Granger stood beside him, white wings contrasted against the dark night as she leaned onto the balcony railing. She wasn't looking at him, eyes on the stars, her golden halo casting her in a serene glow. What was startling, however, were the tear tracks down her face.

Draco watched cautiously as she turned to face him, an unreadable look on her face.

"It's awful down there, isn't it?" She commented, her eyes still filled with tears. "I mean, with everyone pretending that nothing has happened. That we're all fine. As if hundreds of people didn't die here just last year. I don't know how they can all pretend like that. It's exhausting." Her voice was faint as she hastily wiped away her tears on the back of her hand.

Draco just looked at her, at a loss for words.

She continued, "Do you know what made me feel worse than everyone congratulating us? It was seeing Dennis Creevey. Do you remember Colin? His little brother, he's muggle born. He's here alone. He looks so much like Colin." Her voice was sad as she trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself.

Draco wasn't sure what to make of Granger telling him this. But then again, he, of all people, knew the feeling.

Finding no words of comfort to offer her, he took out his emergency pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one with his wand before extending the packet to her, raising his eyebrows.

Granger shook her head and scrunched her nose at his offer, to which he replied "Suit yourself". He drew the stick to his lips and inhaled as he looked out onto the Hogwarts grounds, a habit he had picked up shortly after the war.

As the smoke soothed his lungs, he looked back at Granger, who hadn't moved.

"You shouldn't feel bad." He muttered eventually. "It's not you they're all blaming. You're their bloody hero."

The Gryffindor surveyed him, making Draco feel far too aware of his defeated posture and the fact that his hair hadn't been cut in far too long. Her expression seemed to dawn in understanding.

"I suppose it has been a lot more difficult for you tonight." She said in a sympathetic voice, which Draco winced at.

"It doesn't matter if it's difficult for me. I shouldn't even be here. I was on the wrong side, I betrayed all of them. They all know it, no use playing happy families just because he's gone.`` He replied, taking another frustrated drag of his cigarette.

Granger surveyed him for a moment before responding in a soft voice. "Draco, everyone knows what You-Know-Who was like. You were in a completely different position to the rest of us. Anyone who doesn't realise that is just angry at what happened and feel the need to take it out on someone, regardless of who was really to blame."

At this, Draco's expression hardened. "Well, look around. There's no one left to blame but me. The rest of the Death Eaters have been sanctioned or carted off to Azkaban, including my father. You think I don't notice the way they look at me? It's the same way I look at myself in the mirror. The boy who would happily watch them all die if it meant he was safe, who as good as murdered all of them when I helped the Dark Lord's followers into Hogwarts to kill Dumbledore. And yet here I am, dancing with them all at a Ball to celebrate those of us who are left."

Granger's eyes widened at his bitter tone, and Draco felt a surge of embarrassment. However, she then replied in a voice stronger than she had before, "Malfoy, I've thought you were many things in my life. None of them were nice things. You were a bully to me, spoiled, and a bit of a prat. But you are not a murderer. You were led down the wrong path, and although you were cruel to me at some points during school, even I know that during the war you probably had it worse than most of the people in that room down there."

Draco felt his surge of anger evaporate, and found himself staring into space as he took one last draw from his cigarette, contemplating her words. Images of his former self calling her a mudblood flashed in his head, reaffirming his self loathing.

When he finally replied to her, it was in a soft voice. "I'm sorry for the way I was in school to you. It has taken me longer than I would care to admit to realise none of the things I thought mattered back then never really did. You must have thought I was the biggest prick in the world, and you were probably right." His voice was bitter as he threw away his cigarette. "I wish I could start it all over sometimes."

At this, Granger surveyed him for a long time. When the silence felt like it had stretched on forever, she promptly held out her hand to him, hanging in the air between them. Draco stared at it, alarmed.

"Then let's start over. I'm Hermione Granger, a muggle-born from Oxfordshire. I like to read and knit in my spare time, and I really can't stand dancing. Oh, and I love caramel shortbread." She stated.

Draco stared at her incredulously, before cautiously taking her hand and shaking it once.

"Draco Malfoy," He hesitantly, his voice still low, "Heir to the most hated pure blood family in Britain, and I hate the fact that I had to come here tonight. Oh, and caramel shortbread is disgusting."

Granger shot him a pleased smile, which he returned. A wash of surprising calm washed over Draco as the pair turned back towards the grounds in comfortable silence for a while.

"What are you supposed to be, anyway?" She asked him eventually, eyeing his dark robe.

"Grim Reaper," he replied, grimacing at her, "Slughorn apparently thought it would be amusing to emphasise the 'dark side' of the war."

Granger shot him a sympathetic smile. "Could be worse, look what he did to Harry. Jesus Christ himself, honestly. It is so on the nose and borderline offensive that I don't even know what to say. Ginny practically had to drag Harry here in it tonight."

Draco didn't know who 'Jesus Christ' was, but smiled back anyway at the thought of Potter being as unhappy with his costume as Draco had been.

"What's Weasley supposed to be anyway? A chess piece?" He asked with a smirk.

Granger's lips tugged at the corners. "He's a knight, and he's about the only person who is thrilled with his costume. He's been parading about in it all week, to 'practise his movement'."

Draco raised his eyebrows at the image, before glancing down at Granger's own costume. "And what about you, the celestial angel? Is that a Slughorn special too?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, her lips forming a wry smile. "Not exactly my first choice. It's his interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, I believe. An angel and a knight, cliché, I know. Now I'm stuck with these." She gestured in annoyance at her wings.

Draco eyed her costume appreciatively. It wasn't half as bad as she thought. The silky dress accentuated curves he had never seen before, and she had applied light makeup. It suited her. In fact, as she stood there shrouded in white compared to his dark form, Draco thought she looked like the very embodiment of light itself.

"Ah, but soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Granger is the sun." He muttered, gesturing to her halo, casting them in a golden light.

Granger stared at him, mouth parting in shock. "You know Shakespeare?" She whispered softly.

Draco scoffed back, "I do read, you know Granger. I'm not Weasley. Despite what many believe, to fill a library as large as Malfoy Manor's one has to extend shelf space to muggle literature as well."

Granger continued to eye him in curiosity, before she eventually replied.

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. Draco Malfoy, quoting the bard? Methinks I've entered an alternate reality."

Draco smiled knowingly at her. "Macbeth."

A strange familiarity settled between them. As Draco decided to light up another cigarette, Granger's eyes took on an amused glint.

"Are those muggle cigarettes? You're full of surprises, aren't you?" She teased.

Draco took a drag, before putting on his poshest voice. "Well, we were just introduced tonight for the first time Ms. Granger. I think you'll find there's a lot you don't know about me."

She smiled at him playfully. 'It's Hermione, actually. And okay then, Mr. Malfoy. Tell me something about yourself which would surprise me."

Draco cleared his throat, taken aback, as he tried to think of something. "Okay then, Hermione." Her name felt foreign on his lips. He took another puff of smoke, throwing his long hair out of his eyes as he thought. "Er…. I play the piano." He offered lamely.

Hermione laughed, "Who would have thought? A rich pure blood who plays piano? Shocking."

Draco smirked back despite himself. "Sorry, were you expecting me to bear my soul to you? We just met tonight."

Hermione smiled as she looked at him, waiting. When he just eyed her curiously, she asked in her familiar pointed voice "Well? Aren't you going to ask me something about myself?"

"Oh - alright," He replied, suddenly nervous. "What's your favourite colour?"

At this, Hermione's hand shot up to cover her mouth to hide her laugh. "My god, you are terrible at this."

Draco felt his cheeks tinge pink, but laughed anyway. "Indulge me."

"Okay," She said, still chuckling. "It's blue."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. I knew you should have been a Ravenclaw."

Hermione nudged him playfully, before coughing as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "God, I hate that smell. Do you honestly have to do that so close to me?"

Draco's eyes danced with amusement as he took an exaggerated draw and exhaled a large cloud. "You're telling me Ms. Goody Two Shoes doesn't smoke? You're sure you don't want one?" He teased, as she cringed away.

As he continued to smirk at her, her eyes narrowed with defiance, and she snatched the cigarette from his hand. As he watched in surprise, she raised the stick to her lips and took a rather too large puff, spluttering as she tried to inhale.

Draco watched her struggle for a moment in amusement, before taking pity on her.

"You're doing it all wrong." He took the cigarette from her hands, and raised it to his own lips. "You have to let the smoke hit the back of your throat, and then draw it into your lungs as if you're taking a deep breath." He demonstrated, inhaling and exhaling slowly, before placing it back in her hands.

Hermione eyed the cigarette nervously before trying again, with relatively more success. She still coughed as she exhaled, eyes watering.

"Finally, something you're not immediately good at." Draco commented.

Hermione scowled at him, but instead of handing it back to him she flicked her wand, conjuring two wooden chairs which faced the grounds in front of them. Then she sat, cigarette in one hand, and gestured to the other chair by her side.

Draco hid his surprise at the invitation. Although he was enjoying himself more than he had all night, more than he had perhaps in months, he had not expected this strange reconciliation to go on for much longer.

Still, he sat beside her, suddenly feeling nervous as they sat in silence. Outside, the long tentacle of the giant squid could be seen breaching the calm waters of the lake, and the soft buzz of music drifted up from below. The quiet stretched on, though neither of them felt inclined to break it.

"Tell me something else about yourself. Something nobody else knows. " Hermione said suddenly, her voice sounding strangely raw.

Draco glanced at her from the corner of his eye, her expression unreadable as she continued to smoke his cigarette.

There was another stretch of silence, before he replied, "You infuriated me in school." Hermione turned to look at him with a scathing expression. He eyed her earnestly, adding, "It's true, you did. You were best friends with Potter, I could never see past your hair when you sat in front of me, and you irritated me to no end with your constant questioning of the teachers. But you still beat me in almost every class. I had to explain to my parents every year that a muggle-born witch was ahead of me in school. That annoyed me."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Well, thanks." She replied.

Now that he had started, however, Draco found himself continuing to talk. "No, really. And then, to make matters worse, you punched me in the face in third year. It was bloody humiliating. After that you were just always on my mind, if only to think about how irritating you were. I thought about you all the time, even if we weren't… friends." His voice trailed off into the night, and he found himself staring at the floor.

When he finally looked back up at Hermione, she had an unusually soft expression on her face. His heart started to hammer unexpectedly, and his eyes unwittingly flitted to her pink lips, which were tugged up into a small smile.

"Anyway, I get to ask you something now." He said, trying to break the atmosphere that had settled between them.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Go ahead."

Draco pondered for a moment for something to ask the witch beside him as she put out his cigarette, banishing it with her wand. Then, she took a strand of her hair and twirled it around her finger, waiting for him to say something.

He cleared his throat, "Why did you decide to speak to me up here tonight, Grang- Hermione? Not that I'm complaining, but surely you have better options for company downstairs." He was aiming for a joking tone, but he disliked the vulnerability he heard in his voice.

She looked away for a moment, biting her lip, before eventually responding. "As I said, I can't stand how jolly everyone is down there. Seeing you tonight.. It's like looking at myself. You seemed just as not ready for this whole event as I was. It's refreshing, really, to not have to pretend that everything is fine for once." Her voice was low, and her eyes suddenly snapped to his.

The understanding in her expression warmed Draco's insides. He never would have considered that tonight was also painful for her, returning to face the trauma she had encountered once again. Draco let her words wash over him, the silence mounting between them. The only sound that could be heard was a slow jazzy tune echoing around the grounds from the Great Hall.

Unable to think of a reply, he simply said the next thing that came to his mind. "Do you really hate dancing?"

Hermione looked taken aback at the sudden change of topic. "Yes, I'm terrible. Couldn't you tell?"

Draco smirked back at her. "Well, yes, obviously. You dance like you have two left feet. But I assumed that was because you felt uncomfortable with me. Surely you've enjoyed dances before?"

Hermione only grimaced at him. "The only dance partners I have ever had before you were Victor and Ron. You were okay, but neither of them are particularly graceful. Never mind the fact that I don't actually know any of these stupid wizarding waltzes."

Draco scoffed, "Well, it's a good thing you're female. You don't need to know the dances, you're the one being led. It's the man's job to lead you, no wonder you hate dancing if the only experiences you've had were Krum and Weasel." Before Hermione could comment on his nickname for Weasley, he got to his feet, holding out his hand. "And I'm better than 'fine', I'll have you know. Come on, let me show you how it's done properly."

Hermione just stared at his outstretched hand, with an expression that clearly said 'are you mad?'. Rolling his eyes, Draco grabbed her hand anyway, hauling her up to her feet despite her protests.

He banished the chairs, and positioned himself and Hermione in the correct positions. One hand was on her waist, the other in hers.

"Just follow my lead." He said, smirking, and with that, he led them into a waltz matching the faint music from the Great Hall.

Hermione, to her credit, gave up trying to squirm out of his grip relatively quickly. "This is humiliating, you know." Was all she commented, though she watched her feet, trying to anticipate their next moves.

"Stop bloody calculating for once, Hermione. This is the easiest dance I could think of. I learned this when I was eight." He said, inwardly smirking at the annoyed expression on her face.

Draco extended his arm, twirling her at a slower pace than he normally would, before nudging her softly back into hold to continue the next steps of the dance. "You need to stop being so head strong and just let yourself be led, go with the music."

As the music swelled on, Hermione did seem to get the hang of it. She relaxed into Draco's grip, allowing herself to be steered in the correct direction and twirled at the correct parts. She laughed as he lifted her in the air to spin her.

"See? I told you, you need the right partner." Draco stated smugly when they completed a particularly fast few steps.

The music was slowing now, reaching the end of the song, and Draco twirled Hermione once more, before gently tugging her closer into his grasp. His hand was on her back now, and hers on his shoulder.

As the music came to a stop, he looked down at the girl before him. They were inches apart now, and the dance now finished. He was so close to her, he could see the golden flecks illuminated in her brown eyes, and could feel the heat radiating from her against the cold air. The music was now finished, and without it to break the silence, their closeness suddenly seemed much more intense.

Neither of them moved from their positions, and he could feel her chest moving against him as they both panted to catch their breath. As Draco remained locked in Hermione's gaze, he had the sudden urge to move closer. His hand trailed down her back, coming to rest on her hip. With his other hand, he gently tucked a fallen curl from her hair out of her eyes, allowing his fingers to graze her cheek.

He felt her breath hitch, and as his face inched closer to hers, her eyes fluttered and shut.

Just then, however, the moment was interrupted by a familiar shout.

"'Mione? You up there?" Weasley's voice carried from the courtyard below. Hermione's eyes widened and then flooded with guilt.

She snatched herself out of Draco's grip, leaving him feeling surprisingly cold.

"Just a minute, Ron!" Hermione shouted over the balcony rail, scrambling to look for discarded wand.

Draco accio'd it, before handing it to her silently.

"Thanks." She mumbled quietly, avoiding his gaze as she adjusted her wings. "See you down there?"

Draco nodded stiffly, fighting the urge to lock the door shut behind them so she couldn't leave or conjure a dungbomb to throw over the balcony at Weasley.

"See you, Hermione." He muttered, watching as she threw one last smile over her shoulder before leaving him standing on the balcony, alone.