"So what about you, Granger?"

They were sitting at a bar. He'd come over to her house and said he'd had a long week, so he wanted to celebrate it being over. She tied up her hair, grabbed a coat and followed him to the nearest Muggle bar they could find. He bought her a beer, scooted his stool close to hers, and started telling her all about his dating drama.

"What about me, Malfoy?" she asked.

"Nobody on the horizon for you? You've been single from the moment we first became friends."

She raised her eyebrows. "What are you talking about? I was dating Ron when we first became friends."

He smirked before raising his bottle to his lips. When he set the bottle down, he casually leaned away from her. "I'm not including that in this discussion," he said. "That was barely a relationship."

"What?"

"It doesn't count as a relationship. Maybe I'm wrong," he said. He was watching her carefully, analyzing her reaction, keeping his hands busy by running his fingers over the edge of his bottle. "But it always felt like you guys didn't really want to be together. Like you just had to be together for the sake of trying."

"You're wrong."

Her voice had suddenly picked up a rough edge. He gave her a familiar look – the sort of look her parents would give her whenever they thought she was overreacting. "Why are you getting angry?"

"Because," she said. She inhaled deeply, trying to keep her breath steady. "My relationship with Ron nearly tore me to pieces. We have years of memories together. You can't take all that and sum it up like it was nothing–"

"But it was."

Hermione slammed her bottle on the counter. "Don't act like you know what you're talking about."

"But I do." She glared at him. He had enough nerve to continue. "It tore you apart because you were fooling yourself the whole time. You constantly told yourself that this was it, that you had found everything you were looking for. But deep down, a part of you knew you were wrong. Your head, your logic, whatever it was – it was fighting you the whole way. In the end, your head won. And nothing hurts worse than losing to yourself."

"Don't–"

"It works the other way around too, you know. Sometimes something is worth fighting for. Sometimes a part of you keeps warning you to stay away, but you fight to believe because it just feels so right. And in the end, you win, in spite of all the odds. And nothing feels better than proving yourself right."

She pushed her stool out from underneath her, standing up. "I'm not even listening," she hissed at him, and then she left. He gave her a two minute start before leaving money on the counter and following her.

"Funny how we always end up walking, isn't it?" His voice made her jump; she hadn't heard him chase after her this time. "Don't you believe in magic, Granger?"

"How is it," she asked him, her hands fisted at her sides, "that you always manage to piss me off?"

"Because you let me," he said, falling into step beside her.

She scowled and continued her angry walk down the road, listening to the slap of her feet against the pavement.

"Why do you always run as soon as things get a little…"

Hermione stopped and swiveled around to face him. "A little what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's all fine with you until we start talking about something serious. It's like you're always running away from the truth."

"I am not," she hissed, "running from the truth."

"Right." The haughtiness in his tone, as if he knew something she didn't, angered her even further.

"You don't know me."

"Yeah, I do." He took a step closer to her. "Maybe not as well as I should, but I do. And I know you're in denial about something."

She scoffed. "You think I'm in denial?"

"I'm sure you are," he replied.

She looked at him, her voice caught in her throat. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, but instead, all she said was, "Go to hell, Malfoy."

"Fine." Then, so abruptly that it shocked her, he turned and started to walk away. Her eyes widened. They had argued a million times before – he had perfected the art of making her angry and calming her down. Like a light switch, all he had to do was flick it on or off. He would always follow her until he could get her to smile, until her anger became unnecessary.

She wanted to ask him where he was going, why he was leaving, but pride held her tongue. She watched as the distance between them grew larger and larger, watched as he became a blurred figure in the distance, watched until she could no longer see him.

And then she wondered why she had let him go.

. . . . . .

He was wrong about Ron. He was sort of right, too, and she would rather die than admit it, but he was right. When she and Ron had been together, she had fooled herself into thinking that he was the love of her life – she would go through all the motions, like watching his sleeping face in the morning or listening to sappy love songs while thinking of him. But deep down, a part of her would always question the nature of their relationship. Are you with him because you love him, or because you think he'll never hurt you?

Sometimes, late in the night when it was quiet all around her and all she could hear was Ron's shallow breathing, she would wonder, Is this all there is?

But Draco was wrong when he said their relationship was meaningless. She could still remember that euphoric light-headedness she'd felt when Ron first told her he loved her; the contentment whenever they'd spend all night together and wake up in the morning and start the day by making pancakes together; the hollow emptiness she'd felt when he finally told her that he was sorry, but there was someone else.

It wasn't built to last, but it wasn't meaningless. She knew enough to know the difference.

. . . . . .

She waited for him to come over, and when he didn't, she waited for him to send an owl or send a note or send some kind of sign that would let her know things were back to normal. She missed his snarky comments, missed his annoying habit of always telling the truth. She wasn't used to being the one who needed to apologize, but maybe he deserved it this time. She stopped by a store before heading to the Manor.

The gate opened automatically to let her in. As she passed through the front door, a small bell sounded. She assumed it was to let Draco know that he had a visitor. She stood in the living room while she waited for him, playing with the object in her hand. The portrait of Lucius Malfoy sent her a dirty look every few seconds, as if he was worried she would taint the carpet somehow.

"Sorry about that," Draco said, walking into the room. "I was–" He stopped when he saw her. "Oh. It's you."

"It's me." She shifted from one foot to the other. "Hi."

"Hi," he said. He gave her a small smile that melted away the awkwardness between them. He looked genuinely happy to see her.

She held out the object in her hands and he laughed. It was a lollipop.

He reached for it, but she drew it her hand back. "My relationship with Ron did matter. You can't say it didn't."

"Granger–"

"No, listen." There was a pleading note in her voice that silenced him. She needed him to understand this. "It mattered. Maybe it didn't turn out to be the happily-ever-after that I thought it would be, but it meant something. You can't spend that much time with someone without it meaning something."

A lump was forming in her throat. She was remembering the feeling of loss that had washed over her when she truly understood that her relationship with Ron was over – in one day, in one single moment, she had not only lost the person she loved, but also one of her best friends.

Her eyes were stinging. "You can't say it didn't matter."

Draco set the lollipop down on the table and reached for her. "Hey," he said gently. He pulled her into his arms, holding her while she rested her head in the crook of his neck. He was warm and comforting and smelled oddly of vanilla, as if he had spent the last few hours baking.

They stayed that way for a while. Hermione could've sworn she felt Lucius Malfoy's eyes burning into her back, but for once she didn't care.

. . . . . .

As Hermione predicted, Draco did ditch her friend, Alice. However, Alice wasn't as damaged as Hermione thought she would be. She was perfectly fine. "He was really sweet about the whole thing," she told Hermione over a cup of coffee. "He said he didn't want to lead me on, and that there was someone else."

Someone else? Hermione stirred her coffee before taking a sip. The bitter taste hit her in the back of her throat. "So you're ok? You don't feel…used and tossed aside?"

"What are you talking about? He was the one decent guy I've dated in a long time."

Hermione could almost feel the weight of shock pressing down on her jaw. "What are you talking about? He's a total womanizer."

Alice shook her head. "Not with me. Maybe it's because I'm your friend and he didn't want to upset you by hurting me. He talked about you a lot. All the time. You guys must be pretty close."

Hermione took another sip of her coffee. Were they close? She waved the question away as she set her mug down. "We're friends. It's not a big deal. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Better than fine, even. He was great with me. He just took me out for dinner every now and then, but he wasn't the sort of guy who was actively trying to score. We didn't have sex, not once."

. . . . . .

She thought about him all day. Alice's words bounced from side to side in her head like an annoying tennis ball. Even when she tried to forget, it was there, bouncing from one side to another.

Something had changed. She didn't know when or how or why, but something had changed. Maybe it was the time they spent together on the roof, or at the bar, or just hanging out. Maybe it was the scent of vanilla. She wasn't sure. All she knew was that something had changed.

She needed to talk to him. She pictured herself going to the Manor and telling him everything that was going through her mind, but in her fantasies he freaked out and looked at her with wide-eyed fear. She hated this scenario, mostly because it was a legitimate possibility.

In other fantasies, when her imagination was being generous, he would listen to her with that tender look on his face and then, when she was done, he would press her against a wall and their lips would meet, softly at first, his hands in her hair. This fantasy would leave her with a pounding heart and a tingle in her back.

You're crazy, her mind whispered to her. What makes you think he feels the same way about you? Go talk to him and see that "someone else" really is someone else.

But something was pushing her forward. Something had changed and she could never go back to being just friends with him. She couldn't be sure until she talked to him, but she had a feeling things had started changing for him, too.

You're insane. You're crazy. Don't go. Send him an owl. She considered this seriously, even took the time to think about what she would write. It would be easier to write it down on paper, where she could erase the words if they came out wrong, but in the end she decided that was the coward's way to do it and she didn't want to be a coward. Not when it came to Draco Malfoy.

Turn around and go home. But she couldn't. The gate opened automatically for her again and the bell rang, but she didn't wait for Draco to meet her in the living room this time. She walked up the stairs, her heart pounding louder with every step she took. Please don't do this to yourself. But she was too close to give up now.

He was sitting out on the ledge, looking at the city lights. He turned his head to acknowledge her. "Hey."

"Hey," she said. She stayed on the inside, looking out at him from the window. She felt like she was about to take an exam – there was a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. She held onto the window sill to stop her hands from shaking. "I talked to Alice today."

"Oh, yeah? How's she doing?"

"She's fine. She's great, actually."

You don't have to do this, that voice in her head told her. Just go sit down next to him and pretend it's all normal. He might not feel the same way about you.

But he might. She would never know unless she was brave enough to do this. She swallowed her fear. "Alice said there was someone else."

He looked over his shoulder at her and held her gaze. "There is."

She thought of a million things she wanted to ask. Who is it? Is it me? When did it happen? In the end, all she could ask was, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You're smart," he said, and he smiled. "I knew you'd figure it out eventually."

She knew this didn't mean anything, that 'someone else' could still be someone other than her. But then he held out his hand as an invitation to join him and gave her that look, the one where his eyes softened around the corners, the one she had come to associate with the things he loved, and she just knew. Somehow, she just knew.

He had been right. As she joined him out on the ledge and took his hand, she had to admit that he had been right. Sometimes something is worth fighting for. Sometimes a part of you keeps warning you to stay away, but you fight to believe because it just feels so right. And in the end, you win, in spite of all the odds. And nothing feels better than proving yourself right.

. . . . .

. . . . .

. . . . .

A/N: Sorry this took so long. School is killing my creative drive. Let me know what you think!