2

It was with not inconsiderable excitement that Draco Malfoy boarded the Hogwarts Express in his fifth year. Having achieved (well, he thought he'd achieved it anyways) his goal of becoming friends with the Golden Trio, he rather thought that this year would be a year to remember. Beside the fact that it was OWL year, which rather put a damper on the friend-related activities that he and the Trio could possibly partake in.

Hauling his trunk behind him in search of a compartment with friends, Draco spotted Blaise reclining in a compartment on his own. He didn't bother knocking, just walked in, and throwing his trunk up on top of the rails easily. (He'd grown taller, and was rather pleased with the results.)

Sitting down across from his friend, Draco offered a friendly smile. "Glad to be going back?" he offered, knowing that Blaise usually spent his summer in an empty house while his mother was off gadding about. Blaise nodded and returned the question, and the two of them slipped into easy conversation as the train pulled from the station.

There was laughter outside, and the door slid open, framing the Golden Trio. Draco gawked, then smiled at them tentatively, curious as to why they were there.

"Mind if we join you?" Potter asked easily. Hermione poked him in the side and he shot her a glance before elaborating, "The other compartments are full of first years and other undesirable characters."

Did that mean that they were desirable characters, or ranked just a bit above undesirable? Draco glanced at Blaise, who shrugged, then turned back to the group. "Come on in," he said cheerfully, still getting used to the idea that the Golden Trio would want to socialize with him. He stood to help Hermione with her trunk, and then the four of them settled into the compartment once more.

It was momentarily quiet, before Hermione broke the silence. "So, OWLs," she said, turning to the lot of them. "Have any of you already started revision? I only managed to do a little bit last year, which is deplorable –"

Harry groaned, and Blaise in his seat by the window gave a little smirk.

"I'm serious!" Hermione said indignantly. "These are important exams, we can't just skive off like we usually do, and that means you two," she said, pointing imperiously at Harry and Ron, who were trying to hold back snickers. "If you don't take it seriously, I'll go study with Draco and the two of you can do your own homework," Hermione declared, sitting back in her seat with a 'hmmph!'

This idea sounded rather appealing to Draco, but the two boys let out loud groans and protests. Blaise cackled in the corner. "I always knew that you were the mastermind behind the group," he told Hermione with glee that was probably derived from learning that Potter and Weasley didn't do homework. Hermione smiled, Draco threw a grateful look at Blaise, and Weasley turned to Blaise and Draco and asked, "Do either of you pay attention in History of Magic?"

In short, it was the best train ride Draco had in his life.

…

As it turned out, perhaps Hermione had had the right of it. The Professors, obviously aware that their OWLs were approaching, had upped the ante, with homework and revision due every few days and minor tests. McGonagall and Snape, in particular, were ruthless in their pursuit of perfect students, and Draco found himself studying rather late.

The group that had convened on the train, with the addition of Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass (who professed a tentative interest in making nice with the Gryffindors, to Draco's surprise) formed a study group to survive the oncoming year. Hermione was at the head of the pack, of course, but Draco prided himself in being no slouch, and Nott and Greengrass were rather studious as well. (When they weren't staring into each other's eyes longingly).

After the third time that Madam Pince sidled by their table, ostensibly to check that they weren't hexing each other, Draco raised an eyebrow at the woman and she scuttled off, muttering things about 'possessed' and 'tell the headmaster'. Hermione, editing Ron and Blaise's Charms essays simultaneously, elbowed Draco in the side and murmured, "Take pity on the poor woman. We are rather a sensation."

Draco chuckled, once again amazed that the Trio had let him get so close to them – no small part of that due to Hermione's faith in him. True, there were moments where their ingrained mistrust got the better of them, and there were moments where the Slytherin group forgot the principle of House Unity, but for the most part, their friendship was strengthening. Surprisingly, Draco found his friendships within his own House strengthening as well, as he learned that his fellow snakes had good qualities of their own. Far from being ashamed and regretful of being in Slytherin, Draco was proud of it.

Lost in his musings, he didn't notice that he'd let his essay trail off into gibberish, and sighed with frustration at his inky hand that was no longer able to hold a quill. Across from him, Daphne and Theo had their heads together, working on a project for Muggle Studies, and Draco massaged his hand as he watched their heads bump and the two of them apologize in whispers.

"How long do you think it'll take them to get together?" he mused to the community at large – the two of them were oblivious. Harry looked up with a calculating eye at the pair and said, "Two weeks," giving Draco a grin. Blaise considered them with a shake of his head and said "Three months, unless we intervene."

Ron, who hadn't been doing any work at all, asked quizzically, "They're not together?" Hermione snorted and crossed out a line on his essay, sharing a look with Draco as if to convey her opinion of Ron's emotional sensitivity, and the rest of the group laughed.

Madam Pince swooped down triumphantly with "No raucous laughter in the library!", but the seven of them were too pleased with life (despite the surplus of homework) to care.

…

That set the pattern for their days; the Gryffindor trio and Slytherin Quartet merging to form a Christmas-coloured band of friends. Draco, who had opened the door, was inordinately pleased when he saw Daphne and Hermione giggling over something, or Harry and Theodore playing a game of Exploding Snap. He was sure that if he returned to the Mirror it would now have changed once more, as he had achieved his heart's desire.

Sometimes he idly wondered what it would show him now, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to return. The last time had brought on such an emotional upheaval that Draco wasn't sure he wanted to experience now, when he was so happy. Still, it was at the back of his mind, as it was truly the reason that he was here, studying in the library with Hermione leaning on his shoulder sleepily and Harry and Ron across from them, arguing Quidditch.

He'd never told them what had changed his behavior – he chose to keep it private, and they'd never asked him why he'd had such a complete turnaround, choosing not to look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth.

Hermione had mentioned it once. She'd remarked how glad she was that they were friends, and that she was pleased that Draco had grown up. It had a questioning tone to it, but Draco merely grinned at her and said that he wasn't quite grown up yet, tickling her in the side mercilessly. The subject had been dropped, and Hermione had since resorted to other forms of subterfuge to find out what had happened – interrogating his friends.

"So, any more trouble with Crabbe and Goyle?" she asked artlessly of Blaise one day, who patted her on the head and told her not to meddle.

"It was sure a turn-around for Draco in third year," she remarked to Theodore in the middle of a discussion on Ancient Runes. Theo nodded and said, "I think it's been good for everyone, don't you?" and returned to analyzing a translation in Elder Futhark.

"Does Draco ever confide in you?" she asked Daphne, who giggled and said, "Hermione, if there's something you want to ask him, just ask. We can double," she added, wiggling her eyebrows at the brunette, who blushed redder than a tomato and stuttered out that wasn't what she meant. Draco, told of this exchange (what did you expect? They were still Slytherins) felt a curious lightness in his chest, but high-fived Daphne for successfully curtailing all questioning on the subject of Draco's epic journey towards enlightenment.

However, neither Daphne nor Draco had counted on Hermione's tenacious mind and excellent, nearly eidetic memory. After weeks of pondering, and after the Gryffindor-Slytherin match (which Slytherin actually won, thanks to a new team line-up and Draco making silly faces at Potter while diving for the Snitch – who knew that friendship was more effective than cheating?), Draco was relaxing alone in the Astronomy tower when Hermione confronted him with a very familiar book.

She sat down next to him, leaning back against the wall, and read aloud from the book.

"The Mirror of Erised shows the viewer the deepest desire of their heart." She paused, and Draco felt his heart drop into his stomach, and his palms get clammy. He sat up and fixed her with a quizzical look, but she kept reading. "The image may change over time, but is no less true than the first time the viewer stands before it." Draco didn't say anything. Hermione closed the book, fixed him with a look, and demanded, "Well? Did I get it right?"

"What do you expect, to get an O for nosiness?" Draco replied with a raised eyebrow, though his mind was a mess of nerves. Hermione's look softened and she smiled at him. "No, I was just…curious."

Draco shrugged, leaning back with an air of nonchalance. His heart was pounding like drum, and he wondered that Hermione couldn't hear it. "Does it change anything?"

"No," Hermione admitted, "I just wanted to understand you better. And, lo and behold, now I do. I'm proud of you," she finished, and nudged him with an elbow. "Must have been tough."

Inexplicable warmth filled Draco's chest, erasing any of the last vestiges of that old, painful knot, and he blinked in the face of her understanding. He cleared his throat to get a lump out of it and replied, "Thank you," softly, knowing that she wouldn't tell anyone about the Mirror and Draco unless he wanted her to.

Hermione smiled and leaned over, giving Draco a hug.

He buried his face in her hair, smiling even though his eyes were watering (allergies or something, must be) and felt like he'd returned to a home he didn't know he'd had.

…

After that day, nothing changed, though it felt like something had. There was a secret, now, between him and Hermione, something he felt acutely whenever he, Harry and Ron were loud and she threw them a fond, exasperated look, or when Hermione fell asleep on his shoulder (something she did with increasing frequency as the year went by). It was there in the brief moments that Hermione's eyes held his for longer than strictly necessary, lingering until one of them blinked and looked away. Draco felt like he knew what the feeling was, but he couldn't put a name to it, and it started to distract him.

After the third lost match of Wizard Chess, Ron called him out on it. "Oi, Draco. Are you going to at least try to play?" he remarked irritably as he took Draco's king again. "You're usually more of a challenge than Harry."

"I heard that," Harry called. Approaching the two of them, he settled into a chair nearby, adding, "But he's right. What's eating you lately? You're distracted. Not that I mind, as it means that we still might win the Quidditch Cup," he finished, dodging Draco's swipe.

Draco frowned, momentarily wondering at the fact that the two of them were, dare he say it, concerned for him, an event that used to be equivalent in frequency to seeing pigs fly. "It's about Hermione," he offered slowly.

Ron made an "ooooooh" noise, and Harry raised an eyebrow. "Does this mean you're about to admit your undying love for her?"

Draco blinked, opened his mouth, blinked again, and raised a hand in protest. "What."

"The two of you are getting really close," Harry shrugged. "We just assumed… is that not right? Are you just friends?"

The response came unbidden to his brain –no. No, they weren't just friends. No, the fondness he felt for Hermione was more than that of a friend warranted. However, he wasn't exactly sure how to articulate this newfound discovery, and sat there with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, blinking rapidly. Ron and Harry, when it became clear that Draco wasn't going to respond, high-fived, and Ron crowed, "Pay up! I told you all that I was emotionally acute!"

"I like Hermione?" Draco asked, feeling a bit dazed, as Harry rummaged in his pockets with a grumble. The two of them looked at him with expressions that conveyed great pity for his slow mental state, and Ron said, "Well, of course. Don't you?"

This discovery was altogether too much for Draco's heart to handle, and he slumped on the desk in defeat, face red and eyes wide, the sound of Harry and Ron's cackling a nice backdrop to his confusion.

…

When he finally escaped from the giggling buffoons (as he affectionately thought of them), Draco had some time to himself to better examine his feelings. The year so far had brought a number of unusual developments, relative to his first four years at Hogwarts – befriending the Golden Trio, spending time with them and mostly not wanting to hex them, becoming closer with his Slytherin friends… being the happiest he could remember. All of this was due, in no small part, to Hermione. Hermione, who had helped him to discover what the mirror meant, who had given him a chance, who had danced with him at the Yule Ball and encouraged the other two to give Draco the benefit of the doubt.

Did he like her? He meant, like like her, not just as a friend. He wasn't sure – was it gratitude? Was it friendship? Was it something more?

Unbidden, his feet carried him to the Mirror room, and he paused with his hand on the handle, a bit uncertain. Was this the right thing to do? Should he be coming here for answers?

He shook it off. The Mirror wasn't a crutch, he told himself, just a way to ascertain what was truly in his heart. Besides, his heart's desire right now might have nothing to do with Hermione. It could be that he wanted to swim the Channel, or something of that nature, in which event he'd have to figure Hermione out for himself. Having talked himself into it, Draco took a deep breath, and swung open the door.

The Mirror greeted him, familiar and imposing as ever against the snowy backdrop of the windows, and Draco was conscious of a loudly beating heart and sweaty palms as he approached it. He paused, just out of range, then mustered his courage and stepped in front of it.

Apparently, Potter and Weasley were on to something.

Draco reached out a hand unconsciously, stretching towards the image in the mirror with longing in his heart. It was something he hadn't known he wanted, but here it was, in full colour, in front of him. He and Hermione were standing facing him, with his arms around her waist from the back, and her leaning back into his embrace, hands resting on his. Their mirror-selves looked happy, content, and when they glanced at each other in the mirror, Draco almost felt like he was intruding.

He stepped back to break the image and paused, not sure what he was feeling. His heart was a maelstrom of emotion, and he took in a couple breaths, trying to sort it out.

Draco liked Hermione.

Now what was he supposed to do?

…

His friends were as unhelpful on the subject of crushes as Harry and Ron were. Blaise just shrugged and said, "Ask her out, mate," and Theo and Daphne gave each other knowing looks and said importantly "it would happen in time." As Blaise hadn't pursued a relationship, ever, and Theo and Daphne basically got together by accident (with a little help from their friends), Draco wasn't sure how much stock he put in either of these suggestions. After all, it was his heart's desire on the line! What if she said no? Or started going out with another bloke?

Draco's marks, which had been improving, flatlined as he pondered this problem. The study group often had to pull him out of reverie, and as Hermione was usually the one sitting next to him, this didn't help – whenever she touched his shoulder to bring him back into the present, he got a bad case of butterflies in his stomach.

"Are you okay, Draco?" she asked one day, concerned because he had trailed off in the middle of a sentence. "You seem distracted lately. And rather flushed," Hermione frowned, pressing a hand to his forehead to check his temperature. This, of course, made the flush worse. Harry, Ron and Blaise were killing themselves with silent laughter on the other side of the table, and Draco shot them a glare even as he leaned into the touch. "Maybe you should go to the hospital wing."

For the brightest witch of her age, she was rather dense about when someone liked her. Draco shook his head. "I'll be okay," he lied, "Just trying to work something out. Where were we?" he asked, turning back to his abandoned parchment and trying to gather the threads of his thoughts together.

…

The run-up to OWLs was rather exhausting. The Professors, who seemed to have realized that the tests were nigh, were throwing all manner of material at them. Students revised long hours into the night and woke up the next morning feeling like the living dead, only to realize that they forgot an essay and scribble it out in haste. The study group seemed to be holding up, in a manner of speaking – Harry, Ron, and Blaise procrastinated, Theo and Daphne consoled each other, and Hermione and Draco actually did some work. Hermione, though, having a ridiculous number of classes, was looking a little tired, and Draco occasionally stole her quill and made her sleep.

Draco was looking a little tired too, but it was less because of the number of courses he was taking and more because he was no closer to figuring out how to achieve the object of his heart's desire than he was successfully passing History of Magic. (He'd written History of Magic off as a loss, but he refused to do the same for his burgeoning romance). If the Mirror had shown him his heart's desire, why couldn't it show him how to get it?

Yeah… why not? Draco mused, struck with a sudden idea. The Mirror, which had guided him towards happiness in the past, could possibly show him how to achieve his heart's desire in the future. If his heart's desire was to achieve his heart's desire… would it show him?

"You look more cheerful," Hermione said, nudging him with an elbow, and Draco forgot himself and beamed at her, a bit of his incredible fondness for her shining through. Hermione blinked, Theo and Daphne paused, and Draco said, "Oh, I just had a good idea."

…

It was not a good idea.

He spent long nights in front of the Mirror, willing it to give up its secrets. Surely, somehow, he would feel inspired – surely, the Mirror would share its wisdom. He stared and stared until his eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head, waiting for guidance, until one morning he woke up on the floor of the classroom.

The Mirror refused to give him what he wanted. Draco tried cajoling, pleading, charming, and hexing it, to no avail. The image did not change – Hermione and his mirror-self smiled out at him, happy and in love, but he was no closer to replicating that image on this side of the mirror.

"Why won't you show me?" Draco asked the mirror at 3 am, furious and eyes wet, wondering why he wasn't making any progress.

The Mirror had no answer.

…

However, Hermione did.

In his pursuit of figuring out how to obtain her affections, he'd been neglecting their friendship. Someone who was a bit less confused might have noted that this was rather counterintuitive… but Draco was just about as clueless as Hermione in the romance department.

He was heading back to his common room late one evening after an uneventful session with the Mirror, when a small, soft hand shot out from a tapestry and hauled him in. He was going to protest, but was met with the sight of Hermione, holding a piece of parchment and hands on her hips.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, and Draco blinked.

"Are my eyes deceiving me or are you out after curfew?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes as if that would help.

"Draco," Hermione said warningly, and he opened one eye to her displeased expression. "Why are you spending time with the Mirror?"

He flushed. "I need to solve a problem. And how do you know where I was?" he exclaimed, realizing too late that he'd given himself away.

She crossed her arms. "I didn't think you were that… that… dense," she informed him, ignoring his question. "The Mirror doesn't solve problems for you."

"But it's really important!" Draco cried, voice cracking, feeling desperate. "I want… the problem… it's something I don't want to mess up. What if I get it wrong?"

Hermione paused, surveying him in the dim light with a curious expression on her face. Draco met her eyes, willing himself not to let any tears go. He was stressed and tired and the object of his quest was right in front of him and he didn't think he could take a lecture from her now.

"Draco," she said gently, "If you get it wrong, you get it wrong. You try again. The Mirror can't solve your problems for you. Only you can do that."

Draco took in a shuddering breath, feeling a bit cowed. Hermione continued. "Just because you have magic at your fingertips doesn't mean that it's going to help you get friends, have relationships, achieve your dreams. And look at how far you've come! You made friends with Harry, Ron and I without magic," she pointed out in a low voice.

"But the Mirror showed me what I wanted," Draco said miserably. "Isn't that the same thing?"

Hermione sighed. "The Mirror showed you, but you were the one that decided to make a change," she said softly, stepping closer and putting a hand on his arm. "The Mirror didn't start being nicer to us, helping us out, looking out for us. You did."

Draco looked down into Hermione's face, feeling something like hope thrumming under his breastbone. "You think I can do it without help?" he asked, voice low and breaking.

"I know you can," Hermione said fiercely. "Whatever it is, I know you can."

Draco hesitated, and then grabbed Hermione in a hug, pressing his face to the top of her head. She let him, wrapping her arms around his middle and humming a soothing tune, and Draco felt his shoulders relax, stress bleeding away.

They stood like that for a long time.

...

He didn't return to the Mirror that year, but neither did his wooing of Hermione progress much, as the OWLs were then upon them. They finished exams one day and revised for the next in the evening, stressed beyond belief. The only people in the castle who looked more zombified were the NEWT students.

And then, that was it- their year was done, the students packing to head home, tired but feeling rather more carefree. Draco hauled his trunk into their compartment, settling down next to Hermione, and leaned companionably on her shoulder, watching as Theo pulled Daphne onto his lap and Harry, Ron, and Blaise conferred in low voices.

"Did you find what you were looking for this year?" Hermione asked, sleepily, leaning against the window and watching the fields go by in reverse. Draco considered, and then smiled lightly, looking down at her with a fond expression that she didn't see.

"Almost," Draco said, "Next year. Promise."

Hermione turned back to look up at him, smiling encouragingly, and Draco returned the look, not breaking his gaze until Harry threw a chocolate frog at his head.

Ah, friends.

…

Arriving at the school the next year was even better than the last – the seven of them found a compartment right away, and spent the ride catching up, hugging each other, and teasing Daphne and Theo whenever they stole a kiss. Hermione was as radiant as ever, and Draco found himself drawn by her sparkling eyes and wavy hair. Apparently, absence made the heart grow fonder, and Draco resisted the urge to run his hands through her hair and kiss her senseless. This was mainly because the other individuals in their compartment would tease him relentlessly.

Speaking of his friends, Harry and Ron seemed gratifyingly pleased to see him, too, though they'd all met up in Diagon Alley to get supplies earlier in the summer. Not a trace of their derision for him (or his for them) remained, except in the way that they each declared that their Houses would win the Quidditch cup and tussled over pumpkin pasties. And that, really, was just natural. With Draco as the Slytherin Captain this year, he was positive that he could pull together a team to knock Gryffindor out of the sky.

With these happy thoughts and an excellent start-of-term feast, Draco felt confident about the year, and more than ready to put his Plan to Woo Hermione into place.

…

Unfortunately for him, his Plan was curtailed by the horrifying realization that NEWT level classes were harder than OWL level classes. They had spare time, sure… to study. Thus, all Draco could do was be lightly flirtatious in study group, and make sure that he hugged Hermione, gave lingering touches, and paid attention to her as much as he could between essays.

The rest of the group pulled him aside, individually and in groups, to tell him to just go for it, because the tension was killing them. Draco merely shrugged and raised an eyebrow, holding up his Potions essay to show that he wasn't idling the time away, thank you, nor was he stalling thank you very much Potter – he was busy.

It didn't occur to him that he might be putting it off until, one day, Snape told him that it was time for his career discussion with his Head of House. Following the professor to his office willingly, Draco was startled to discover that Snape had no intention of discussing his career.

"You need to get around to asking Miss Granger out," Snape informed Draco, who wondered if he'd been transported to an alternate dimension.

"Sir?" he asked, examining Snape carefully. "Are you okay?"

Snape waved this aside with a long-fingered hand. "I'm serious, Mr. Malfoy. We both know that you're ambitious and driven, and your choice career won't matter – you will succeed, I am sure." Draco blinked at the compliment, giving Snape a thankful nod as the older man continued to speak. "What you do need help with is Miss Granger. Trust me when I say that you will regret it if you don't do something soon," Snape informed him, black eyes unreadable. Draco wondered if he was speaking from experience.

"But, sir," Draco said carefully, "I don't know what…"

"Just show her that you care," Snape said, in the gentlest tone of voice Draco had ever heard him use. "That will be enough."

There was silence for a while, each Slytherin lost in his own thoughts, before Snape shook it off, drawing himself up to his full height. "Besides," he informed Draco, showing him the door, "I have 5 Galleons on you asking her out before the end of the year, so please, get a move on."

The door was closed behind a thoroughly stunned Draco, whose feet took him unbidden to the hospital wing – perhaps he was hallucinating.

He wasn't, though after he stuttered out 'Snape- talked about feelings-" Madam Pomfrey gave him a tonic for stress, perhaps thinking that he'd imagined things and was overworking himself. Draco swallowed the bitter potion down, turning the conversation over in his head and wondering if, perhaps, Snape was right.

…

Coincidentally, he managed to find Hermione in the library on her own within the next couple of weeks. He paused in the stacks behind her, heart racing, wondering if he should do something, say something? Draco was uncertain. He knew what he wanted, now, and he knew that he would have to confess sooner or later, but… he was nervous.

"Draco, if you were going to surprise me, you should have done it ten minutes ago," Hermione called with amusement, and Draco jumped a little, hearing the echo of the past in her words.

"Who, me?" he joked, sliding out from the shelves and setting his bag on the table. He didn't sit down, though, preferring to stand, mind blank and heart racing. What did you say to your heart's desire?

"Yes, you," Hermione returned, eyes twinkling up at him that told Draco that she, too, had noticed the familiar dialogue. "What did you need, Draco?" she asked, kindly, putting down her quill and looking up at him attentively, fondly even.

"You," he replied without thinking, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. Hermione's mouth dropped open, but Draco kept going – there was no turning back now. "I need you. I need – I need your smile, and the way you play with your quills, and your kindness, and your strength. Hermione," Draco said, breaking off and looking at her reddening face beseechingly.

"Draco," she breathed, leaning towards him, eyes shining.

"Hermione, I –"

"I know," Hermione said, and then her hand was fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him down towards her, and she was kissing him, and Draco stopped thinking and his hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head up, deepening the kiss.

When they pulled apart, both of them were bright red, and Draco felt as though he'd been struck by lightning. Hermione laughed, a bit embarrassed, at his expression, then squeaked as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug.

"Hermione," he said, hoping to convey what he felt in that one word, that one very important word, and she giggled into his shoulder.

"Draco," she replied, and he understood.

…

Epilogue

Draco stood outside the Mirror room, on the eve of his graduation, hand resting on the door. It had been a long journey, these last seven years, and somehow his feet had brought him back to where it had all began, where he'd learned about himself and decided to become a person that he could be proud of. The wood was smooth and warm under his palm, and he considered it carefully, spreading his fingers against the wood and letting out an unconscious sigh.

Tomorrow, they would say goodbye to Hogwarts forever, and then it was out in the world. A new set of goals, dreams, and wishes – a new life. Draco turned the doorknob, opening the door, and spotted the Mirror winking at him in the distance. He could step forward, right now – discover what the next thing in life he wanted was – be prepared for the future. He'd know, perhaps, what career to pursue, or how to improve his relationship with his parents, or if he should, in a year or two, propose to Hermione.

He paused.

But then, Draco thought, tilting his head at the shining object, he knew what he wanted. There was the answer, right in his own mind – and he was sure that, as Hermione had once said, the solution lay in his own mind and heart as well.

Draco closed the door. The sound of the lock closing was almost dizzying in its implications, and he stood there for a moment, savoring it, hand lingering on the doorknob. If he wanted, he could open the door again, and step inside.

He smiled, turned on his heels, and went to meet Hermione.

...

A/N:

Well, apparently my version of 'a couple days' is about a week. Sigh. I'm sorry for the delay, it was not intended, but classes started and I discovered that my grasp on my to-do list was sketchier than intended.

But here it is! I hope that you enjoyed it as much, or more, as the first part.

Review, like, send me a message – and thank you, again, for reading!

Isefyr