If you can't tell, I'm just posting these as I write them. I just started writing this story on Monday as away to avoid homework :-P. Thanks to everyone for all of the amazing reviews - I'm so excited you all like it!

"Were you kissing me in your dreams?" Hermione asked, her voice increasing in pitch with each word.

Draco stared at her, trying to process thought with little success. She would be lying on top of him using that tone. It was his dream damn it- he could kiss whomever he bloody wanted to kiss. It just so happened that instead of it being Brooklyn Decker, it was Hermione Granger. He shook his head stared at her with a hint of contempt. "Wait - wait - wait just a minute," he said, imitating her tone. "Who's on top of whom right now?"

"Well, that's, I mean, what in the hell are you doing, dreaming about kissing me?"

"What in the hell are you doing on top of me?"

She shoved her hands into his surprisingly muscular chest and hoisted herself off him, now standing with her hands on her hips. "What was I doing on top of you?" she scoffed. "I was trying to be nice and cover you up with a blanket…" Hermione began to wring her hands together for a moment, before breaking them apart and placing them firmly back on her hips. "…and when I went to place the blanket on you, I obviously lost my footing and fell, yes, fell, on top of you."

Draco sat up, pressing his tongue into his cheek as he watched her have the audacity to stand in front of him with that lie. It wasn't even a good lie. "So in the process of falling," he said. "Your pretty pink lips managed to find my mouth and then proceeded to snog me?"

"Please - you totally initiated the snogging." Hermione rattled.

"Yet we're not denying the fact that your lips found mine first."

"Because I fell!"

Draco nodded with a look of disbelief. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Granger."

"I will tell myself that, Malfoy."

"And we're back to the last names!" Draco yelled, leaping from the couch and walking across the room. "It's like two steps forward, nine steps back with you."

"What the hell? You call me Granger more than you call me Hermione!"

"That's because it feels weird to call you Hermione! At least when I say Granger it sounds endearing." He could hear his voice snarling at her but couldn't rein it in. "You say my last name as if someone forced you to swallow acid. You almost sound like you enjoy my presence when you use my first name."

Draco watched as her nostrils flared before she threw her hands up in the air and erupted. "What was I even thinking kissing you!"

"Oh! But you didn't kiss me - you fell, remember? Onto my body. With your lips. On my lips."

She shrieked again before storming out of the room and down the hall. He groaned as he heard her stomp up each step before slamming her door so hard he was certain his neighbors heard. When Harry told him not to fuck it up, he was certain this was what he meant. But what in the hell was he supposed to do! Dream Hermione wasn't supposed to turn into real Hermione with real Hermione fingers laced through his hair.

Complicated might have been too nice. Hermione was a right pain in the ass. She was that one stray popcorn kernel casing that always managed to wedge itself between a molar and the gum line - only removable by strategic teamwork of tongue contorting and a sharp toothpick after twenty minutes of utter frustration. Draco let out an audible groan, dragging his fingers through his hair before clasping his hands together at the nape of his neck.

This was a fucking disaster.

She was a disaster! You always ruin everything, Hermione, she screamed in her head while stripping herself naked and throwing herself into the shower, sobbing as she let the hot water pour all over her. Her back to the glass door, she slid down slowly, clutching her knees to her chest. She said fell on him. Really? Hermione was never a good liar, but she could have come up with something better. Or better yet - the truth. Hermione wanted to kiss Draco - more accurately, her heart wanted her to. Her head was screaming otherwise.

Hermione continued to cry until she had no more tears. She thought about Ron and the disaster that was their relationship before she took off for New York.

"Come with me," Hermione said, her voice filled with excitement. "Think of the fun we'll have!"

"Eh…America?" was all Ron kept saying. "I'd rather stay here. You know, George - he needs the help."

Her heart sank. She knew George wasn't doing well with Fred's death. None of them were. But Hermione wasn't doing well with her parents' deaths either. She needed to leave. The constant reminder of war in the air, the destruction that had yet to be rebuilt bore pits of anxiety and fear into her stomach. "Please," Hermione begged. "If we don't like it, we can come back. We could just try it out maybe? Yes?"

Ron scrunched his face up and shook his head no. "We don't know anyone in New York."

"Even better," Hermione said. "It'll be another adventure."

"But our friends, they're here. Harry and Ginny - they're getting married. If we leave we'll miss everything."

Hermione could just scream. Missing everything to Ron was missing new people to retell his stories to, or others that were never tired of hearing it. Hermione though – she was exhausted by the constant storytelling. All Ron did since quitting the Auror program was spend his evenings out with the guys in Hogsmeade, reminiscing about the hunt for horcruxes and other harrowing tales from their youth. He never got tired of telling the stories, but Hermione was tired of hearing it. She didn't need to hear the stories over and over again. The scars on her body and mind were enough. But Ron was taking his new fame and embracing it with everything he had. If he put half the effort into Auror training that he did in recounting how he managed to speak parseltongue to open the Chamber of Secrets, he would have flown through the program.

"I need to go," Hermione admitted to Ron several days later, the two of them eating dinner at the Burrow while the rest of the family was outside playing a pickup game of quidditch. She practically had to beg him to stay in and eat with her alone while his family was outside, enjoying each other's company.

"Go where?" Ron asked with a mouth full of bread.

"New York," Hermione said, exasperated. "I've been offered a job to help restore a library."

"You can't find something here to restore? Blimey, 'Mione - if you're looking to rebuild something I'm sure Hogwarts could use the help."

"Damn it Ronald!" she cried. "I need to get away from here! Don't you get it? My parents are dead. My family is non-existent! I'm the only one left!"

Ron grimaced. "You aren't the only one that lost someone, Hermione. Might I remind you that George is literally missing his other half right now?"

"Exactly! But he has all of you supporting him every day. I'm all alone, Ronald! Everywhere I turn - everywhere I look - I'm reminded about how I lived and they died. How I tried to protect them and all it turned out to be was a wasted effort!"

"My family's been here for you!" Ron exclaimed. "I've been here for you!"

"When have you been here?" she asked, her voice daring him to answer back. "When have you had time, with all of your impromptu war story hours you've ben hosting at the Three Broomsticks every night since the bloody war ended! I go to sleep alone every night - sobbing - and you are never anywhere to be found! Harry's been here for me - on top of planning a wedding and Auror training -"

"Yes - let's once again point out all the things Harry Potter does better than me," Ron snarled. "It's always my favorite thing to do."

"I never said he was better than you." Hermione spit her words. "But whenever you're off doing Merlin knows what - he's here."

"Bloody Hell, 'Mione, what do you want me to do!"

"I want you to want to be with me! I want you to want to take care of me!"

"I'm only eighteen years old - I can hardly take care of myself!" Ron argued.

With a simple statement, she had her answer. Without saying another word, she went upstairs to Ron's room and packed her belongings. She owled a note to Harry, telling him she'd contact him when she was settled, and not to worry. After all - she was the brightest witch of her age. She could take care of herself. That's what being all alone was about.

A week after she found herself in New York, she heard from Ginny that Ron took a holiday with Dean and Seamus. It was when Dean and Seamus returned that they discovered Ron's new life plan - which was to gallivant around Europe and enjoy his war hero fame to the fullest extent. Wizard Tabloids would print photos of him with various women, portraying him as a playboy. It took almost a year before the photos stopped burning a hole in her heart.

She continued to let the hot water pelt her skin as she cried. She might still be the brightest witch of her age, but when it came to relationships - she was a fool. Hermione wanted her relationship with Ron to work. She wanted what Harry and Ginny had - a love so unconditional that it didn't matter what the other's worst looked like - because at the end of the day, love saved them from whatever ails they had. After the first month of her and Ron's relationship, she was the only keeping it together. She desperately needed something - a hope - anything - to cling to, and she chose to cling to the notion that Ron would someday grow up and become a man who wanted everything she wanted. He would become someone with ambition and drive, who wanted to provide for his family, while adoring his wife.

Hermione thought herself to be a fool, hanging the hopes and dreams of her existence on a man who deserted her not once - but twice - when life looked to be difficult. She should have never forgiven him after he deserted them during the horcrux hunt. But love made people do stupid things, and Ron was proof of that.

Her mind kept going back to the kiss. Her head told her not to do it. Her lips on his was the key to Pandora's box. She couldn't get over how sweet and sensual it was. How great it felt to have his hands pressed into her back in a protective, possessive way. Ron never kissed her like that. It wasn't even fair to compare the two, really. Hermione would be lying if she said she didn't want to be kissed the way Draco kissed her.

She wanted to be kissed like that every day. He kissed her like she was his and no one else's - and that was when he thought it was merely a dream.

He was dreaming about me, she told herself. Surely that had to count for something. Of course, she also went crazy berserk on him downstairs. Dream Hermione probably didn't lose her shit on Draco in his dreams. Dream Hermione probably told Draco everything and let him comfort her and tell her everything would be ok. That he would protect her and love her.

Her bum was numb, and she winced while pulling herself up in the shower. Grabbing some shampoo, she vigorously scrubbed her hair and washed her body before rinsing away the day. Hermione had no idea how to face him. He'd probably want her to move out now. Merlin knows she wouldn't blame him. He had every right to think she was certifiably insane. No one wanted to live with a crazy person.

Wrapped up in her blue robe, she noticed the alarm clock said 7:00pm. She was hungry, but would rather starve than face Draco after her childish display of emotion. As she moisturized her arms and legs with a vanilla scented lotion, she heard a knock at the door.

Draco found himself sitting outside her bedroom door, listening for the water to shut off. After a half hour, he thought about opening the door to make sure she hadn't drown, but wasn't sure traumatizing her any further was a good idea. But if the water continued running for much longer, he would rethink his plan. He released a sigh of relief when he heard the water finally stop fifteen minutes later.

It took him another fifteen minutes of arguing with himself as to whether or not he should knock on the door. He didn't want her to hide in her room. He wanted to talk to her like a civilized adult. Draco wanted a real conversation - not one of the various generic conversations the two of them had been having day after day. He wanted a conversation deeper than whether or not she should bring a jacket to the park in case it rained.

He rapped his knuckles swiftly against the door. "Hermione…are you there?" She didn't respond. Maybe she was still in the bathroom and didn't hear him knock. He waited another minute or two before knocking again. "Hermione? I just…I just wanted to say I'm sorry." Apologizing couldn't hurt his case any. He did rile her up a bit downstairs. "I'd really like to talk to you - an actual conversation if you will." She was still silent. "Right then - I'm just going to go downstairs and make some dinner."

Shuffling his feet against the plush carpet, he lumbered down the back stairs into the kitchen. Not feeling all that domestic, he found a frozen pizza in his freezer and within in minutes, had it baking in the oven. Pizza was by far his favorite muggle food. Then again, he was a big fan of anything smothered in melted cheese. Draco snatched a beer from the fridge and snapped the cap off, tossing it in a jar with various other caps. As the pizza baked, he cleaned up the popcorn and empty beer bottle debris from him and Harry earlier in the day. Smashing the garbage down into the bag, he pulled on the handy red draw strings and lugged the garbage out back to the dumpster. It was funny how doing simple muggle things like taking out the trash made him feel somewhat normal.

When he bought the house a few years back, his mother offered to give him one of her house elves, but he politely declined. Granted, his mother treated her elves better than she did as a child, but house elves reminded him of all the things that were wrong with his old way of life. He didn't need to have someone trailing after him, cleaning up his messes. He was a grown man – he could take care of himself. Draco considered himself to be a more respectable wizard, doing things on his own and not taking the easy way out. When Kingsley offered him a position as a Ministry lawyer, he politely declined until he finished out the internship that was required of other wizards. Kingsley argued that his pre law coursework at University was much like an internship of sorts in the wizarding world, but Draco insisted he do things the proper way. He was a man with integrity now – and he wished to continue that way.

Draco came back inside through the kitchen door and checked on his pizza. Grabbing his beer from the counter, he hopped up on the island, slowly swinging his legs. He thought back to a few months ago, sitting in Harry's house talking about how work was going when he brought up Hermione.

"Back to London?" Draco said. "Really?"

Harry nodded, grinning as if he won a prize. "It's fantastic, really. I knew she'd come home when she was ready. I've missed her terribly."

Draco laughed. "Are you sure you married the right woman, mate?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "She's the closest thing I had to my own family before I married Ginny and had James. We know each other better than anyone really." He leaned across the couch towards the chair Draco was sitting. Peering over the back of the couch, he saw Ginny humming to herself while she and James made cookies. "Hermione knows me better than Ginny. But if you ever say that out loud, I will kill you and hide your body."

Stifling a laugh, Draco rolled his eyes. Harry's continued healthy fear of his wife was always amusing. He wasn't sure how someone could love someone as fiercely as Harry loved Ginny, while being completely terrified of her at the same time. It was widely known that Ginny – much like her mother – was an incredibly powerful witch when she chose to be. It was also widely known that no one wanted to ever find out the actual extent of said nature.

"So she's like your sister then," Draco mused. "Hermione, that is."

"I think of her that way, yes," Harry replied. "We've found ourselves with a lot more in common, especially after the war. We're both only children, we're both without parents – and during the war – and I know she doesn't believe me – but I couldn't have done half of what I did without her. She's bloody brilliant. It was just the two of us for a while there, you know, when Ron decided to leave us. I don't think Ron truly forgave Hermione for choosing me over him when he left."

"What a git," Draco scoffed.

"He does have that tendency," Harry said. "Don't get me wrong – Ron's still a good friend – but Hermione was broken when the war ended. Hell – parts of her still are. She spends all day working herself to the brink of exhaustion, I know she doesn't sleep well, and she acts like ignoring it all will make it go away. She's a stubborn pain in the ass that way."

Draco shifted in his chair. "I know the feeling. I've done my best, moving on and trying to be less of whatever I was brought up to be. But every time I see this," he shoved his sleeve up his arm to reveal his dark mark. "It's a part of me. I want to change it and I can't."

"Nothing ever really leaves us," Harry said, sinking back into the couch. "We just have to learn how to accept the past move on. We saw too much and knew too much for our age. And she…Hermione just took it the worst. It wasn't unexpected – she was always the collected one. Always the one with the plan – even if it was a shitty plan." Harry dragged a hand through his hair. "She kept us together and kept us moving. Once it was all over…she and Ron were together and at first I thought it was brilliant, you know?"

"I don't think much of anything that involves Ron Weasley is brilliant," Draco said with a snort.

"I heard that!" Ginny shouted from the kitchen.

Draco looked towards the kitchen at her and grinned. "Gin – you know I only have room in my life to care for one redhead."

It was Ginny's turn to snort. "Right."

"She couldn't love them for both of them," Harry said out of the blue. "She deserves everything and she was willing to settle for him." He leaned over to the end table and snagged a picture from their most recent trip to New York. Hermione was holding James, waving as they stood in Times Square. Harry handed the photo to Draco. "Ginny just had it framed."

Draco stared at the picture in shock. Hermione Granger looked like a woman. Her hair was short. He couldn't believe how stylish she looked, but even with her new hair, he could see the missing glint in her eye, despite how happy she looked with James. "She looks…good. Different, I mean. Not good like hot or anything, not that she isn't. I mean, she's certainly more attractive with her new hair cut –" Harry's laughter cut him off and he could feel Ginny's stare through the house. "I just said all of that out loud, didn't I?"

"Oh yeah," Ginny said. "Draco Malfoy thinks Hermione Granger is hot."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well you should – she is hot!" Ginny exclaimed. "I'll be skinny again like that someday."

Harry leaned over the couch and winked at his wife. "You're gorgeous."

Ginny kissed the air and wiggled her eyebrows in his direction. "You're not so bad yourself, Potter." She pulled James out of his booster seat and put him on the ground, putting a cookie in each hand to deliver to Harry and Draco. "You and Hermione would be cute together, you know."

Draco stared at Ginny. "I think your hormones are talking again."

"Dare to say that to my face?" Ginny asked, a hand on her hip.

"Absolutely not."

"Good. Besides – if you can date a muggle you can certainly date 'Mione."

"I believe she'd have to actually want to date me back, that is, if I ever got the notion to date her. Which I don't."

Ginny laughed. "We'll see about that."

Draco could just curse the blasted redhead. His pizza was baked to perfection, and Draco took his frustration out on the poor pie as he vigorously sliced it into pieces. Not even bothering with a plate, he grabbed a slice and perched himself back on top of the island. His insides felt completely contorted when he thought about Hermione. He spent seven years loathing her existence, four years feeling rather indifferent towards her, and in a few short weeks, he couldn't stop thinking about everything he wanted to do with Hermione.

He loved how she would go to the market with him, but it drove him mad how she would make sure that there was a clear definition of who's groceries were who's, stacking them in a way that made him want to scream EARTHQUAKE while shaking the trolley just to see if she'd go completely off the deep end. Draco loved it when she asked to go on a walk, but if they were to ever accidentally brush arms or hands on their journey, he always flinched when she'd jerk away.

The other day, he noticed upon emptying his dishwasher that none of the dishes were in there like that when he loaded it the night before. Hermione sat on the bar stool at the island, reading the newspaper. Without even looking up, she informed him how she reloaded the dishwasher because her way was better and if he did it her way, more dishes would fit. Four years ago, he would have slammed the door shut and growled at her. Instead, he looked at the dishwasher, begrudgingly agreed that she was right without saying it aloud, and began putting the dishes away.

Hermione drove Draco to his wits end most days, but out of nowhere, she'd give him a smile that reached her eyes, and the rest of it didn't even seem to matter. He enjoyed how he didn't have to carry a conversation with her. He could never talk to the other girls he dated the way he talked to Hermione. Granted, the moment anything got too personal she veered away from it like the plague, but he did too. He didn't want to scare her away.

No one would have ever guessed she was ever a Gryffindor with the way she'd been acting. What a right coward she'd been. Hermione paced back and forth in her room trying to figure out the best way to handle this mess. She made the mess, and she was determined to fix it. She threw on one of her black pajama dresses that she bought in almost every color before coming back to London and made a feeble attempt to fix her hair before giving up. Pluck up some courage, damn it, she hissed at herself before flinging the bedroom door open and heading down towards the kitchen.

She saw him eating pizza on the island as she descended the stairs. Stopping at the final stair, she held onto the wooden railing for dear life. "I told you I may or may not be irreversibly screwed up."

Draco didn't bother looking at her, but she could tell he smiled just the same. "So what you're saying is that I had a fair warning?"

"Not…exactly," she said. "And I know you know I didn't fall."

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "And you know that I dream about you when I sleep."

"Which is a bit odd, if you ask me."

"I fancy you, Granger, so no, it isn't really odd," Draco said with complete sincerity.

She shook her head and her shoulders tensed. "Why on earth would you fancy me?"

Draco barked out a laugh, stealing another piece of pizza. "I honestly have no idea."

"You hate me."

"I hated you," Draco corrected, looking back at her. "And I didn't know any different. I'm not the same pureblood elitist my father tried to bring me up to be. Merlin, Granger – we aren't fourteen anymore."

Hermione walked over to Draco and stood in front of him, leaning back against the sink so that there was a decent amount of space between them. "My therapist used to say that I push people away because if I push them away, I don't risk losing them."

"Makes sense," Draco replied, offering her a piece of pizza, which she accepted. "I push people away because I'm afraid they won't understand me."

She ate her pizza in silence, the two of them standing in the kitchen, stealing glances at another before retreating their eyes to an insignificant part of the room. "I want to be friends with you," she admitted.

"I've been trying to be friends with you," Draco countered.

Hermione held her hands up defensively. "I know, I know – just let me say this." She needed to be able to talk. "I want to be friends with you before we…contemplate anything else."

"Like what, shagging?"

"Draco!" she yelped. "Don't say it so…vulgar."

Laughing, Draco hopped off the counter and took a small step towards her. "I agree with you – we should be friends. Not that we aren't friends, but we could be better friends." He took another step closer, the space between them becoming significantly smaller.

She stared at him before breaking out into a giggle. "Could we be more ridiculous?"

"I'm sure if there was a pair that could be, we would be it."

Her arms flung around his waist before she could stop herself, and she buried her embarrassment of this afternoon into his chest. His strong arms wrapped around her, his forehead pressed into the top of her head. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled into his chest as she inhaled his scent, seeking refuge.

Draco kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry too."

She looked up at him. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

"I have plenty to be sorry about," Draco confessed.

His grey eyes said what his voice could not, and Hermione couldn't fault him a bit. He was just a boy. Barely eighteen, they were still children forced to do what they had to do to survive. For Hermione, it was to stand by Harry and help him solve an abstract puzzle left to him by Dumbledore as he tried to save the wizarding world. For Draco, it was trying to survive in a life that he grew to despise, but had no escape. When his aunt had her pinned to the floor, her screams piercing the ears of even the most soulless of creatures, all he could think about was how he desperately wanted to save her.

She clung to him, her eyes fluttering shut every time she felt his thumb brush the nape of her neck. He kissed her forehead and she held onto him tighter. Draco managed to save himself over the years. He managed to deal with who he was and learned to become the man he was today. Draco couldn't save Hermione back then, but as he looked down into her brown eyes, he realized that if she let him, he could save her now.

"Hermione," he whispered.

A grin crept across her mouth. "Draco."

"Are we friends yet?"

She tilted her head a bit. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm about to kiss you – on purpose of course. I don't have the uncanny ability to fall on top of people and snog them like you do, you see."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm never living it down."

"Not any time soon, my dear," he said. Before she could argue back, his lips found hers and the same tingling sensation she felt rip through her body earlier resurfaced. It was sweeter than the first kiss, softer, filled with words neither could bring themselves to say yet, but they would get there. He felt her fingers drag down his back before breaking apart, resting his forehead on hers. "Not bad, Granger."

She rolled her eyes. "You know I'm not letting you sleep with me any time soon, right?"

Leave it to Hermione to ruin the moment by pointing out the obvious. He kissed the tip of her nose. "I don't ever want to sleep with you," he confessed before backing away.

"What!"

"Oh don't get me wrong," Draco said with a smirk. "I definitely want to shag you – and when that day comes I will probably be content with my life. I could die a happy man, as they say. But I've seen what you look like in the morning – and you sleep like you are at war with a mountain troll."

Her mouth dropped. "What in the hell are you even talking about?"

"Every morning, before I go to work, I levitate you back to a normal sleeping position, and then I charm the bed so that the bedding doesn't look like it survived a bloody hurricane," he said, a bit too cheeky for Hermione's liking. "The only way I'm sleeping with you is if I find myself a suit of armor."

Rolling her eyes, she closed the gap between them again, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Keep this up and you're going to need the armor for an entirely different reason."

Draco leaned his head down and Hermione kissed him the way he kissed her. She melted into his possessive hands and moaned as he sucked on her bottom lip. "Draco," she whispered again, the two breaking apart so they could breathe.

"Yes?"

Collecting her wits, she pecked his cheek and walked away, stealing another piece of pizza from the counter. "Just thought you should know – Dreaming Draco is a better snog."

He watched as she gave him a playful wink. Shaking his head, he grinned and cocked his head to the side. "I suggest you run, Granger. Because when I catch you, you'll be begging to take that back."

"Well then," she said, frisbee tossing her pizza back to the counter before bolting off, her laughter filling the hallways of his house. He gave her five seconds before chasing her, convinced that in the end, she would let him catch her.