You
By MrBenzedrine
Inspired by "YOU" on Netflix

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor do I own the world of JK Rowling. I'm merely making this up for fun and entertainment, and because a plot bunny wouldn't leave my head. Don't sue me.

~A.

Chapter One:
Meeting You (Again)

A/N: This story will get pretty dark at times. I won't give trigger warnings, because I'm not entirely sure where I'm headed with this, but do know: this is a Dark!Draco. Be prepared. If that's something you don't like, squick out now.

Look at you. Red lipstick. Messy hair tucked into a barely-containable bun. A summer dress and heels. Is this really the same Granger we all grew up with? Or are you just a figment of my imagination? No, that would be impossible. As talented as I am, imagination isn't one of my strong suits.

Of course, I notice you. How could I not? You shine brighter than anyone here in this cold, cryptic Alchemy shop. You're like the literal sun, warming everything you touch. I can tell that about you just from looking. I'd love to do more than look, but it isn't my place.

Not yet.

But based on your dress, I can ascertain you're more carefree than you were back in Hogwarts - buttons are on the front, not the back, so you're still guarded. You like being in control of the situation. I like that. Always have, really. Not that I would have let you know that back then. No, then I was under thumb and ignorant of beautiful creatures.

The heels suggest impracticality, but you are anything but impractical. Maybe you're meeting someone here - a lover? Mmh, those shoes are far too scuffed on the edges to be that kind of meeting. A friend, perhaps. But that lipstick...it's bold. Like you. But I always remembered you being more understated.

So perhaps, you're not meeting a friend here at all. You're making a point. Proving your worth. But you're anxious, too. And annoyed. The way you work your lower lip between your teeth means whomever you're meeting here is already late - and you hate tardiness, don't you, Granger?

The shop bell rings, and a familiar mop of red hair confirms my suspicion. So, Weasley screwed up, did he? That's why you're here. The outfit, the makeup - it's all to show him what he's missing out on. Vindictive...I like it.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," he says, brushing the soot off of his robes as if he's just hopped out of a floo as he approaches you. "Got held up in a meeting and - why did we have to meet here again?"

You cross your arms, building a wall between the two of you, which means you're not looking for this to work out. You've got something you want to say, and you don't want to be overheard. And really, who steps inside an Alchemy shop on a Tuesday around two? My most loyal customers wouldn't dare show their faces during daylight hours. This is all a carefully planned execution - and we both know who the target is.

You sigh, and I close my eyes momentarily. That sigh...it's musical. I know we haven't spoken in years, but I can't pretend that I haven't thought about what you might sound like sighing beneath me. It's a good thing you haven't noticed me yet - but you will, Granger. You will.

"Tabitha from accounting says that she saw you and Lavender out for lunch." Your voice doesn't waver, but as I bring my eyes back open, I can see the way your knees shake beneath the skirting of your dress. You're angry. More than angry. You're furious.

"Yeah? So?"

"So? We haven't been broken up a week, and you're already galavanting out with another woman? Lavender, of all people?"

Ooh, bad form, Weasley. Even my depraved self knows better than to be seen out in public with a witch so close after a breakup of that magnitude.

I watch the way you clutch yourself, as if you're afraid that, should you let go, you'll do something you'll regret. Maybe hex Weasley into oblivion? Avada his sorry arse? You wouldn't regret that you did it - only that you'd get caught.

"Lavender's just a friend, 'Mione-"

"Don't." You snap your eyes up to meet his, fire burning in your irises. "Don't you call me that. And a friend? Is that what you call someone you slept with while we were…?"

"On a break?" Weasley finishes for you, a bit haughty for my tastes. "It's not like we were together. Not really. You're the one who broke it off with me, remember? Said you needed time to think about things?"

"And that means you jump into bed with the first woman who throws herself at you?" You're trying to control your voice, lest you be overheard by an employee - like myself. But these walls carry sound, Granger, just like they contain secrets. They do my bidding, and they'll always be loyal. They could be loyal to you, too, if you wanted. So could I.

It's Weasley's turn to sigh. "I dunno...thought I could...get over you, y'know?"

There are tears in your eyes. They glisten underneath the flickering candle lighting along the walls, threatening to spill down to your tinted cheeks. Such a shame you're wasting tears on someone like him. But maybe tears are what you need right now - and I'm for giving you what you need. I'm patient, Granger. I've changed. You'll see, in time.

"And...did you?" You interrupt him just before he speaks. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Just...go."

"You serious?"

"Go, Ron!"

"Alright! Geez, alright."

As the bell above the door rings again, we now find ourselves alone together once again. Perhaps it's time I made an appearance - after all, there's no time like the present, and you look like you could use the company.

The timing is perfect as I approach - you pretend to read over the small collection of alchemy volumes I've accumulated over the years, stashed away behind a glass case, displayed for just such occasions. A conversation piece, if ever was one.

You hear my footsteps first, and you quickly swipe at your cheek with your knuckles, no doubt to clear away the wasted tears for Weasley. But when you turn around, those tears quickly dry up. After all, it's not every day you see your childhood bully in a chemistry apron approach you in a less-than-reputable shop tucked away in Knockturn Alley. I know that look on your face - you don't wear it often, but when you do, a thrill runs up my spine. You've been caught off guard, and it's delectable.

Then, you say your first words to me in over seven years. "Malfoy? Is that you?"

Yeah, I've changed too...haven't I, Granger? I'm no longer that skinny boy you knew; lifting crates of phials has been kind on my body. No, I'm not bulky, but I'm no longer skin and bones. I'm all grown up now. Just like you.

"Guilty as charged," I smirk, shrugging my hands into my trouser pockets, because honestly, who ever knows what to do with one's hands? "I'd say you were Hermione Granger, but she wouldn't be caught dead in Knockturn Alley…she was such a goody-two-shoes." I'm calling your bluff, and you know it. You'd never admit to having met Weasley here - that would mean admitting to the drying tears on your cheeks.

To my amazement, you don't frown, as was always customary to the sound of my voice when we were children. Instead, a timid smile breaches your face, and you unfold your arms for the first time since Weasley appeared. "She was, wasn't she?" You laugh, quiet, but it's enough to make your smile grow. "If I recall, she also loathed you with a passion."

"Mm, yes, there's a similar memory in here somewhere," I reply, tapping my finger to my forehead. "Of course, I also remember her a bit more...button up. Rigid."

"Rigid? Says the man who used to slick his hair back until it resembled a broomstick? Oh, but you couldn't be Malfoy. His hair never moved."

Yeah, that's different too, Granger. My hair is tugable now. And I find it interesting you've noticed. "Must have been the broom up his arse," I reply, shrugging.

"Indeed." And there you are, more relaxed by the second. Is this real? Have I genuinely made you at ease? You sniffle lightly, trying to cover up the fact that moments ago you were ready to throw yourself into a fit of tears. It's alright - Weasley's always been an arsehole. It's just taken you this long to see it. "You...you work here?" You gesture around to the shop.

"Better yet, I manage it."

"Draco Malfoy? Managing? Now I know you're an imposter." You take a step closer, tilting your head slightly as you observe my face. "Mmh, I doubt it. Even with polyjuice, there's no way anyone else could pull off that arrogant smirk."

"And the degradation begins," I chide playfully, quirking an eyebrow. "Tell me, Granger, how long have you been keeping that one tucked away beneath your belt?"

"Oh please." You roll your eyes. "That would imply I would have thought about you since we graduated."

"There's no need to lie." I shrug. "Most witches do."

"I've never been 'most witches.'"

No. You certainly haven't.

After studying your face for half a moment to assure myself you're not about to bolt out of the door in fear, I gesture to the display case behind you. "Anything I can help you find? I assume there's a reason you stepped foot into my establishment."

Of course, we both know the real reason. Weasley. Secrecy. But you don't know that I know, and that's alright. Your secrets are yours, and I can honor that. We all have secrets, don't we?

"Just browsing," you say quietly, trailing off, probably recalling the events that transpired before our meeting of minds.

I nod, knowing my place. You need time to filter and simmer, and I'm glad to give that to you. "Well, if you need anything…" I pause, weighing my options. "Actually-" I reach for my wand in my holster, and I don't miss the way you take a step back as I present it. I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt just a little to see you flinch at me, but what can I expect? We haven't great history. I step around her and unlock the bookcase, strumming my fingers along the bindings of the tomes I so desperately care for. I stop, plucking one from the shelf and locking the rest safely away before turning to face you again. My wand goes back into my holster - no need to make you fear me any more than you already do. After all, we're starting off on a clean slate. "This one. I think you'll enjoy it. It's an original manuscript written by Nicolas Flamel himself."

Your eyes dance over the leather-bound journal in awe, and it's then I know I've made an impression. "I...I couldn't possibly…"

"Read it." I shove the book gently into your hand. "Bring it back when you're done. If you don't, I know who to call the authorities on."

"Malfoy…" Your mouth hangs open like a trap door. "I don't know what to...why would you…?"

"You're thinking too much on it, Granger," I tell her, shoving my hands back into my pockets. "Just have it back to me when you can." When she does nothing but stare blankly at me, I add, "Look, maybe you're just someone I know who can appreciate this as much as myself. If you dwell too much on the why, I'll seriously consider taking it back."

That gets her. She clutches the journal to her chest and nods, appreciative. "I...thank you, Malfoy."

She leaves the shop quickly, the bell tinkling gently as she exits.

Smirking as large as I can muster without actually giving in to smiling, I quickly stroll back up to the counter and shout toward the back room, "Oi! Nott!"

Theo, my childhood classmate turned employee, peeks his head out a moment later. "Yeah, Draco?"

"I've got to take off early. Close up for me." I quickly shrug off my apron and slip on my robes, buttoning them quickly as I approach the door.

"Alright," Theo says, scratching at the stubble on his cheek. "Everything okay?"

"Of course," I assure him, already out the door. As I step out, I see the small skirtails of your dress turning the corner into the sunlit Diagon Alley.

Now, let's see just where you're off to, Hermione Granger. Just what makes you tick?