in weeks. Fear of her father had kept her from slipping into the blissful land of dreams, which, to her, haven't been blissful for nearly a decade. But in his arms, she felt that she could close her eyes and fall into her first dreamless sleep in her recent memories. She felt safe; she felt protected. She knew he would chase away her demons, her fears, her nightmares. She knew he would always be there for her as he promised. And she knew that she made a complete fool of herself, crying unrestrained into his shoulder. Her head left the soft fabric of his cloak as her red-rimmed, puffy eyes met his. A sheepish smile snuck onto her face and into her eyes as the previous comfort she felt became slightly awkward as her grasp on reality continued to grow exponentially.

"I'm sorry for crying on you," Hermione said shyly, her voice cracking with the previously shed tears. Her smile endeared him; the innocence and sheepishness of her smile made his heart speed up in his chest. If she were any other girl, he'd be attempting to woo her into his bed, figuratively of course. Despite popular belief, Draco Xavier Malfoy has never had sex and does not plan on having sex until he meets 'the one'. Instead of attempting to woo her, though, he just smiled softly at her, his eyes sparkling under the fading light of the room.

"It's fine," he said softly, leading her over to the couch which she had previously fallen on so that they could converse comfortably. He allowed her to sit and curl up in his arms which she did gratefully. A yawn escaped her beautiful, dainty lips; her eyes began to close unwillingly as she grew more comfortable on the couch and in his arms. And he noticed this. He wanted to ask her if she wanted to take a nap. He wanted to warn her that if she didn't show up for dinner her friends would wreak havoc to find her and not stop until they found out why she did not make it to dinner. Yet, she looked extremely peaceful as her eyes closed against her will. He knew that she hasn't slept in a while; he knew that she needed this sleep. So as she fell into a dreamless slumber, he didn't have the heart to wake her. And he watched her. He watched her as her chest rose and fell with each deep breath. He watched her as she snuggled closer to him. And some time after Hermione fell asleep in his arms, Draco felt himself drift off to sleep as well. And secretly, he wished to fall asleep in this position many more times in the near and distant future.