Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling has that kind of luck. I'm not J.K. Rowling.

A/N: This disregards any death that happened in Deathly Hallows. I love them all too much to kill them. Yes, even Snape. =))))))

Enjoy!

Secrets are not meant to be kept under your dormitory, but to be kept at the hearing range of the obviously gossip-deprived students of Hogwarts.

So says Ginny Weasley, my dear, dear friend who so happens to have completely fallen under my other best friend, Harry Potter's charm. I don't really understand her (which is, of course, absurdly speaking of Hogwarts' brightest student), but she's quite convinced that I am under the influence of—shall we say?—a man. A handsome man. A man of which I am very much in love with. A man of which I am very much in love with and I so refuse to tell her.

Absurd. Very, very, very absurd.

Of course, if it weren't true.

Oh dear me, did I just say that?

My secret's out—but don't you dare tell Ginny or I swear to Merlin I'll hex you so hard you'll be squealing for Dumbledore out of his grave. Kidding! No, seriously, I will. Don't give me that look! I really will. Yes, run away while you still can—wait, no, don't you want to know my secret? Sit down and listen to me right this moment!

That's better.

So, I suppose you'd first of want to know the name of this man, don't you? Well, "man" serves him right enough. He's tall and handsome and very much well-built, has incredibly gorgeous eyes and tempting lips, has sleek and I-want-to-run-my-fingers-through-it hair... and he is a very, very clever wizard. I suppose you think me shallow for preferring these rather vain traits of him over chivalry and good-nature, but then this isn't a fairytale. Of course, I do fancy him being so incredibly sweet and suave when it comes to wooing me off my feet (literally, can you believe it?) and very much a kind fellow for helping me in my difficult studies.

"'Ermioneeeeeeeeee," Ginny Weasley whined, despite the obvious rule of SILENCE in the library.

"Hush, Ginny," I chided, more on avoiding her "you better tell me who this man of yours is or else!" topic than caring what Madam Pince might say, "we're in the library."

"I don't care," she said stubbornly, slamming the book she was "reading" shut. "'Ermioneeeeeee, you better tell me what the bloody hell is going on with you or I swear to Merlin I'll Bat Bogey Hex you!"

"You know that threat's useless," I said calmly, not looking up from Hogwarts, A History. "But please, do explain what you meant by 'going on with me'? Am I suffering from any unknown-to-Muggle-borns disease you happen to see in my face?"

"Puh-lease," Ginny rolled her eyes. "If you had any, you'd know even better than me. But I don't need to be a witch to know that you, my friend, are deeply, madly in love with a man."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Puh-lease," I said, imitating her and finally taking my eyes off my book and trying hard not to blush—the library was joyfully graced by another presence. "What makes you think, after being deprived of any good quality in this otherwise charming school, that I am in love?"

There was a cough at the table behind us, which was by the way in my excellent view. Ginny took time to glare at the intruder, then faced me again. "It is way too obvious, 'Mione! Don't think for a second that the entire Gryiffindor (considering your history with my dear Harry and my idiot brother) doesn't notice you... everyone can see the way you blush after an otherwise delightful trip to the library at night, or after a Hogsmeade weekend which you prefer not to spend with yours truly. Or how about last Christmas, where you mysteriously disappeared on Christmas Eve and came back to Gryiffindor tower looking like you just won a million galleons? Or...?"

As Ginny went on and on and on and on with her sermon, my eyes met with that of the boy perusing a thick book behind Ginny—and he winked; my heart fluttered. Ginny apparently didn't notice. He mouthed, see you later. And, well, I am a teenager, you know... I simply can't resist melting to a puddle.

"There you go again!" I heard Ginny exclaim, and then waving a hand to my face. "Come on, 'Mione! Tell meeeeeee! I'm absolutely dying to hear!"

"Ginny," I stood up suddenly, having realized it was almost dinner, "there's nothing to tell. If there was, I'd gladly tell you. But there isn't. So, for the meantime—au revoir! or see you at dinner, I guess." I dashed off immediately, barely hearing her shout in exasperation,

"This isn't over, Granger!"

I stifled a laugh.

I'm getting out of track, aren't I? Well, you must first off understand the effects of changes on people. Have you ever had an enemy where prejudices and dislike stop you from even rationalizing why in Merlin's name do you have each other? It's really amazing how even a slight switch in the earth's rotation could change people (but that's not my point, even if you'd argue about what really causes changes or puberty or whatnot).

A warm hand grabbed me by the waist.

Excuse me for a moment.

"Hello," my captor murmured against my untamed bushy hair, his cold, gray eyes thawing as he met mine. "How are you this fine day? I missed you."

"Other than purposely avoiding Ginny all morning, I'm quite fine, thank you," I smiled, delighting in his pleasant, debonair grin. "But which reminds me, dear. She's starting to get really, really suspicious.—but I missed you, too."

I detected a slight hint of amusement at my worry. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes (it seems to cause quite a headache if you do it too much). "Are you worried?" he asked.

"Pffft... Me? Worried? Ha! Of course not! Worried? What do you think I am—a worrier? Worried, my foot..." Geez, Granger, could you by any weirder?

He laughed, but then he sobered too soon for my taste. "Your Gryffindor friends"—I could tell he was resisting the urge to scoff—"have perfectly good reason for worrying. I am a Slytherin, after all," he declared mock-smugly, puffing out his chest.

"Pffft... and is that any reason to be worried about?"

He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow skeptically. "Are you, by any chance challenging me, Granger?" he took out his wand and pointed it at my face, looking haughty and smirking. Merlin, he looked good!

But then I wasn't about to lose in the whole I've-got-a-better-smirk-than-you contest. Five months of spending everyday with this dream man made me quite a damn good smirk-er, if you ask me. "Damn right I am," I raised my wand, ready to pull a Ginny and Bat Bogey Hex him when...

This obviously egotistical enough Slytherin wizard with the most gorgeous eyes I have ever had the pleasure to look into kissed me full on the mouth... deeply, passionately, and—bloody hell, I was melting! Ha! So this is his strategy? The git... not that I didn't mind... oh to hell with it! I kissed him too, and pretty soon I was falling into a temporary amnesia about who I was and what the hell I was doing snogging in a public corridor...

"HERMIONE?"

Oh no.

I pulled away—hard—and knocking my partner to the cold, harsh floor, my eyes widened as Ginny Weasley surveyed my scarlet face and the other wizard wincing in pain and rubbing his backside with disbelieving, gaping eyes.

"Ginny!" I gasped. "Ginny! What are you—?"

"Hermione Granger. No. Bloody. Way," she shrieked, still gaping like a goldfish out of water. "You and—? Oh my God, you—"

"Ginny, it's not what you think—" I stuttered.

"No use, Granger, just tell her," the wizard grunted. "It's not like she'll die of shock, anyway. No offense, Weasley."

"None taken," my gaping, goldfish-look-alike friend whispered automatically, still looking like Dumbledore suddenly rose out of his grave and started doing the moonwalk.

"Ginny... listen very, very, very carefully, okay?" I said nervously, approaching her. Her eyes snapped at me helplessly; I tried not to laugh. She looked like Crabbe and Goyle struggling to find their way out of the boy's lavatory. "Me and... well, we're just... what you saw earlier... um... you see, Ginny, when a witch and a wizard fancy each other, they—"

"Ew, Hermione! Don't you give me that speech!" She looked repulsed. Ha, ha, I distracted her! "It's not like I've never snogged a man in my life!"

"Sorry. Ginny—"

"Let moi handle this, Granger," He interrupted, smoothly, sitting up—I immediately stretched out a hand to help him to his feet. "You see, Weaslette," he began, not looking the least bit nervous and looking as though he was explaining a particularly interesting piece of information to a confused first-year, "I am deeply, madly, inexplicably in love with Hermione Granger. What you saw earlier, it's what two people who love each other do—I'm sure you'll understand that (send my regards to Potter, by the way). She's smart, she's gorgeous, she's a good kisser, and I definitely like the way she is, Muggle-born or not. I love her. I don't care if Voldy rises from the dead and gives me a good beating for this. You understand, don't you?"

The look on Ginny's face was priceless. I would have loved to owl Harry right that moment and send him a picture, but then that would have meant explaining matters I would rather not be shared in the Daily Prophet yet. I thought Ginny was hit with Immobilius until her eyes softened, and she shot me a teasing look.

"You've been a very bad, very, very bad, bad girl, Hermione Granger (A/N: Sorry, I just couldn't resist this! *wink, wink*)," she tsk-tsk-ed, a mischievous glint in her brown eyes. She looked uncannily like Fred and George for a moment there. "Wait 'til I'll tell Harry and Ron!"

And she ran off straight away, squealing excitedly like a little girl given a lifetime supply of candy; I distinctly heard her ask herself, "Now, what exactly do I say to the Prophet?"

My gray-eyed companion smirked at me, and pulled me closer to him.

I stuck my tongue out at him, teasingly.

"You're a clever one, aren't you, Malfoy?"

"And that's why you're madly attracted to me, aren't you, Granger?"

Two hours later Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Wizarding world were abuzz with the gossip of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy being secretly engaged and were plotting to marry the next day.

Harry and Ron were speechless for half a second before Flooing straight to Hogwarts and pounding on Hermione's door for explanations.

But then, between us two, who could care less?

I was seventeen, perfectly happy, and in love. He was, too. I found my happy place in Malfoy's arms. I wasn't about to let a raging hurricane knock down my happiness; I just let them pass without having to whine and cry and complain how Life was. No, sir, I wasn't. But let's skip the moral lesson for the time being, yes? It's pretty obvious.

Like my secret.