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A/N: Another one-shot, seems it's all I'm good for lately. Done entirely in second-person, may be slightly more ansty. Also, some OOC-ness may have occurred, which I'm terribly sorry for in advance. The compliancy may also be an issue. Enjoy anyway!

(Present day)

You're both on opposite ends of the room. Glaring and shouting. Shouting and glaring. It's a constant push-pull and you can't help but love it. Snarky comments and the biting retorts are what get you through the day because it's the only thing that's constant in your life now. It's the only thing that grounds you and makes you live in the now. Pretty much the only thing you have to look forward to when you wake up and smell the load of shit that's been dumped on you.

You don't realize the things that are staring you straight in the face but somehow, the arguments don't mean the same things they once did. You're not sure how, or for fuck's sake why, you just know. And you're not sure how that makes you feel. It's as though every principle you once believed has crashed down like a pillar, one by one, each one more significant than the last and this one seems to be the most crucial. But, you don't realize any of this until it's too late and you're too far gone. Maybe if you'd ignored her back at the beginning, you wouldn't be here now. It's not likely, because like I said before, you don't realize until it's happened.

(October)

She's so infuriating and self-righteous. Always trying to fix every goddamned broken thing she sets her eyes on and you feel like throttling her. But that option isn't good so you leave - because that's what you're good at. One of you always storms out before things get out of hand. The stress of being snubbed by another Order member is dampening your patience and seeing your father in Azkaban today was less than rainbows and sunshine. You don't even know what you did this time to get her harping but you're Draco Malfoy so your existence is all she needs to start on your case.

You catch snitches of the ranting. Things like "push away" and "help" creep into your ears from amidst the roaring in your brain but it doesn't mean much to you. It never has. Dimly, you register someone handing you a piece of chocolate and you're immediately grateful. It must be Lupin but then you remember that he's dead and you don't care anymore. Why would anyone care about you? You're not worth a sickle. Not even in terms of wealth at the moment. She walks out at your great listening skills and you sigh wearily before sinking into one of the armchairs and rubbing the heels of your palms into your eyes. Movement at the other end of the room catches your eye and all you see is the retreating form of Potter.

Snape informs the Order of the impending attack later that week and everyone's agitated and fearful. Your eyes seek her out but you realize what you're doing before it's done so they fall on Potter's grim face. For once you're glad that this wasn't up to you. Odds are you'd probably fail before everything started. Glimpses of Dumbledore and that day in the Astronomy tower make you shudder violently. What a fuck-up if there ever was one. There's some shouting about arsenal and attacks. Someone shouts. They don't want you present - for any of it. Not the meeting, the battle - none of it. You should argue, protest. Something, anything – but finding out the sordid details of your mother's death puts a damper on your mental functions. Every-fucking-body knows, make no mistake. It's been splashed in the Daily Prophet for the past three days as new details leak out. There's a dull ache in your chest but you can't acknowledge it just yet.

Potter and Weasley corner you that day and you're surprised that they want your help – however unwillingly. You accept – because it gives you something else to think about and you've been feeling this nagging urge to prove yourself. It's been days since you've seen that bushy head and you're in need of a confrontation. She's on a mission. Every member goes. So why is she the only one that you want to know about? You shake the feeling that comes along. The question is never answered.

You're called in for a private meeting with Shacklebolt and your heart plummets. He's sending you on a mission and as he's briefed you, there are shouts just outside the door and a loud thump. The door bursts open and your eyes are glued to the worn body on the wooden floor. It's her. Feet planted to the ground, you can't move. She's not moving but you see the effort it takes her to breathe. The short spasms of her chest are enough and before you know it, she's being levitated upstairs to be taken care of. Shacklebolt comes back and tells you you'll be gone for two days in two days. You just want it to be over already. Sleep seems like a good option at this point and the Dreamless Sleep Potion waiting there is enticing so you lumber upstairs. Her room is just opposite yours and there's a flurry of activity. She's stable but the visitors never stop. You should see her but you stop at the last moment because it doesn't mean a thing to her either way. At least that's what you tell yourself.

The two days spent waiting fly by and you're on your way out the sleeping house that's shrouding you in darkness. Before you fully register what you're about to do for the Order, a hand on your shoulder stops you. "Be careful." And it's a whisper; fleeting and you think you've imagined it. But those two words mean more to you than you'll ever realize. You spend your days in some godforsaken desert; the only companion is your ever deteriorating mind but there are times when you hear that voice, soft and lilting and it's probably the only reason you make it back with the required supplies. The success of your first mission makes people see you differently and you feel as though you're worth something – that you've passed the impassable barrier.

(November)

It's been a tense month. Sitting and waiting. You feel useless. Snape's prolonged absence has you twiddling your thumbs now that you can't assist him with the potion making. She's the only other one capable enough to make the much needed remedies but you don't want to approach her. You've never had a civil conversation with anyone, though they've begun to try. You can't afford any affiliations right now. It's too risky but somehow, you find yourself walking across the hallway and knocking on her door with two sharp raps.

Your mouth has gone a little dry and it's difficult to get the words to come out when the door bursts open and she gasps lightly. You hear your name on her tongue and there's an odd feeling simmering at the pit of your stomach. You hear the words like a peace offering – though you don't know why she'd even accept you – and it hovers between your bodies, tangible and it leaves you wanting more. "Come in." and you go willingly, because it's all you've wanted to do – surrender.

You talk; skim the surface of things but it's a start. It's just you and her; together, alone, undisturbed by everything and everyone. You're sure that people are beginning to wonder about the fact that she hasn't made an appearance and you haven't made a fuss but you're too wrapped up in feeling like you finally belong somewhere that you miss the creak of the door and the acerbic voices that wipe the shy smile off her face. Everything comes crashing back to you in a mind-numbing assault. It fucking hurts, as if tiny shards of glass were being embedded into every crevice of your body. She's running out of the room, after them and you stupidly follow because the promise of an argument thrills you. Or so you tell yourself.

"It's not your life! I can do what I please." You're met with her loud shout of disapproval just escaping the confines of the room.

"He's a Death Eater!" Ah, the phrase that explains everything. You look around at the members crowding into the room. Apparently they're spoiling for a spat too. It's been a long time coming in any case.

They circle the room, her and Weasley, with Potter on the outskirts – like two animals, lions actually - waiting to attack. How poetic, you can't help but think.

"What's going on Hermione? You've been distant and I'm beginning to think Malfoy is brain-washing you." Funny, you never knew the Weasel could use his brain but there's something stopping you from enjoying this. What is it? Then you remember. You've never taken kindly to people speaking about you like you're not present but instead of unleashing your wrath on the pea-brain; Granger does it before you can blink.

"Oh, sod off! You've been too busy shagging Brown to notice anything. You've resurfaced after however long and because I'm not there when you want me to be, I'm distant? I'm not a maid waiting to answer your every beck and call. You don't control my life." The room is silent, the air warm and stifling but everyone is still. The ginger has gone sickly and he looks just about ready to keel over. You'd laugh but it just isn't as funny as you thought it'd have been to hear Weasley get told off.

Before he stalks out, he turns to you, "You'll only ever be a Death Eater. That's all you're good for."

And don't you know it.

Weaselby's accusation holds a grain of truth and you can't help but become incensed by it. You want to smash his face in, wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze. Muggle violence, you've learnt, is much more satisfying than using your wand. You absently think Lucius would be rolling in his grave if he could see you now. But the thought is banished before you can ponder upon it and then all you're left with is Granger's doe eyes and an empty room. You try a smile, something to ease the tension but it's more of a grimace anyway. And then you wonder why it is you even care what her friends think so you storm back upstairs and rid her from your mind as well.

Things aren't ever really the same from that point. You know it, she knows it, hell, the whole house knows it. But it's not their business so you don't acknowledge their stares. Potter's been looking at you funnily lately, as if he's trying to figure you out. Please. He couldn't find his arse if it was right in front of him! The thought creeps you out considerably and you shudder.

(December)

The cold of winter seems magnified today as it lazily crawls in and makes a home in the dark corners of the house. You can't for the life of you get warm enough to stave off hypothermia but you think at this point that no one would care either way if you were dead or alive.

Now Christmas has never meant much in the Malfoy household but you were hoping that it might've been different this year. You know Granger's been trying to keep up a brave face but the stench of death pervades the atmosphere and not even her false cheer can bring back the ones she's lost.

You want to tell her, you think about it as the days draw closer to Christmas but you know it wouldn't mean anything. She doesn't need another person's sympathy and you don't need another person feeling sorry for you. So you lie on the bed, head propped on your forearms and breathe in a scent that's not entirely Grimmauld place or you. It's been prominent in your dreams, though you don't see who it belongs to, this scent you've come to associate with comfort.

Midnight approaches with the low toll of bells from the church down the street. It's just another day, another Christmas.

(January)

"Malfoy!" a dull thud sounds from behind your door.

Oh God who could it be now? It's been a full four weeks since the incident or what you've now begun to refer to as 'The Day You Decided to Be a Brainless Fool and Converse with Granger'. She hasn't looked your way in all this time, and you're quite relieved that Pothead and his faithful sidekick haven't been hounding you or planning surprise attacks. It doesn't bother you that she's sort of abandoned you, it doesn't matter that you're kind of alone and maybe lonely too. No, you tell yourself it doesn't fucking make a difference. Because you couldn't possibly care for the fucking Mud- but you can't even complete the damning thought and you realize that maybe just a small part of you wants to look after the muggleborn. Pathetic, right? Yeah, you think so too.

The realization hasn't quite sunk in yet and somehow you're a tad grateful for whoever it is that's now banging on your door. The distinct, grating voice of none other than Boy Wonder accompanied by shouts from the Weasel rouse you from your uncomfortable bed and you swing open the door, intent on telling them off. You see the complete look of ire they both give you and you take a half-step backwards. But wait, aren't you Draco Sodding Malfoy? They should be cowering at your very presence! You tell your rather bigoted conscience to shove off, that things like that don't matter to you anymore and surprisingly, you don't hear a peep afterwards. They storm in like the brutes they pretend to be and stand in the middle of your fairly bare quarters.

"What could you two possibly want?" You can't help but snap in their general direction as they've always rubbed you the wrong way just by existing. Potter's looking at you weirdly again and Weasley... well let's just say that his current demeanour isn't befitting to any future ladies. You're about to comment on their oddness and complete lack of manners but Potter starts speaking and whatever.

"What we want Malfoy, is for you to leave Hermione alone. I don't know what's been going on between you two but it's not helping -"

"You've got to be kidding me! I haven't spoken to her." You never realized just how thick-headed he could be until now.

"- and really, she's got enough to worry about. She doesn't need to be on her toes around you, thinking you'll attack her."

"And has she told you this herself, O Wise One?"

You thank Merlin that he's stopped blabbering for a second and you're eternally grateful for your common sense and quick thinking.

"Well no, but -"

"But nothing Potter. Nothing is going on and if she has a problem, she's got no qualms about telling me to shove it. We argue all the time, isn't that enough of a reassurance?"

Your eyes flicker to the red-head present and find it strange that he hasn't said anything up to this point. You know he's got a short fuse and he's always looking for a fight, so why has he been so docile? Wait, it looks like if he's – no, it couldn't be. Thoughts don't run through his brain! But he's still staring and for a split second, you think he's figured out something you haven't.

"Something's off about you, Malfoy." It's the only words that haven't been spewed like acid from Weasley's mouth and probably the only sentence that will ever unnerve you in their presence. They leave silently after your exchange and you just stand there for what seems like eons, your mouth open like a gaping fish.

(March)

Two months. Eight weeks. Fifty-six days. One thousand three-hundred and forty-four hours. Any way you look at it, that's a hell of a lot of time without Weasley or Potter interaction. But there's a small part of you, infinitesimal really, that misses having something to attack. You don't know why but Granger sort of lost that appeal. Sure it's still fun to goad her but it's not the same knowing you may have hurt her feelings. That thought is like a bludger to your head - sharp, mind-splitting and hard to wrap your thoughts around.

Since when do you care about Granger?

Since when has she ever meant anything to you?

Why have you taken an interest in Granger?

You come to the conclusion that none of it is intentional but now you're going to make a conscious effort to ignore her, despite the awful clench in your gut. You have to be realistic and in a rational world you and Granger would never work, wouldn't even exist.

Still, the thought of you and Granger has its appeal and for the rest of the day you find yourself lost in thoughts of the two of you. Together. Almost ... happy. It's enough to make you smile.

Maybe, it's not such a bad idea after all. If only she'd give you a chance.

(April)

Ever since you've come to maybe accept your growing feelings towards Granger, you've been looking at her more closely, categorizing her movements, tracking her with your eyes. She seems so delicate lately, worse for wear and somehow it's like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

She's been looking at you too. You know because sometimes when you search for her, your eyes connect and for a split second, you see something in those brown orbs of hers almost like...understanding.

You walk aimlessly through the halls of Grimmauld Place contemplating. You're grabbed at the back of your collar and pulled soundlessly into an empty broom closet. The thought of Constant vigilance crosses your mind but it's just a thought and it's lost already because the same fucking scent that's been haunting you for months is right there in the enclosed space and now you're trapped. There's no doubt in your mind about who it could be any longer but you still hope. It's futile when she speaks.

"What's the deal? Why have you been looking at me all the time?" She speaks in her calm, placating tone like if she knows everything. But this is Granger we're talking about and she does know everything. There's hardly enough space in here for the two of you and that overwhelming scent of lavender, autumn and the sun cling to you but you still can't get enough. You wonder how she can still smell like autumn when it's been gone for so long but she starts speaking again and you struggle to pay attention.

"You've been so distant lately." That makes two of us. You want to see her but there's no light in here and your wand is marvellously stuck upstairs. Of all the times to leave your wand anywhere! You have to admit though, this is the best position you've been in with Granger in months and you relish every second of it. You know if you speak it'll just ruin everything but things are ruined already so what's one more thing?

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs with her lavenderautumnsun smell because you know after you speak, it won't be there any more and everything will have changed. "I think about you most days. Wonder, really." And then you're backing out of the closet and running out the door but you don't get much farther than a few paces before you're falling to your knees heaving for breath, the scent inexplicably gone.

You know she won't look at you again and you should be happy but it still fucking hurts.

The month of despair is amongst you. All too soon everyone is piling into Grimmauld place and you know it's going to be soon. Tired limbs and numb mind, you're ready for the final encounter, to do something right for once in your sorry existence. For you. To prove that you're worth something, that you're more than what meets the eye.

All too soon Shacklebolt calls everyone to attention and everyone is gearing up. There's a calm like before the impending storm and everyone says silent prayers. It's now or never, and there's no turning back. It's Potter's last everything. He either lives or dies and you genuinely hope he kills the pathetic bastard.

Before you know it you find yourself in the midst of it all, where everything started and was going to end. Hogwarts. The stone citadel now reduced to piles of steaming rubble and dirt. Something in you mourns for its fall but you can't linger because every second counts.

Streaks of redbluewhitegreen shoot through the thick smoke. It's viscous and almost like you're breathing in tar. You take in large gulps of air but it only makes things worse. The large gash in your left arm throbs painfully every now and then but you're still going. More than once you've used the forbidden spell today and each time it saps your energy just that much more. The feeling you get each time, pieces of your soul being ripped apart, of utter desolation and misery make you want to curl into a ball and die but still, you continue.

A clear voice breaks through your haze and you recognize it as being hers. You follow it into a clearing and see her battling against three others. They look up at your arrival, a feral gleam in their eyes. "Ah, young Malfoy. Come to join in on the fun?" You want to cringe in revulsion but tamper it down to a mere sneer in Granger's direction. You need to make her understand that you're trying to protect her and you know she's cottoned on by the furtive glance she passes in your direction.

You approach them and as if in slow motion everything happens and they all go down in one fell swoop. It's all business after that. There's no sappy thank you or display of emotions. Just a nod and it's back to the task at hand.

The silence in the moments that follow is too much for but you can't seem to say anything. Then you hear a cheer of sorts and both of you rush to the source. In a glade, secluded from the brunt of the battle do you see Harry Potter, relieved and worse for wear but nonetheless victorious. She rushes to his side and for now, the battle is over. One by one, Death Eaters fall following the death of their master and you look toward the sky. The first drop falls to your face and it's a welcome feeling. The rain has never had such a cleansing effect on you before but then again, you've never felt this way. You're content to stand there as everyone else congratulates Potter because this is your beginning. Your chance.

(June)

It's been just over a month since the fall of Voldemort. Things are brighter but there's still that cloud of gloom hanging in places. Potter, Weasley, Granger and you are in the living room and a comfortable silence permeates the air. There's no need for words right now and you can honestly say that everything will turn out fine. Each of you holds a glass of Firewhiskey intent on toasting to god knows what.

"Malfoy," Granger focuses her attention on you. "Someone told me that it was your birthday today. So happy birthday, I guess." She downs a bit of her drink after toasting to you and the Wonder twins follow. Her cheeks glow something red and it suits her rather well you think. Her birthday wish ranks in your top five best birthdays and you still can't get over how pathetic it all seems. She rushes out in a blur of robes and words but you smile to yourself anyway.

(July)

It's Potter's birthday and rather than join in on the festivities you're up in your room at Grimmauld place. Sulking. Why? Well if you knew the answer you wouldn't exactly be here. But you decide to suck it up. You owe Potter and you'd rather not be left alone with your thoughts any longer. As you descend the stairs, the sound of wrapping paper being ripped heard and a hesitant "Wow thanks, Hermione" is heard. You position yourself at the door entrance and prop yourself against the door jamb.

Potter's holding up a limited edition Runic Etymology; a thick, bound book that probably weighs more than his head and you think how presumably Granger. "A book. Really. You thought he'd read it?" A glance in Potter's direction proves your point as he shamefacedly looks away. You know this comment will set her on edge but you just want that normalcy again and by Salazar Slytherin, she takes the bait.

"What's wrong with a book? It's a fascinating topic and I thought that maybe he might be interested. Would you read it?"

Of course you would read it. You aren't Potter, out looking for danger every other day. Draco liked to engage in life preserving activities contrary to popular belief. "That's not the point. Does Potter look like someone who'd read a book of this subject?" You know she can't possibly have anything to say but once again she proves you wrong and fixes you with that insufferable stare.

You're both on opposite ends of the room. Glaring and shouting. Shouting and glaring.

"Well forgive me for trying to educate my friend!" Your voices are rising and you're getting closer. "I just want -"

"Just shut up! Shut. Up." and before you know it, your hands are cradling her face and you punctuate each word with a kiss to her face until finally, you capture her lips in a slow kiss filled with everything you've wanted to tell her. She doesn't speak after you've released her. Rather, she backs away slowly until all you see is her retreating form and more movement. Definitely not the reaction you hoped for.

"About time. I thought it would never happen." And you never thought you'd hear Potter speak those words or see Weasley agree. It's just occurring to you how badly you've fucked up.

You spot the bottle of Ogden's on the mantel and before retreating to your room, you grab it, hoping to drink yourself into oblivion.

Halfway into the bottle, your door creaks open slowly and you want to tell them to get the hell out but your head hurts something awful and everything feels like you're moving through gel. There's a scent that you recognize again and though you know it can't be real you find yourself hoping for it. It has a strong sobering effect on you and now you notice Granger.

Somehow, she seems to be getting closer and you don't know if it's because of the alcohol or some other reason altogether. "I've been thinking," You hear her start, "about what you said and there's something I need to tell you too." You'll listen to anything she has to say because at this moment you know she'll give you the chance you've wanted. Before she takes your mouth in a searing kiss she whispers all you'll ever need to hear. "I think about you too."

Fin.