When they landed back into the common room, parcels were strewn over the floor. They had missed breakfast, having had some at the house. Owls had clearly come and gone for Hermione's birthday. Draco's eyes narrowed on the Gryffindor, as she picked the parcels up from the floor.

He may not have liked her, but he would have liked to know that it was her birthday.

"How old are you now?" He asked curiously, kneeling a little to pick up envelopes for her.

"Eighteen." Hermione's voice squeaked a little when she said it. He handed her the envelopes, before she headed back to her room silently.

He could tell that she was upset about something. She hadn't said much, or commented on anything that morning like she normally would have. Not that Draco was taking note of her behaviour or anything. Or that he cared. He let her wander back to her room, the few parcels and envelopes in hand.

He didn't understand why she was sad on her birthday. She got presents, and she got letters. What was there to be sad about? Couldn't she drink now in the muggle world? Maybe Draco had been misinformed about muggle customs. Draco removed his jacket, and flopped down on the couch. It was a Saturday, so they didn't have any classes. There were a few trips happening for the Care of Magical Creatures classes in the lower year groups, but not for theirs.

He heard Hermione shuffling around in her room, and sniffling. He rolled his eyes. She could be such a drama queen, sometimes. She must've got it from spending all last year with the Weasel. He could be dramatic. Maybe being dramatic was a Gryffindor trait?

Draco sighed to himself. He had nothing to do for the rest of the day, other than homework and writing letters to friends. Maybe he could visit the library and read or something. He was determined to do better this year in his classes. Maybe he could surpass Hermione in grades. He was only narrowly behind her.

There was a few minutes of silence in their rooms, before Hermione's cries disturbed the silence. It was muffled, and a little held back. She clearly wasn't comfortable with crying.

Draco stood from where he was. He was no stranger to tears, especially from women. His mother had shed a few when he got the mark, and then again over the last easter break, when Draco was forced to become more involved in the Dark Lord's schemes. He hesitantly made his way to her room, knocking softly.

"What do you want?" Hermione spat from the inside of the room.

Okay, so she gets angry when she cries. Draco made mental notes to himself. Anger is her defence system.

He opened the door carefully, poking his head in. Hermione was crushing the letters in her fists, her face streaked with red, the violent red scratch marks on her forearm shown to him from her short sleeve.

Draco took a step into the room. What in Merlin's name was he doing?

He sat next to her, their knees touching from the closeness. He could see the cracks in her internal armour, the longer he was with her. Grey met brown. Her dark eyelashes were wet with the tears that she had been shedding. She hadn't shed a single one since he stepped foot into the room.

She brought her free hand up to hastily brush away her tears.

"Why are you upset?"

Hermione scoffed at him, taking a shuddering breath. "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

This was something she had said to herself countless times. She'd be alright in the morning. She could sleep it off. She wasn't dead. There were people that had it worse. She would repeat things like this to make herself stop. She ignored her feelings of grief and sadness.

"No, you're not."

And then Draco did the single most daring thing he had done in his life, and he hugged her

At first Hermione stiffened, her posture straightening. She was expecting that his hands would be cold, so their warmth surprised Hermione. They were wrapped around her waist, his hands settling on her shoulder blades. He pulled her forwards into his chest, so he couldn't see her face.

Hermione didn't know what it was about being hugged, but it made her cry into his chest. The barrier was lowered, and tears upon tears fell from her eyes. They stained his shirt like blood.

Draco could feel her back shaking with sobs. He didn't plan for her to turn into a blubbering mess, but he supposed that he should have expected it. It was either his shoulder, or Longbottom's, and he knew that Longbottom would ask questions, and inquire. Draco didn't ask many questions, and that was okay.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Draco asked, not really knowing what to do once her tears slowed down.

"Not particularly," Hermione said, pulling away from his embrace. They both found themselves a little cold from the loss of touch. In an instant, Hermione's whole demeanour snapped. "Don't you want to go and run to the shower. You've got a mudblood's tears on you now. I suppose that makes you infected, too."

Draco expected her behaviour. One year (give or take) with the Dark Lord had taught him how to sense things coming before they did. She reacted with anger as a way to keep her defences up. If she wanted to do that, that was fine.

"I'm trying not to care about any of that anymore. A life is still a life, and it all means the same." He surprised himself with his words. Hermione looked at him as though he were telling her about his secret love for smelling snails. Confused and a little concerned.

His eyes flickered down to her wrist, where she had clawed at her scar like a mad woman.

"You know, you could have told them who we were the second we walked into your house." Hermione was stepping on eggshells. She was being vague, but she knew that he knew what she was talking about. "Why didn't you?"

Draco chuckled. "Wow. You all really do think I'm heartless." He paused for a moment. "I might not be the nicest person on the planet, but I didn't get control over what I was taught to believe, or what my parents did."

Hermione dropped his gaze.

"I didn't, because I knew that I was going to be safe with my parents around, and with their protection. None of you had wands, and I knew as much as I had no control over all of those things, that you didn't have control over who you were born to be, either. If I could help you out, after all of the nasty things that I've done, even just a little, I would be able to forgive myself."

Seeing his mother had changed him. Hermione knew that with his father lurking around every corner, Draco needed to pick a side to be on. His father's, and the way that he was raised. Or he could choose to be on the side of the people, and control his life for once. His mother, as they married young, didn't get to control anything of hers, and now she was forced into hiding because of it.

If there was one time in his life that Draco was allowed to be unapologetic, it was his late teens.

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute.

"When I was a child, I knew that I was different to all the other children. There was something that was missing in my life, and for the longest time I didn't know what was wrong. I struggled making friends, because of the things that I found myself being able to do. I would try to show the other kids things like me making a flower blossom in the winter, and they all called me a freak for it.

My parents felt every bit of pain that I did. Sometimes I heard my mother crying to my dad about how she couldn't fix it. She couldn't do anything, because there was nothing wrong with me. We were all so happy when McGonagall came to visit us. It changed my world, quite literally. I remember her coming to my front door, dressed in robes, and I knew that there was something about her that was like me. And then she asked to come in and explain everything. I had finally found some place that I belonged, where there were kids like me. I had longed to belong for most of my life.

I remember staying up to memorise books about wizarding history, just so that I would know what was normal and what wasn't, just so that I wouldn't be kept in the dark about anything. I was so excited for Hogwarts. To me, it was like someone had handed me the piece of the puzzle that was missing.

But then I came to Hogwarts, and no one really wanted to be my friend. Be it because I had muggle parents, with mundane jobs, or because I was too into my studies, either way, I was cast on the outside again. The only people that seemed to love me, or even like me, were my parents. They would send me letters every day, and I would send them back. So when I had to obliviate them for what I was, it killed me a little on the inside, because I had lost another piece to myself, and I'm not sure that I'll ever get it back."

Draco stared at her for a moment, realising how different their lives had been. He had a private tutor to teach him everything he needed to know. Basic mathematics, reading and writing skills, basic spells and wizarding history. He had house elves to fulfil his every need, and parents rich enough to be able to give him the world.

His shoulders had drooped during her speech, and something about her speech saddened him in ways that he didn't understand. Her story about her parents made something dawn on him. Her sadness when she got the letters and parcels.

"I take it that this is your first birthday without them," Draco moved closer to her, so that both their backs were pressed against the foot of her bed, and their legs stretched in front of them.

"Yeah," She croaked. "The big one-eight. I'm officially an adult now, in the muggle world. I can buy a flat, adopt a child, get married, drink, and get a tattoo without my parent's permission now," Hermione laughed bitterly. "That's ironic."

Draco frowned at her bitterness, but understood it. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"Please?"