Synopsis: Hermione Granger hasn't been seen all day. Draco Malfoy waits patiently for her at their spot in the back of the library, worried out of his mind because not only has she disappeared, but she missed her classes as well. 6th-year, canon-until-I-changed-things fic.

I remember coming up with this idea and hurriedly writing it on a sticky note before setting it aside for a couple of years. I was feeling in the mood for some angst (and honestly, I kept seeing the scene play out whenever I was trying to do something and I thought I should write it down before I forget) so I hope you all like it.

I was aiming for a very short story but then I wanted more details so here you go. It was honestly supposed to be less than 5,000 words or so, but then I wanted to add how they got together and all that fun stuff.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its places. Sadly.

a/n: Please note the chapters are set up in two parts: part I is present-tense Draco in May of 1997, whereas part II is past Draco (though the narration is in the present tense... oops lol) through different months in the school year of 1996-97 (aka their Sixth Year) as he gets to know Hermione better.

I

May 1997

Draco frowned, crossing his arms and shifting his weight back and forth for the third time that minute. She was late, and she was never late, which meant something was wrong. She wasn't the type of witch to need him hovering like a parent teaching a child how to fly - never had been, never will be - and yet it still ruffled his feathers to be away from her, unaware if and what may be wrong. Because something was wrong. He felt helpless, and all he could do was wait in the library and hope she appeared.

He was never good at being patient. But what else was there to do- storm Gryffindor Tower and demand she be turned over into his custody? She'd probably chuck him out the nearest window with her bare hands and hex him a few times as he fell for good measure. Or find some way to make his life miserable without it being traced back to her.

His Dark Mark itched under the fabric of his Oxford shirt, but he resisted the urge to unbutton the cuffs and pull up his sleeves. She didn't like seeing it, even if it was hidden under a Disillusionment Charm. And, to be quite honest, he didn't like seeing it either.

He had shown it to her, once, because her curiosity was insatiable, but she told him it made her skin crawl just looking at it, and that was the end of that conversation for him. For one, most nights he just wanted to be around her without hearing her lecture him about his choices with her colour-coded bullet points and detailed arguments that had a way of needling him long after the subject had been dropped. And two, the offhand way she said it meant it was supposed to be a passing comment. But he knew her. The Dark Mark affected her more than she let on, and her comfort would always take precedence over his. Plus, it affected him too, just for different reasons.

It was a brand - that much, both of them knew. But to Draco... to Draco, it was one that mocked him. One that told him every time he looked, every time it burned and/or itched, every time he saw himself in the fucking mirror, it was jeering; taunting; telling him in Dark Magic and black ink that his life would never be his own to live. That he could never be who he wanted to be, or with whomever he wanted to be with.

In any case, they knew the Mark would never go away, so he always kept it hidden, hoping she would feel more at ease if he pretended it didn't exist and that his left arm preferred to stay in a sleeve, despite the humid library air and 28-degree heat. Better to be slightly uncomfortable than to bring extra stress to her by flaunting what he was. Waving his arm around would only bring tension and several daily lectures he'd rather avoid.

Not that it mattered, as both of them could see it on him even when his forearm looked pale and unblemished. It was always there, burned into his arm, and the shame of having it around her hurts more than it did when the Dark Lord gave it to him. It was why they'd never gone further than snogging heavily in the back of the library, and if he wasn't so stressed and tired and afraid all the time he might have been able to scrounge up hope he'd be rid of it - or, at least, of his "Master" - at some point, and that if she hadn't yet opened her eyes and realised who she was snogging, who she was sitting by every night, maybe they could do - be - something more.

And if not, he'd still pine after her. For the rest of his life, whether she knew it or not. She probably did, though. She wasn't the Brightest-Witch-of-Her-Age for nothing.

Even stranger than the phantom hope or the longing for both her and the life he could have - should have - been living was every moment she appeared next to him. She knew what he was and what he was tasked to do - at least, that he was assigned to do something - and remembers it whenever she looks at him or hears his name or touches him. It's honestly a miracle she hasn't killed him yet.

And so the sleeves stayed buttoned to his wrists, fastened by cufflinks she mocked him for every day, and she still hadn't appeared.

He drummed his fingers anxiously on their table, his thumb anxiously tracing the initials they had carved near the edge.

"You're defacing school property," she had admonished when he began to carve the indentions with his wand.

"I'm a hopeless romantic, sue me," he had said in return, and when she didn't look amused, added, "There are probably thousands of initials all over the school if you looked for them," and this time, she didn't bother stopping him. Instead, when he pulled back to inspect the DMHG on the worn table, she had taken his wand from him and carved a small heart next to her initials. Neither one of them had the heart to conceal or remove it, so they left it be and let it show in a way Draco knew they would never be able to do in reality. Their carved initials, the evidence of their secret, were visible for any to see- but no one ever looked, that they knew of.

And he was right; there were most likely thousands of initials all over the school, all throughout the castle which had been hosting students for centuries. The probability of having students with the same initials was high, Draco presumed who, according to his private tutors from childhood, excelled in maths. Therefore, he told Hermione in a know-it-all tone, his hypothesis was more fact than theory.

It helped when he stumbled across another pair of HGDM on the Clocktower's wooden bridge, though his witch's face held a suspiciously pink hue when he dragged her to look at it. He went back to look at it every so often, just to remind himself that there was physical evidence of their relationship, which was a good way to ground himself when even Granger's touch made his skin tingle and itch as he thought of what he had to do.

In any case, even if someone stumbled on it, no one would ever think it was Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and Pureblood-supremacy extraordinaire, who would be in love with Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's Muggleborn Princess, and it was even less likely one would assume she'd let him near her.

He told her exactly that whenever he was having a rough day with the cabinet and only her touch and scent and presence could make the fog go away. She never asked about the cabinet, and he preferred to avoid discussing how it would only tear them apart later, but she would still nag him about talking to someone, to get help from a professor or from Dumbledore. She'd cry, he'd cry, she'd scream, he'd shout in response, she threw things, he tried to dodge them - it was a bloody vicious cycle, and Draco constantly tried to find ways to distract the both of them.

And after the subsequent arguments, once they both calmed a bit and apologised, she would tell him he still had a chance, how he still had a good heart and shouldn't let the Dark Lord twist it like his parents tried to do. She told him only she could decide who was good enough for her, and at that moment, with his mission still unfulfilled, she wanted nothing more than to sit by him in the darkness of the library.

And fuck, if that statement hadn't worked to get him out of his funk every time.

He checked his watch again, noting she was now fifteen minutes late and had yet to even send a note. Draco scanned through the Restricted Section shelves - both of them had special permission to stay in the Restricted Section during library hours so long as they didn't attempt to take any books with them when they left, and they were careful to remain hidden whenever Pince closed the library so they could stay even longer like a couple of dorks - and when he found nothing, scoured the rest of the library to boot.

Finding no hide or hair of Granger, he snuck out of the library, sticking his head carefully through the doors so they wouldn't squeak but checking to see if those paper memos she liked to send folded into origami shapes hadn't gotten stuck outside. There was no sign of a note or a person or even that fuzzy monstrosity of a cat she carted around sometimes, who would wind its way around his ankles and only blink innocently when he tripped.

Granger would never suspect the tiger in the form of her kneazle to be as demonically possessed as he complained, but the edges of her mouth would tighten and he would know she was thinking of when Crookshanks did all he could to protect Sirius Black, having known the supposed mass murderer and Azkaban escapee wasn't evil like the Ministry said. And if the kneazle was able to tell who was good and evil, Draco didn't want to know what the cat saw in him. Based on the typical treatment he received, it seemed he wasn't well-liked by her familiar. Not that he could blame him. He wasn't well-liked by himself, either.

Spinning on his heel, Draco stormed back into their corner, staring at his seat and brushing the back of it with two fingers before pacing the short length of the shelves that normally hid them from prying eyes, should anyone ever visit the library after hours other than the two of them.

II

September 1996

It was pure chance that brought them together, pure, coincidental luck, really. Luck that had deserted Draco ever since his mother cried as she told him he would be drafted by the Dark Lord, following him throughout the ceremony and finally "blessing" him for a moment when he and Granger ran into each other. He was perusing the shelves of the Restricted Section, trying to find something to fix that damn cabinet, and she had snuck in to find extra texts for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Snape had been harsh on her and she wanted to be prepared for the next week, hoping she could study away the animosity he threw at her.

Draco, armed with a (forged) note from Snape claiming he had permission to constantly be in the Restricted Section, thought he was the only one who had the same idea of an indefinite stay in the normally off-limits area. Granger, armed with a legitimate note from McGonagall - or Flitwick, she mumbled random things when he asked about it, so maybe hers was forged too - was just as surprised to see him as he was with her.

She found him then, sitting on the grimy floor with three Dark books around him, as he did his best not to cry out of frustration and fear and every emotion that he had been Occluding away since the summer began.

"You're going to need to get a tetanus shot just by sitting here, you know," she had wrinkled her nose at the floor, "too many students sneaking back here to fool around." He hadn't been able to muster the energy to throw her a glare or a sneer - only the barest dregs of strength to stop tears from welling embarrassingly. It was bad enough he'd cried in front of a ghost once already this year, and the term had barely even started.

"Is that why you're here?" He had managed to ask in lieu of questioning what a tetanus shot was. She seemed taken aback by the lack of hatred in his voice and so he tried repeating the question, adding a hint of venom that shocked her back into motion. Her wand was out and moving before he could blink, but even though he tensed in fear, he briefly wondered if he would finally be free of the madman telling him to kill or be killed. (And who would, undoubtedly, kill him after, no matter the outcome.)

But all she did was clean off a bit of the floor with several sweeps of her wand, and then she slid down the stack until she was across the aisle from him. "I had a rough couple of days in Defence, and I thought I could find some restricted books and study before Snape mocks me for not knowing something that is restricted for a reason." He hadn't had a response to her honesty - if she was being honest, of course - and could only shift awkwardly. She seemed to be content with sitting in silence until her attention was captured by the books on the floor around them. "What is this for?"

There were two options. He could tell her the truth, be confronted first with her wrath and then the punishment of the teachers once she told them he was a servant to the Dark Lord and was plotting an assassination, and then, if he hadn't been killed or taken prisoner by Granger and her goons, he would be tortured and murdered by his Master for alerting Potter's gang of their plan.

His other option was to lie.

Seeing as there weren't any direct repercussions to lying to the witch - hell, he lied to her quite a bit over the years - he chose the smarter option. "They're for learning, Granger, that's what you do when you read books over things you don't know and then study them."

She didn't rise to the bait, only squinted tiredly at him and sighed. "What are you studying, then? And why?" She then nudged the spine of the book closest to her, craning her neck to read the title. In a flash, he had summoned his books into a neat stack, far from her prying eyes and the brain that would put together the pieces.

"Transfiguration things. Mostly. Some Charms work, too." He didn't know why he was that honest with her; he could have said Divination, knowing full well what the witch opposite him thought of the class. To his surprise, she made no further comment, instead digging into her satchel for notes, which she immediately began studying.

He inspected her for a moment, her hair in a lopsided, messy bun on top of her head, uniform wrinkled and sans robes. She seemed completely at ease, a state of being from her that he was unused to. Just as he was about to give up most of his suspicion and keep researching for the damned cabinet, he suddenly recalled the showdown on the Hogwarts Express, knowing full well what the Chosen One was looking for when the little rat snuck in.

"Did Potter send you here to spy on me?" He sneered.

Granger didn't bother looking up. "I had no clue you would be here. I certainly hadn't seen you here last year, which meant I've been here first." She glanced up, one corner of her mouth curled up in a wry smile. "That must mean you're here to spy on me." He sputtered, unable to come up with an excuse or rebuttal, which was ridiculous because that wasn't fucking true, he was here because he had to learn how to fix the cabinet so he could bring Death Eaters into the castle and murder a man. Losing interest, Granger returned to her notes, and Draco let his head fall back to the shelf behind him with a "thump".

"Why are you studying on the floor like a common plebeian?" He drawled, resolutely staring at the ceiling.

"Why are you, an upper-echelon heir, reading on the floor like a common plebeian?" Even though he couldn't see it, he could hear her smile in her voice, which was just another infuriating thing about her to add to the list. Because of course he kept a list. She was too… too... Granger for him not to keep a list. How else could he keep track of all her annoying habits?

"Because it's after midnight, Granger, and if I sit back here, anyone wandering the Restricted Section shouldn't see me until they round the corner of the shelves."

Granger smirked, which was uncomfortably and eerily similar to his own - which he knew, having practised it in the mirror several times a week to be sure he still had the expression mastered - and rather smug. "I meant; why aren't you sitting at the table?"

Draco hated himself for the way he couldn't help but glance over to the direction she had indicated. He was too godsdamned tired and stressed to keep up his unbothered manner.

"I chose not to, that's why. Why are you talking to me?" He gave up on subtlety in his exhaustion, something that must have caught her notice because her voice had softened slightly when she spoke again. Not that he had meant to pay attention to the inflections of her voice, but he had been trained to be observant of everything, so that was why he noticed, he told himself.

"I've been up for almost twenty-four hours and I'm too tired to fight." When he glanced over, looking through his peripherals so she wouldn't notice he was looking, she did seem tired. Well, get in line Granger, because the last time he slept was earlier this week. It didn't count if he was awoken within ten minutes by a barrage of nightmares, so he didn't bother to consider yesterday's attempt to get some rest.

"But not too tired to shut up?"

She looked amused, which was a problem because it meant he hadn't had as biting of a tone as he meant.

"Maybe I was hoping if I kept talking you'd leave."

He could. He should. But he needed to figure out that cabinet and he was having an issue with mending the door - of all things - and the books that went more in-depth than a simple Reparo were here, so-

With a grunt, he settled back into the shelves, quickly jotting down notes and the book titles before hastily packing up, stuffing the books back into their places so maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't find out what he had been researching.

But as he was putting several away, he noticed a few more he had missed before that looked promising, and he really wanted another crack at that cabinet before the weekend ended just so he could have something to report, if anyone asked, and-

He pulled out several new tomes and sat back down without a sound, cracking the nearest one open and stuffing his nose into the pages, hoping it would drown out the presence of Granger.

"I thought you were going to run away," she sighed, and he narrowed his eyes, deciding then and there to wait her out, to cause her to leave, solely due to the disappointment in her tone. Annoying her was practically calming and was a good reminder of how life used to be, pre-maniac in his home telling him to kill this old chap who was - Draco grudgingly admitted - one of the most powerful wizards. And, to tack onto that wonderful list, his Headmaster. The codger had been around for the past five years of Draco's life, and even Draco would have trouble killing the coot in cold blood.

In any case, Granger wasn't going to be rid of him that easily. Not by simply jabbering on and on; he spent years tuning out Pansy Parkinson, he could handle Gryffindor's Princess.

It was easy to lose track of time, he realised with a jolt what felt like minutes later but was actually several hours, according to the light slowly creeping through the windows.

He hadn't meant to stay this long - hadn't meant to stay with her for this long, really, he had planned to be in the library for a while - but they evaded Pince as she closed the library, sweeping through the aisles and scaring off any students who had the courage to try to stay past eight.

They both - without speaking with each other - flicked their wands, the Disillusionment Charm blending them in with the bookshelves around them. Draco shifted slightly at the sensation and noticed one book that was not put away or hidden. In a flash, he - taking a chance and praying it wasn't one to make its displeasure known to everyone within a ten-kilometre radius - kicked it under the table, the book hitting one of the back legs. He could only hope it wasn't visible from the mouth of the row.

Granger hissed, both to silence him and in reprimand, her foot swiftly kicking his and most likely scuffing his loafers. Draco bared his teeth at her, a move that would have been more effective had she been able to see him, but based on the second kick - higher on his leg; she had surprising reach for being so short - she understood the gesture.

As much as he would have loved to remove Granger's Disillusionment Charm when Pince glared down their aisle, would have done so on a normal day, he really needed to find a way to fix the cabinet, and his only hope was through these books, and he didn't have much time left, so he couldn't chance her removing his Disillusionment Charm.

And so, without discussing it, they kept still and quiet until the telltale signs of the library doors closing and then, finally, locking, all the lights simultaneously flickering out. He wasn't sure why Granger stayed past curfew and closing - probably to ensure he wasn't about to attempt any nefarious crimes - but he didn't want to ask and have the question turn on him.

Dropping their charms, they lit the tips of their wands with a small light and continued to page through their books in silence.

Now, it was nearing three in the morning, and he had spent at least ten hours with nothing but some books and Hermione Granger's company. With a low groan, he stretched, relaxing slightly when his back popped from the movement.

If only Granger hadn't stuck around, he wouldn't have sat on the floor for several hours, and then his arse wouldn't be sore. Curse his pride - no, curse her - for stopping him from sitting at the table. With a silent, mouthed curse, Draco shifted his weight to ease some of the pressure off his backside.

"Tired, Malfoy?" He heard her ask, and when he glanced up, she seemed to be fighting off a laugh. "I did recommend a Cushioning Charm a few hours ago." Her smirk was that of a fucking demon.

He grunted in response, writing down the last few notes before closing the open books around him, flicking his wand to levitate them onto the table.

"You could at least put your books away," she grumbled, and he was pleased that something finally annoyed her. He was losing his touch if it took this long to get a satisfying reaction from the witch.

He tripped over her outstretched legs when he passed her. He thought he had stepped high enough but either he was extremely clumsy - unlikely on a normal day when he wasn't this tired - or she fucking tripped him.

Based on her stifled laughter and past experience, he would have bet all the Malfoy Galleons she had done it purposefully.

a/n: I remember coming up with this idea and hurriedly writing it on a sticky note before setting it aside for a couple of years. I kept seeing The Scene (you'll know it when you see it... I think) play out whenever I was trying to do something and I thought I should write it down before I forgot... and then it became this, so I hope you all like it.

I was aiming for a very short story but then I wanted more details so here you go. It was honestly supposed to be less than 5,000 words or so, but then I wanted to add how they got together and all that fun stuff.

Next update: 5/22

- Meg