As I was one of the select people to got to try out Pottermore before the October launch – I must say that it was all the information I learned that really kind of inspired me thinking about actually writing a fanfiction and adding the details into the story. I hope you all like it!

Concentrating at work was hardly an option for Draco. He sat in his meetings in a slight daze, his mind continuously flickering back to the scent of Hermione's skin, the sound of her moan as he crushed her mouth with his. They'd spent the rest of the weekend as if they were in their own little world. Hands were held as they walked down the street for a jaunt at the ice cream parlor. Whispers were snuck into each other's ears as they sat curled up on the couch together, watching old black and white muggle movies. Draco knew that eventually, the two of them would have to open up to each other, but Hermione pressed a delicate finger to his lips every time he tried.

"Don't ruin it," she would say, her eyes pleading. "Not yet."

He didn't think talking about the many elephants in the room would ruin anything. Draco knew, however, that not talking would take them nowhere. He had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione wasn't ready to talk about anything because talking meant confronting feelings she'd been consistently ignoring these past few years. There wasn't anything she could say to him that would make him think less of her. Draco's scars were just as deep.

Draco walked down the halls of the Ministry with his colleague, Kirk Attum. Kirk was a Hogwarts graduate in Ravenclaw, a few years younger than Draco. He was an all right guy, though Draco did find him a bit too chatty for his liking most days. He missed the weeks when they started their internship together, and Kirk was too afraid to speak in front of him. Clearly, Draco's old reputation was one that would never diminish through the halls of Hogwarts.

"I heard a rumor about you the other day," Kirk said as the two shuffled into the Ministry Law Office. Kirk snagged a lollypop off LuAnne's desk as he followed Draco down to the smaller office they shared.

"I can only imagine what you heard," Draco said, a bit more sarcastic than he meant to. Sitting down, he lifted his chin to straighten the knot in his tie.

"I heard you're shacking up with the Hermione Granger."

Draco's brows furrowed in Kirk's direction. "She is staying with me until she finds a place." He left out the part where he hoped she never found a job, because if she never found a job she wouldn't begin to look for an apartment. It was too soon for admissions of the sort – not that he would ever confide in Kirk. Harry maybe, but never Kirk.

Kirk's eyes grew. "I thought you two…you know…"

"You thought we what?"

"I thought she had pure, unadulterated loathing for you," Kirk stated. "Plus she's like, a third of the Golden Trio – and everyone knows she had a thing for the other one – you know, not Harry, but the Weasley one."

"I don't know where you get your information from," Draco said with a snarl. "But your informant is severely outdated. I also don't wish to converse about my personal life at work."

Kirk took note of his tone. "Well…I'm going to go to lunch, and then I'm in the chamber the afternoon. I guess I'll, see you around."

Draco acknowledged his goodbye with a flippant hand wave, and focused his eyes on the files for his case tomorrow. He dug his index fingers into his temples and sighed. This was the part of his personality he was convinced would never change – the inability not to bark people's heads off when they inquired about anything he did outside the hours of eight in the morning through five in the afternoon. The office was a friendly enough environment – people talked all the time about their wives and husbands, or who had the best "guess what my kid broke this weekend." Draco would sit and listen politely, even chuckling at a few, but never did he chime in with the rest of them. He didn't see his life as anyone else's business. That's how the Dark Lord liked his followers – keeping to themselves, speaking to no one unless they shared the mark. Draco knew his life was very different from what it used to be, but there were some old habits that he feared would never die.

A knock on the door snapped Draco out of his work. He was irritated, as it was the first time he'd found a way to focus all day, but when he saw Kingsley in the doorway, he shot up out of his chair. "Minister Shacklebolt."

"You know I don't respond to that from you," Kingsley said with a chuckle. He walked in and sat down across from Draco. "How goes it?"

Draco shrugged, sitting back down. "Pretty good. I'm assisting with the Rewls case tomorrow, but it seems pretty open and shut. Petty thievery, really."

Kingsley nodded. "Has Ms. Granger come to her senses about working here yet?"

"You'd have to ask her," Draco replied.

The tall man reclined back in the visitor's chair a bit. "You could always help a Minister out – convince her to work here. She'd be brilliant in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I'd even let her run it once she got used to it."

Kingsley had a point, Draco thought to himself. She was well known and well liked. But it required working at the Ministry, which for some reason Hermione continued to balk at the idea. "I believe you know as well as I do that no one really convinces Hermione Granger to do anything."

"Right," Kingsley said, visibly perturbed. "But she would be brilliant."

"She'd be brilliant regardless of what she decides to do."

"Has Draco Malfoy grown a bit soft spot for his former nemesis?" Kingsley had a twinkle in his eye.

"It's more than a bit," Draco said. "Don't you dare repeat it."

Kingsley laughed, slapping his leg. "Wouldn't dream of it. I did actually come in here to discuss something other than the brilliant witch – you."

"Me?"

"Yes. While I find your desire to finish this internship and do everything by the book inspiring, I need you to give it up. I just received retirement papers from Knox and Gellum, and you're ready. Beginning in September, you will be flying solo."

Draco craned his neck back and forth. "I don't know...I've only been the internship for two months."

Kingsley leaned forward in his chair. "You're ready – and you're good. Knox even said so the other day and you know that grumpy git hasn't a goddamn thing to say about anyone that isn't rude or foul. Damn curmudgeon. I'm convinced the man will never die because we'll never find a grave that won't spit him back up."

"I just don't want people to say –"

"The hell with whatever people say," Kingsley cut him off. "Anyone says anything about it I will personally see to it that they find something else to discuss."

There was no point in arguing. "Fine. You win."

"Try not to sound like I'm forcing you to eat rotting flesh," Kingsley said. "I know you've been bored out of your skull with this internship. Just like I said you would be." He stood up from his chair, and Draco did the same. He reached out to shake Draco's hand. Grasping it, he gave it a firm shake. "Just for the record – I'm incredibly proud of you."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm proud of you," Kingsley repeated. "You had the all the makings to be an intolerable, insufferable human being. Yet here you stand in a job that is in every regard as honorable as the person I've watched you become. You're a good man, Draco Malfoy. Don't ever let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

He couldn't speak. Stunned, all he could do was return the handshake and give Kinsgley a polite nod as he watched him leave the office. A peculiar feeling flowed through him, as Kingsley's words echoed in his head. Someone was proud of him – and not just anyone – someone Draco respected and looked up to. When his father or Aunt Bellatrix would say they were proud of him, he felt his insides bind into a knot. But when Kingsley said he was proud of him, Draco felt as if he could feel the positive sentiment from his chest straight through to his toes…and for the first time in his life, Draco too, felt proud.

Hermione needed a job.

She strolled through Diagon Alley, a lot shopping bags in tow. Since cutting her hair at Christmas, she'd been meaning to update her wardrobe to reflect her new look, but never allowed herself the time to do so. Without employment, she found herself with all the time in the world, and today her mood was sky high. What better time to shop than when you're in a great mood? She picked up several items of clothing in muggle London before apparating to Diagon Alley.

The streets were lined with children and their families, collecting items for the return – for some the beginning – of a new year at Hogwarts. Hermione smiled, remembering her first time in Diagon Alley. Her parents were bewildered by the sight of it all as they walked with Professor McGonagall to retrieve Hermione's books and wand.

"You're positive she's a witch," Mrs. Granger asked the taller witch as they stopped in front of Ollivander's Wand Shop.

"Dear, the child keeps making things float into mid-air," Mr. Granger said with a soft chuckle. "Excuse my wife," Hermione heard her father say to Professor McGonagall. "She's still getting used to it all."

Professor McGonagall gave a rare smile. "You seem to have adapted well to the idea."

"Yes well, I always knew my 'Mione here was exceptionally gifted," Mr. Granger said, reaching for his daughter's hand to give it a squeeze.

She felt her cheeks blush against her bushy hair. "Is this where I get my wand?" she asked.

Professor McGonagall nodded, holding the door open for the Grangers to enter. "Indeed."

Upon entering the store, Hermione knew that the day she got her letter to Hogwarts would no longer be the day that changed her life. Today, she was getting a wand – a wand to use and learn real magic. Finally, she found a place where she belonged, standing in a crowded shop with parents and students her age, receiving their wands for the first time. When it was her turn to greet Ollivander, she remembered asking him how she was supposed to choose a wand from the thousands and thousands of stacks in his shop.

"The wand chooses the wizard – or in your case – the witch," Ollivander said with a grin. "You're a muggle born witch, yes?" He saw the confused look on her face. "Non-magic parents."

She nodded quickly. "I'm the only magical one in my family, yes. My name's Hermione Granger. My parents are dentists. They tend to people's teeth."

Ollivander winced. "I've heard of dentists. I'm much glad to be a wizard in that respect." He disappeared momentarily, before returning with several boxes of wands. He pulled out the first wand. "10 ¾ inches, beautiful vinewood – remarkable really in this color – and a dragon heartstring core."

She stared at the wand inside the box with awe. This wasn't like the wand that kook magician used at Sally Henderson's birthday party last year. This wand contained power…what kind, Hermione didn't know. Carefully, she picked up the wand and held it at its base. A shiver went down her spine, and as she held the wand out, she suddenly felt a bond forming, as if the wand knew it belonged to her.

"Did you feel it?" Ollivander whispered.

Her teeth bit the insides of her lips together as she nodded quickly. "I feel like it wants me."

"Only a powerful witch could bond with a wand containing core of a dragon heartstring," Olilvander said, nodding in Professor McGonagall's direction. "Most young wizards and witches bond with wands of a unicorn hair core. To bond with a wand such as this shows how deep the source of magic is within you. I shall expect to see great things from you, Ms. Granger."

If her grin grew any wider, Hermione's face would have split in two.

The children in the streets of Diagon Alley made her long to return to the innocence of childhood. It was hard not to smile at the children and their endless enthusiasm. The muggle parents were easy to spot, their faces reminiscent of her parents. She remembered how her dad took her into Flourish and Botts and bought her every single book on her list, and as a treat, a book titled Hogwarts: A History, so she could learn everything about her new school. It remained her favorite book to this day. She remembered her father giving it to her later that evening as he tucked her into bed.

She popped into one of the newer child clothing boutiques and picked up a few jumpers for baby Albus and a cute navy blue jacket for James. It would be fall soon – Hermione's favorite season. Her birthday was coming up as well, though she would be perfectly fine to see it glossed over as a regular day. She didn't feel like she was turning 23. She hadn't felt like a girl in her twenties unless she was emotional about someone or something. Her emotions were on par for her age – maybe even a little bit immature at times – but her actions and way she viewed live on the other hand were that of a thirty-something.

Her thoughts trailed to Draco as she meandered through a higher end store that sold men and women's dress robes. She fingered the various neckties on the round table within the tailored suit section. Hermione wondered if she should get something for Draco, to thank him for allowing her to bum around his house, wallowing in her inability to make a decision. When he would get ready to leave for work in the morning, she would sit with the newspaper in the sitting room by the door, peering over the top to watch him as he looked at his reflection in the mirror by the coat rack. Draco would give the knot in his necktie a final tug before his hands smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in his vest. Before he'd leave, Draco would reach for the doorknob and look in her direction, saying Granger with a wink before leaving. She should get him something, she thought while picking up a dark, emerald green tie. Hermione asked him about paying rent the other day, but he shook his head no. He refused to allow her to pay for the company he was enjoying.

Hermione toyed with various shades of green, dark purple, gray, and blue before deciding that she couldn't pick between them. It wasn't like he wouldn't get use out of them. Besides – after her trip to Gringotts to get an updated bank statement, she knew seven neck ties wasn't going to put her in a bind. How does it feel to be one of the wealthiest wizards in Europe? growled the grumpy Goblin who scribbled her balance on a piece of parchment. She didn't answer him, not feeling up to dignifying his inappropriate remarks with an answer.

She read an article in The Daily Prophet about the children who were orphaned during the war, doing follow up stories on children they did stories on during the immediate aftermath. Teddy Lupin was one of those children, and Hermione couldn't help the few tears that streamed down her cheeks as she read the words used to describe his wonderful parents. She wasn't how she was going to do it, but she decided then that she would figure out a way to use her money to benefit the children who paid the ultimate price during the rise and subsequent fall of Voldermort.

Hermione walked back down the main street of Diagon Alley towards the port key to take her back to Draco's neighborhood when she heard a low whistle followed by a catcall. Furious, she whipped her head around to glare at the ludicrous man. As she saw the tall gangly redhead standing on the behind her on the cobblestone street, her mouth dropped. "George Weasley you foul man!" she laughed.

George opened his arms wide and Hermione gave him a crushing hug, bags and all. "You look good, Granger!"

She pulled away from him and laughed. "You do too! How have you been? How's the shop?"

"Opened a second store in Hogsmeade last year," George said through a grin. "What about you? How was New York? Are you back for good?"

"I'm ok, what I saw of New York was great, because as you know I worked quite often, and yes, I'm back for good," Hermione replied.

"I like the hair – very un-Granger like – but in a good way," George said. "Merlin help ol' Ronniekins if he sees you. If he doesn't feel like a daft git he most certainly will when he sees you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I believe he'd have to take a break from his life of different women in different hotels in order for that to happen. I don't believe I'll be running into Ronald anytime soon."

George grinned mischievously. "That's where you're wrong Granger. Ronald's back. Came home just the other day."

"What! Why? Does he know I'm back?"

"He brought a girl home with him," George replied. "Mum's not too wild about her, of course, but Dad keeps her under control. Pretty girl – blond, Irish, but she giggles like a twelve year old. It's quite annoying, actually. Percy called her the Irish Lavender Brown – and you know Percy never cracks a joke."

There may never be a day where the words "Lavender Brown" could be mentioned without Hermione's gag reflex threating to test itself. Hermione wasn't one to hold many grudges, but Lavender Brown was one she would never let go. "Well, as Ronald is happy, I guess that's all that matters."

George shoved his hands into his khaki pants pockets. "Maybe. He was never going to be good enough for you – you know that, right?"

"It's awfully kind of you to say," Hermione replied, brushing a hand on his arm.

"It's the truth. Mum reminds him of it every chance he gets. She knows you're back, by the way. She's a little upset you haven't been by to see her. You should surprise her one day."

Hermione wasn't sure if she could face Molly Weasley without breaking down into uncontrollable sobs. Molly always treated Hermione like a daughter, and Hermione loved Molly for it. When she left Ron, she feared backlash from the entire Weasley clan, which Ginny told her was rubbish. She missed her fireside chats with Molly the most, and feared that her breaking things off with Ron caused Molly to be disappointed in her. "I will try to make it over."

"You should come with Draco – we have a pick up quidditch match every once in awhile." She cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows scrunched as George laughed. "Thought we didn't know about your little friendship, did ya now?"

"Has anyone ever told you how awful you are, George?"

"Not since you left for America." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "I have to get back to the store. Tell that git you live with I said hello, will ya?"

Hermione nodded. "It is great to see you, George."

George winked. "Believe me, Granger – the pleasure was all mine."

She decided to pop into a few more shops before going back home. Hermione was elated she ran into George, but know Ron was back was causing her brain to let her tightly concealed emotions she'd suppressed for so long to seep through the edges. If she had been in New York, she would have gone back to work and pulled an all nighter, trying to figure out the best way to recreate various books that never had a single copy made. Since working wasn't an option, she chose shopping as a quick remedy to keep her mind away.

Draco managed to pull himself away from the office and be home by six. As he walked through the front door, he noticed the foyer was filled with shopping bags. It looked like she hit every store both muggle and wizard alike. He yanked the knot loose in his tie, dropping his briefcase by the closet door. Draco feared peeking too far into the bags – much like going through a woman's purse – he knew well enough when to leave a mystery as such. However, he had never seen such collateral damage in the form of paper and plastic bags. He picked up some of the bags and stacked them on top of other bags, making way to walk through the hall. "Merlin," he said aloud. "Someone was busy."

He called out for Hermione, but heard nothing. Draco made his way up the stairs and quietly popped a head into her bedroom. She wasn't there. He looked in some of the other empty bedrooms before meandering up to the third floor. "Hermione?" he said, walking up the stairs into the study that was connected to his own personal library. She was asleep on the leather sofa near the window, a ratty copy of Hogwarts: A History draped across her chest. Quietly, Draco approached her and lifted the book. He thought it was his as he flipped through the pages until he stumbled across the note written on the inside cover.

To My Dearest Daughter:

I honestly thought it to be a fluke the day you sat in your highchair, barely a year old, giggling with delight as your mashed potatoes hung in the air like a misplaced cloud. Your mother and I knew you were something extraordinary when we brought you home from the hospital, and this new adventure you are about to embark upon is proof that we were right all along. Hermione Jean – you are the light of our lives, and no matter what you do or who you are, we will always be most proud to be called your parents.

Love, Dad

Draco felt as if he invaded her privacy by reading her father's note. What he would have given to have parents like hers who cared for their child which such passion, such love. Setting the book down on the opposite end of the couch, he bent over and brushed a light kiss on her lips. "Wake up, sleepy head."

He watched as she fluttered her eyelids as if she was willing herself to wake. "Hey," she drowsily drawled. "How was work?"

"Kingsley practically booted me out of my internship. Told me it was a waste of time and wants me to start working on my own come September."

She stretched her arms above her head, her shirt rising a bit to expose a bit of her stomach, which didn't go unnoticed by Draco. "Good," she replied, propping herself up a bit. "You're too smart to waste your talents for an entire year."

He sat down on the cushion next to her once she made room by bending her knees to her chest. "How do you know if I'm smart?"

"Because Kingsley says you are," Hermione replied as if the answer was obvious.

"He wants you at the Ministry bad, by the way. Wants you to work with the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

She nodded. "He mentioned it once or twice by owl."

"It doesn't peak your interest at all?" Draco asked, draping an arm on the back of the couch.

"It does…and I'll probably take it. I just don't know what I want to do and I don't want to disappoint anyone. What if I take the job and hate it? Then what? Quit? I would be beyond mortified." Hermione moved and curled into Draco's chest, tucking her legs underneath her as his arm moved to drape around her.

"What if you take the job and love it?" He gave her a squeeze. "Meetings with other Ministries, bossing all sorts of people around…sounds like it's right up your alley, Granger."

She looked up at him. "Are you calling me bossy?"

"Never."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm not bossy."

"Absolutely not."

She sighed. "I might be a little bit bossy."

"Just a little bit."

"But it honestly isn't my fault that I believe I have the right way to do things! I'm usually right. It's just my nature. Why do you think Harry kept me around all those years?"

Draco dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I don't think it was because you were right all the time. To him, you're family."

She snuggled closer to him. "This is true."

They sat in silence for a moment, the two relishing each other's company. Hermione snaked her arms around his torso and Draco let out a sigh of contentment. "So…"

"So…"

"I'd ask you how your day was, but judging by the explosion of bags downstairs, I'd say you did your part in stimulating the economy."

Hermione blushed. "I managed to get a little carried away."

"A little?"

"It was an odd day," she admitted. She retracted her arms and turned so that her back was leaning into his chest. "I ran into George."

"I haven't seen him in awhile – how is he?"

"Good," she said with a nod. "Busy with the shop. He said you guys play quidditch sometimes?"

Draco nodded, wondering why she was moving so he couldn't see her face. He playfully tugged a lock of hair and she turned her neck so she could shoot him a glare. "We do – he's still a pretty fair beater." She turned her head back around to stare at the bookshelves and he knew something was up. "Anything else happen?"

Hermione was silent. She didn't want to talk about Ron. Not with Draco. There was a laundry list a mile long of things she didn't want to talk to Draco about. They were thing that would eventually have to be discussed, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. Then she remembered the ties. "Oh! I got you a present! Well, presents really, but presents nevertheless! Do you want to see?"

She leapt off the couch and reached for Draco's hands. He took them, only to promptly pull her back down to the couch. "While I'm intrigued by presents, I know you're hiding something. Spill."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"You're a horrendous liar, Hermione. Spill it."

"I'm not hiding anything!"

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

He threw his hands up and bolted to his feet. Draco paced back and forth in front the couch. "What happened today?" he finally asked, stopping in front of his feet.

"Nothing happened."

"Why won't you talk to me?" Draco begged. "We flirt, we kiss, we hold hands…when I'm not with you I want to be with you and when I am with you I feel like we avoid…everything, for fear it might be too hard for the other." He pulled Hermione to her feet, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I can take whatever you throw at me, Granger. So just please, for bloody sakes, please, please, talk to me."

Hermione blinked back tears and shook her head no. "I can't."

"Since when does Hermione Granger say I can't?"

"Draco…"

"Tell me what is wrong. Please."

"It's embarrassing!"

"What's embarrassing?"

"Everything!"

Hermione dissolved into tears and Draco instinctively pulled her into him, holding her as he shushed her softly. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I just…I want this to be real, Hermione. I want us to do more than scrape the surface. I know it won't be done in one day – in one conversation – but if we don't start somewhere…"

She sniffled, pulling away. Hermione was an incredibly proud person. Behind her bossy demeanor and know-it-all ways, she was terrified of failure. Her parents' death felt like fault – regardless of the fact that it was the farthest thing from the truth. Her inability to have a lasting and fulfilling relationship with Ron she felt was her failure. She wasn't strong enough to get over parents and move on with him. She wasn't smart enough to convince Ron that he had what it took to become an Auror, and there was more to him than being a sidekick to the Boy-Who-Lived.

Looking at Draco, she tried to speak, but couldn't. How was she supposed to tell him that she was afraid that everything she felt for him was wrong? How she was afraid to take a job in the Ministry not because she couldn't handle the pressure, but because she was afraid to let Kingsley down? The death of her parents and the relationship she desperately tried to hold together with all by herself with Ron…she couldn't handle feeling failure like that again. Failure would break her. She just knew it.

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets. He couldn't pry it out of her, though he'd be lying if he said he hadn't contemplated it a time or two. Anytime he would try to go first, figuring if he opened up, she'd be more inclined to do the same, she'd change the subject, or snog him senseless. Not that he was complaining about the snogging – it was his new favorite hobby with Hermione. But they had to start somewhere. If they didn't, the house would be filled with shopping bags and the stores in London would be empty.

"I know I will never be worthy of you, Hermione," Draco said, speaking calmly. She tried to interrupt but he held up a hand. "Your bravery is endless, even when your heart is filled with doubt. Your loyalty is indestructible, the evidence etched into your skin. I know that for as long as we are together, whether it be friends or more, I will have to endure the whispers, the stares, and the gossip of those that know us as they wonder what horrendous thing I could have done to make you willingly stand in my presence."

"Draco…"

"I've done horrible things in my life. Things I can never change. Things that will haunt my dreams for eternity. But I refuse to let that be my life." He removed the cufflinks from his right arm and hoisted his sleeve up to his elbow. "This mark – is a Dark Mark to everyone. It reminds everyone of the unforgivable things that happened, the unforgivable things I was forced to be a part of. It's how I looked at the mark for the longest time. But I don't look at it that way anymore."

Draco stepped closer to Hermione, brushing the small strands of hair near her cheek behind her ear. "When I see that mark, I'm reminded of what I survived, and of everything I never want to be." He leaned in and gave her a soft, slow kiss. "When I look at you," he whispered. "I think of everything I want to be. For you."

She reached a hand to his cheek, a thumb grazing his lips. "What if you wake up and change your mind?"

"About what?"

"Everything," she whispered.

"It will never happen."

"Draco…"

"I meant it when I said I would spend every day showing you how sorry I was for everything, that I would spend my life making it up to you if you would let me," he said, lacing his fingers with hers.

Hermione's eyes closed and she felt him kiss the tip of her nose. Everything she wished for with her Ron was happening now with Draco. Everything felt forced with Ron. Forced by her. She wanted it so bad that she would have done anything. And now she stood in front of a man whom she knew came with a bigger risk than anything she'd ever done, and with that came the idea of failure that she was most certain she'd never recover from.

"Ron's back," she whispered, looking away as she didn't want to see the look on his face.

Draco stepped back, his hands retreating back to his pockets. "Oh."

"George told me, and I just…I don't know what happened." She began to pace back and forth, talking quickly with her hands. "Of course I knew I'd eventually have to run into him again. It wasn't like Ronald Weasley was avoidable forever."

He snorted. "Unfortunately."

She looked at his face, and felt her heart hurt. He was avoiding looking at her, as if he was waiting for her to say otherwise. "I don't want him back, Draco."

He didn't look at her. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed. "Draco, that part of my life is over forever – I just, I just never properly dealt with the emotion of it all. I desperately wanted Ron and I to work and I tried so hard and it was never acknowledged, never enough – I would never go back to that. If anything, I'm more mortified with myself for trying so hard to make the impossible work."

Draco shrugged. "You're not the same person you were four years ago, Hermione. He might not be either."

"Please. George said he brought some slag home that Percy dubbed 'the Irish Lavender Brown'."

"Percy made a joke?"

"Right? So she must be a piece of work. But that isn't the point." Hermione sat down on the couch, her legs pressed precisely together, her hands resting evenly on her knees. "I've always been a planner. I like plans. They make me feel safe. Since I've come home, I feel like I've drifted into uncharted waters. It doesn't quite suite my personality."

"Would it make you feel better if I said falling for you wasn't ever a part of my plan either?" Draco asked. He sat back down next to her, slouching back into the couch. "You scare the shit out of me, Granger."

"Ditto." She turned to face him, his emotions reading all over his face. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

Draco closed his eyes and reached for her hand. "We're both a mess, Granger."

"Not very conducive for a proper relationship, I suppose."

He pulled her down into him, holding her tightly. "We can figure this out together, Hermione. We just have to do more of…this."

"What, melting down?" she asked with a half hearted laugh.

"Talking," Draco corrected. He closed his eyes as she snuggled closer. "Just promise me one thing, Granger."

She looked up at him. "That'll depend on the promise."

He cracked an eye open. "That you will never leave me for the Weasel."

She broke out into an uncontrollable laughter, clutching at Draco's vest as he joined her, the two dissolving into giggles, egged on by emotional fatigue. "Oh Draco…" she said rather dramatically while regaining her composure. Hermione flung a leg over his lap and pulled herself up, straddling him as she dragged her fingers through the sides of his hair. "I can definitely promise you that."

Her lips met his, and as he opened his mouth, she pulled the back of his hair, deepening the kiss to the point of desperation. Draco did the same, his hands snaking up the back of her flimsy shirt. He returned the sentiment until neither one could breathe. "Can we be done?" she whispered, stealing another kiss from his lips.

"With what?" he asked.

"The talking. For tonight anyway," she quickly added.

Laughing, he nodded. "Yes. We can be done." He kissed her again. "Now – where are these presents you were talking about earlier?"