Author's Note: Just a little something because it is Friday the 13th, and mine is going the usual way…meh. So, I will write and hope that it helps it get better!

The disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the world he lives in. That distinction goes solely to the wondrous JK Rowling.

1/5/20: Made some revisions and tweaks, and I intend to make this a short story.

Thirteen: Friday the Thirteenth

Hermione liked to see herself as a practical girl. Pragmatic, even. Of course, those words mean essentially the same thing, but when a person was to apply one to Miss Hermione Jean Granger, muggleborn witch prodigy, pragmatic was clearly the more appropriate option.

Unfortunately, however pragmatic, practical, or sensible a person may be, everyone has their little quirks. For Hermione, it was a superstition.

Not all superstitions, she would have you know. She adored black cats, found that stepping on cracks had yet to break any backs, and once even sat under a ladder all day reading a book (for when she draped her jumper over it just so, it shielded her face from the sun, resulting in no new freckles across her nose, and made for a pleasant springtime reading nook). No, it was not all superstitions that set Hermione's nerves on end. Just one:

Thirteen.

It was ridiculous really, to be so set off by a number. It was one more than twelve and one less than fourteen. It was a prime number, which still did not make it unique in any way. The omission of the number in most western cultures was ludicrous, in her opinion. In Asia, four is the feared number, and thirteen is considered lucky in others.

All logic and reason stated that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the number. What set it apart from the infinite selection of numerals available in the universe?

Hermione hated that she had this thing about the number thirteen, but there it was. Accidents and mishaps just seemed to follow the number, and her, around during her childhood. Then, she learned about magic and thought everything would change for the better. How could a silly number have any power over her if she could have literal power over it?

The incidents involving the number thirteen had continued well into her time in the wizarding world, but with the ever-approaching war, she was able to push the bulk of it to the proverbial back burner in her prestigious mind. War was certainly a more pressing matter than a silly superstition, and she needed all of her focus to help Harry defeat Voldemort.

Eventually, the war was fought, Harry won, and life moved on.

Exactly thirteen weeks to the day after Voldemort was vanquished for good, Hermione received a letter from the new Minister of Magic at her current residence at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a friend to Hermione from the time fighting for the Order of the Phoenix, so correspondence was not entirely out of the norm, but there was something about this letter that was just not right.

There was no way to recover her parents' memories without causing permanent damage to their mental state.

It took thirteen shots to get blindly drunk that night. Harry ended up practically carrying her home to sleep it off, but not before she cast up those thirteen shots (and then some) into the small front garden of Number 13.

While Ron and Harry both decided to go straight to training at the Auror Academy, after a personal invitation from Kingsley, Hermione chose to go back to Hogwarts to take her seventh year. There were a handful of others who had returned to take, or retake, their final year, so a new dormitory was set up for these "eighth year" students. All of these students elected to return to the castle early to assist in the reconstruction of the castle.

Of course two of them had to be Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott, so to say that the atmosphere in the dormitories was tense would have been a gross understatement. Hermione spent most of her time with Ginny, Luna, and fellow eighth year Padma Patil, twin sister to her old Gryffindor roommate, Parvati. Padma was a Ravenclaw, so she appreciated quiet and study as much as Hermione. Parvati did not choose to return to school after the death of her best friend, Lavender, during the final battle with Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

Construction and refurbishment of Hogwarts continued into the academic year, but the library was one of the first rooms to be completed, so in November, only a few months after the war that nearly destroyed the school, Hermione sought refuge in her safe space.

It was Friday the thirteenth, and Hermione had yet to sustain any injury in a library, muggle or magical. She had only one class that morning, Charms, and so she was spending the rest of the day in a quiet corner of the Astronomy section in a cushy armchair with a novel in her lap. At some point, a house elf had brought by a charcuterie board and a pitcher of water with slices of orange. The battalion of elves had become much more receptive of Hermione after she and Ron had helped them in the war…and the soreness of her S.P.E.W. campaign had worn off.

Her heart ached at the sudden thought of Ron. Their relationship lasted thirteen days after she received the letter that said her parents were essentially dead, at least as far as she was concerned. When Harry had ready the discarded letter aloud (after she indicated that was okay by her, since words were failing her), Ron was less than supportive, unsurprisingly, stating that she was as good as family where he and his family were concerned, and "his parents were her parents," so she should keep her chin up. Harry had slapped him upside the head for the comment that sent Hermione in tears to her room. A few days after that, she ended things with him in the hallway outside her bedroom. It wasn't until after Hermione had slammed the door in his dumbstruck face, that she realized that she left Ron on a day corresponding with thirteen.

"Of bloody course," she growled as she fell onto her bed, her eyes oddly dry for the first time since receiving Kingsley's missive.

In the Hogwarts library, Hermione was nibbling on a wedge of sharp cheese drizzled with honey when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Looking up, she noticed Draco perusing the shelves completely unaware of her presence. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, at least it wasn't an injury. She would take an unwelcome interruption over anything else any day of the week (especially this one).

He was getting closer, and still did not seem to notice her, so she took the opportunity to study him. It was clear the war had affected him, but she already knew that. Who wasn't affected, though? She spoke on his behalf at his ministry trial. Between her testimony and that of Harry's, Draco and his mother were not sent to Azkaban. His father? Well, Hermione has no desire to see Lucius Malfoy anywhere else but prison ever again. The Malfoys had funded much of the reconstruction efforts for Hogwarts (initially by decree of the Ministry, but they continued beyond the requisite), and while they were not particularly liked in the wizarding world at this stage, they were not disliked, either. It was a delicate balance, to be sure, but the pair of Malfoys made it clear that despite it all, they were not Lucius, nor had they any intention to be. Narcissa and Hermione had even had a handful of civil exchanges and conversations over the last few months, and the younger witch surprised herself to find that she liked the woman.

Draco was still getting closer to her chair, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, so Hermione swallowed the rest of the cheese and tilted her head more in his direction. She needed to make her presence known before he either sat on her or was startled into hexing her. Theodore had accidentally snuck up on his blond friend a bit before Halloween, and it took a full week for the polka dots to fade.

Those green and pink spots brought a rare moment of levity to the eighth year rooms.

"I didn't realize you were taking Astronomy, Malfoy," she said conversationally. She made sure that there was no accusation or anything that could misconstrued in her tone. She only wanted him to know she was sitting there.

His grey eyes shifted to look at her, registering surprise for a brief moment, a lock of platinum hair falling over his eyes where it had escaped his ponytail. Unlike his father's long queue that spoke of the old-time luxury that Lucius favored, Draco's showed an air of neglect, as did the slight stubble dusting over his jawline. Not that she would ever admit it aloud if asked, Hermione found that this more disheveled version of Draco Malfoy rather visually appealing.

Not that she was looking, of course.

The look of surprised faded as soon as it had appeared. "Oh, Granger. I didn't see you. And, no, I'm not."

Hermione could not recall Draco ever speaking to her so civilly. That year, he was usually more of the "if you can't say something nice, say nothing at all" type.

In other words, he'd said nothing to her beyond "excuse me" (once, when she was accidentally in his way in the dormitory hallway) and "do you have a spare quill?" (in Transfiguration).

"Astronomy for pleasure then?" she inquired conversationally.

"Ironic, isn't it?" His smirk had to be a trick of the light. Draco Lucius Malfoy did not smirk at Hermione Jean Granger, unless there was malicious intent.

Hermione just shrugged the thought off as she turned back to her novel. There was a beat of silence before she heard the distinct sound of him pulling a book from a shelf. When there were no footsteps to mark his leaving, she looked up again, startled to see him making himself comfortable on the floor after transfiguring a few books into large pillows. Another wave of his wand warded off her nook from the rest of the library.

"What's with the wards, Malfoy?"

"I don't like being disturbed when I'm reading."

"So, why not find your own nook to ward off?"

This time, he only shrugged before opening the book.

After a few minutes of oddly companionable silence that Hermione decided she would further analyze later, he broke into her world again.

"Why are you in here all by yourself? I thought you and Patil-in-blue were inseparable this year."

She did not raise her eyes from the page. "I thought you did not like to be disturbed while you're reading?"

"I'm disturbing you, actually, and I find that to be rather enjoyable. You cannot answer a question with another question, either." There was that trace of humor in his voice, again. He was definitely relaxed, and it was beginning to throw Hermione a shade off-kilter.

"Padma has Muggle Studies this afternoon," she explained. "Besides, she knew I planned to spend my day in here today." She gestured to her elf-provided spread before picking up her water goblet for a sip of the sweetened citrus water. "Alone," she added in an afterthought.

His gaze followed her hand, and he shrugged again before saying, "Why did you plan to be alone today?"

"I just did." She hoped her tone was laced with finality, and not the anxiety she usually felt on the thirteenth day of the month.

"Granger, in all of the years I've known you, the only time you ever plan to be alone is when you plan to study. Pride and Prejudice is not exactly study material, unless you plan to do a book report for Padma's Muggle Studies class."

Hermione scoffed for a moment before what he said truly sank in. "Wait a moment, how did you know what I was reading?" The type for the title was at the bottom of the cover, and the bottom half of the book was obscured from his view by her hands.

"My mother has the same edition. She thought reading muggle fiction who help her to empathize with muggleborns better. I recognized the art on the cover."

Hermione was gobsmacked, her jaw slack. It had to be the day. The world had been thrown off its axis. What else could it be?

Draco chuckled, and she found that she liked the sound. "I never thought I would see the day that I would cause Hermione Granger to be at a loss for words."

It has to be the day.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco asked.

Heat flooded her cheeks. Had she spoken aloud? Whoops. Well, nothing more can be done. "Err…," she started, "I said, 'it has to be the day.'"

"What do you mean?"

"It's Friday the Thirteenth, Malfoy," she replied in a way that reminded her of how she would explain things to Harry and Ron, which relaxed her.

He eyed her like she suddenly grew a second head. "…So…what? You cannot be saying you actually buy into that tripe, can you?" Hermione's blush grew darker and Draco outright laughed, but the expected malice was conspicuously absent. "Who would have thought? Hermione Granger has Triskaidekaphobia!"

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Her tone belied her words, and she fought the bubble of mirth rising up her throat. "I have plenty of reasons to dislike the number, and how did you know the word for the phobia?"

He raised an eyebrow in a silent dare.

Hermione, resolved to explain herself, listing items off of her fingers with a roll of her eyes after placing her book carefully in her lap to not lose her place. "Exactly one month after my first birthday, I fell and broke my arm in three places. Thirteen months old. When I started displaying accidental magic, I got teased for it in primary school. The other kids called me weird and a freak. Well, some boys got it in their head to tease me, and a burst of magic caused a hornets' nest to fall by them. I was stung thirteen times." He winced at that. "I tripped once while reading and cut the side of my chin. It needed thirteen stitches. I fell down a flight of stairs with thirteen steps, and shall I go into what happened when I was thirteen?"

"Don't let me stop you." She was glad he replied that way, she was on a roll and it felt good to vent. "I stole from a Professor Snape and brewed an illegal potion in Moaning Myrtle's lavatory, which backfired and turned me halfway into a cat. Don't ask," she added when he looked like he was going to inquire further about that whole debacle. "And then there was that little issue with a basilisk petrifying me." She paused, then threw caution to the wind and kept going. "In fifth year, when we all followed Harry to the Department of Mysteries, I got hit by some dark curse of Dolohov's and the scar is exactly thirteen inches long. To the millimeter."

Draco sat in silence through her list, his throat working as she covered the moment that involved his father.

"Thirty-one can be problematic, as well. I was attacked by a mountain troll on Halloween our first year."

When he said nothing, she exhaled a quick huff, raised her book, and pretended to read the familiar words in front of her. This situation may be a strange one, with she and Draco Malfoy, of all people, having a civil interaction without their friends acting as a buffer, but she knew Draco. And, knowing Draco as she did, he was about to ridicule her in five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

"So, Granger…" Hermione raised her book to hide her smirk. I knew it. "Do you think you'll ever get over it?"

Abruptly, she lowered her book to stare at the boy so close to her. Draco was fidgeting amongst the cushions, flipping the pages in the astronomy book in his lap and staring at the pages, but not really focussing on them. She could see it. His eyes were distant, like he was miles away. "Wait…what?"

He met her eyes. She expected there to be some sort of mockery there, or pity, or anything but the calm curiosity she saw amidst the stormy grey. "I asked if you think you'll ever get over it. Your phobia."

His consideration threw her. She had heard whispers through the halls, rumors about Polyjuice potion or other such nonsense, but she never really listened to any of it. She did, however, notice things. The way he would help the younger Slytherins when they were tormented by the older students who still held traces of house rivalry. How he once brought an extra pudding to the Hospital Wing for Luna when she was ill. He was, for a lack of a better word, evolving. He had yet to call her a mudblood all year, and he treated her with cool indifference at the very worst, which was a far cry better than the outright derision and loathing of previous years. Hermione still tensed whenever he was near her, as though the inevitable fall out was coming.

He was looking at her expectantly, and she was not sure if it was concerned curiosity over her answer, or if he was waiting for a scolding. Probably a little of both, if she was going to be honest with herself. Hermione had been less than cordial in her behavior towards Draco since they met. She had even hit him once.

Never mind that he deserved it.

She let out a short sigh, a mere puff of air. "I thought I was getting over it," she answered honestly. "Seeing as I am here, in my safe space, on Friday the thirteenth, shows that I am clearly not as over it as I would like." She shivered as a draft flew through the library, flickering the light of her lanterns. Draco noticed, and transfigured a book into a green blanket and tossed it her way. She murmured her thanks.

"What brought you here? If you don't mind my asking." He had set his book aside and gave her his full attention.

Hermione chuckled a little as she pulled the blanket more closely around her. "You don't think this is strange? You and I having a civil, and completely serious conversation?"

"I can think of stranger things. Like the tapestry that hangs outside the Room of Requirement. Who would think to immortalize trolls learning ballet?"

This time, Hermione laughed fully for the first time in recent memory. Sure, she had laughed, but she had not laughed to the point that there were tears in her eyes and a stitch in her side. She was not sure why his comment struck her as so funny, but it felt good, so she felt emboldened and collected her blanket to sit amongst the transfigured cushions with him. She felt him tense for a moment, but he relaxed as she did, even stealing part of the blanket so they were both huddled underneath. It was oddly comfortable, their closeness. "I know, isn't it awful? It is a right shame it survived the battle."

"When I got back here, that was one of the first places I went," Draco confessed. "I wanted to make sure the room was still in tact, and to see if that tapestry was not. Suffice it to say, I was happy about one thing."

They were silent again, but it was companionable, but with a hint of melancholy as they both thought of the battle they both remembered clearly despite the passage of six months.

Hermione risked looking at him, slightly surprised at his closeness. "I'm sorry about Crabbe. No one deserves to die that way."

The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Thank you, but after what he took pleasure in doing, he did deserve to die in pain."

"Still, he was your friend."

"No, he wasn't. Just a guard dog. After the war, I learned who my real friends were, and they could be counted on one hand. Theo, Blaise, Daphne, and that is it. You and Potter were better friends to me than the rest. Even Pansy refused to speak to me after the war."

"I'm sorry about Pansy, but I am glad Harry and I were able to help you."

"Clever dodge, by the way." His smirk grew more pronounced as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Hermione was again struck with the revelation that Draco was really quite handsome when he wasn't being a complete git.

She thought about how she had steered the subject away from her. She should have known he would catch on. This boy, no man, knew how to read people, and he was second in their class. After her, of course. "I should have known you wouldn't have let me off that easily, eh?"

"Spill."

She huffed again. "Fine. I thought the distraction of the horcrux hunting, the battle. and then the recovery would have cured me of my issues. Thirteen weeks after the battle, I received a letter from Kingsley."

"A letter from the Minister is a bad thing?"

"Did you ever hear what I did to my parents before I ran off to hunt horcruxes with Ron and Harry?"

"I only heard about the Horcruxes. I like to take partial credit for the destruction of the diadem, I will have you know."

"Whatever makes you happy, Draco." At his shocked look at her use of his given name, she rolled her eyes in the same way she did whenever Harry or Ron was acting ridiculous. "Yes, I called you Draco. It is your name, is it not? Besides, I am about to confess something to you that only a handful of people know. Usually, just Harry and Ron get that distinction. I'm calling you Draco whether you like it or not."

"Fine, but you can't hex me for calling you Hermione."

She stuck out her right hand. "Just make sure it is not 'Mione, and you have a deal. I've always hated that nickname." They shook hands awkwardly, given their positions, and she continued. "Before I left, I wanted to make sure my parents were completely safe. I have no living grandparents, and no aunts and uncles or anything of the sort, so they were targets. The parents of the muggleborn with the reputation of the 'brightest witch of the age' and best friends with 'The Chosen One'? I could not just leave them." She took a steadying breath, feeling the familiar pinprick of tears behind her eyes. "I obliviated their memories and gave them new ones as Wendell and Monica Wilkins and had them drop everything and move to Australia."

"So, the letter…" Horror dawned on his face as he came to the conclusion on his own. "Oh, shit, Hermione…"

She nodded. "Thirteen weeks to the day was when I found out there was no way anyone, not even an Unspeakable, could recover their memories without permanent mental damage. They, for all intents and purposes, died that day. Thirteen shots of incredibly overpriced firewhiskey later, I was completely zonked. That hangover alone was worth hating the number."

"I'm sorry…"

She waved off his apologies. "I appreciate it, but I have already moved on, really."

"Yet, here you are."

"Yes, well, precisely thirteen days after that, I ended things with Ron. He couldn't understand why I was so upset over it when I have him, his family, and Harry."

"I always knew he was an idiot."

There was no argument coming from her over that. She shrugged, and the movement brought to her attention that his arm was around her shoulders. When did he do that? she wondered. Feeling she had nothing to lose, she rested her head, her wild curls mostly bound in a thick plait, on his shoulder.

"For what it's worth, Hermione, Weasley really is an idiot. Even in school, when he was all over that vapid blonde, rest her soul, he was obviously panting after you. Despite how much I disliked you-"

"Don't mince words, Draco, you hated me," she interrupted.

"To use Snape's words, you were an insufferable know-it-all, and you were what I was raised to see as beneath me, yet you were beating me in every class. My father lectured me at every available opportunity. I couldn't hate you when you were unknowingly determined to prove my father wrong at every turn. You made me doubt everything I ever knew. You already know I only got the mark to protect my parents. I was lost. Anyways, despite how much I disliked you," he repeated with a sideways glance at her, "I knew Weasley was not fit to stand in your shadow. And that had nothing to do with my family's generation-to-generation dislike of the that whole clan."

Hermione knew she was blushing. That was quite a speech, and she was only human. "Thank you."

"I'm honest by nature."

"Now, I am lousy at legilimency and I know that is a lie." She laughed again, and she hoped it would never stop.

"I am! I lied only when necessary, Slytherin that I am. To save my mother, for example. Or when I lied when you were all brought to the manor by the snatchers."

Hermione, who was relaxing comfortably in the nook made by Draco's arm, shot up ramrod straight. "I knew Harry wasn't making that up at your trial! Ron was sure Harry was expounding on the truth to make you sound good, but I had this feeling! You did recognize us!"

"A lot of good that lie did." His eyes grew distant, again, with guilt.

Hermione turned on her knees so she was facing him, and impulsively cupped his face in her hands, the blanket falling from her shoulders. "Draco Malfoy, you listen here. If was not your fault your aunt was batshit crazy. That isn't hereditary, so you can stop thinking that." At the speed his grey eyes met her honey brown, she knew that was exactly what he was thinking. "Andromeda and your mother are perfectly normal, and Sirius, while a tad eccentric, was sane, as was his brother. Bellatrix was unhinged. There was nothing you could have done that would have prevented that. Had you tried, she would have turned her ire onto you."

His eyes flicked to her forearm, where the a scar, permanently marking her with a disgusting word any of them would be happy to never hear again, was partially hidden beneath the three-quarter sleeve of her jumper. "I would have deserved it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes met hers again.

She was not sure what prompted it. The defeated tone of his voice when he whispered those five words, or the painful guilt in his eyes, or if it was just the whole conversation on top of the stress of the day, but one moment, she was kneeling at his side with his face in her hands, and the next she was straddling his legs with her lips against his. There was a voice in the back of her mind that was thanking every higher power that he set up those wards, because there was no way she was stopping now that she began. There was a moment right after her lips met his where they both froze, but it was fleeting and they were both quick to be active participants.

Everywhere their skin touched was electric, and continued to buzz after the contact moved elsewhere. Hermione's head fell back as Draco led a trail of kisses down the column of her throat, and she outright purred when he scraped his teeth against the sensitive point behind her ear. This was so different than her snogging sessions with Ron, who was clumsy and rough with wet kisses than made her skin crawl.

At that moment, Draco pressed a tender kiss to the scar on her arm and her skin sang, all thoughts of Ron dissolving away.

She allowed her fingers to explore him, using her nails and fingertips to lightly trace over his shoulders and down his arms, where he had his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows in a way that nearly had Hermione practically drooling. Their eyes locked as her hands traced the lines of the muscles in his arms, but he pulled his left arm away when her fingers grazed over the fading Dark Mark. She grabbed his wrist, pulling it back towards her and he did not put up a fight. Holding his wrist in one hand, she ran the index finger of the other over the skull and snake. "Never hide this, Draco, least of all from me," she whispered.

His voice was tight when he replied, "It's vile. It's proof of the horrible things I've done."

Lifting her eyes from the mark to meet his gaze, she shook her head. "No, it shows what you've overcome." Her fingers grazed over a section near the head of the snake that was puckered in the telltale scarring of a burn. There were smaller cuts around it, as well, and some were hidden by the puckered skin. The mark waved a little over the imperfections, but was still visible. "What happened here?"

When he wouldn't meet her eyes, she used her free hand to turn his face back towards her. "Don't look away. What happened, Draco? You can tell me."

"The cuts were from after you were tortured and you all escaped the manor. I tried to cut the mark off. I wanted nothing more to do with them and their insanity. My mother walked in on me with a knife in one hand and blood from my elbow to my hand and stopped me. I thought about cutting from the other end by my wrist, but I wanted to live through it to repent for what I've done. After the battle, before they raided the manor to arrest us, I tried to burn it off. I didn't want the reminder, faded or not."

Tears filled Hermione's eyes, and she blinked them away, but some escaped to fall down her cheeks. He must have felt so lost, so alone. Confused that the things he was raised to believe were sacrosanct were turning out to be wrong. He had no one to turn to without risking the lives of the few people he cared about.

She pressed a kiss to the scars, and then to the skin that was unblemished save for the mark before bringing her lips to his once more.

This time, the kisses were more tender, less frantic. There was more feeling there. A shared sense of loss. Hermione felt as though the pieces of her life that had fallen apart were slowly moving back together again. She laced her fingers through his hair, causing it to fall free about his face, and lightly tugged, pulling a moan from his throat that she could feel on her lips. He took his time exploring her this time, smoothing his Quidditch calloused hands over her gentle curves. When his fingertips traced the bare skin beneath her jumper, she gasped into his mouth, and he took that moment to slip his tongue between her lips as his hands traveled farther up her torso. She could feel him tracing the purple scar from the Department of Mysteries.

He broke their kiss and his eyes asked a silent question. She answered by lifting the hem of her jumper to pull the garment over her head, freeing a few curls from her plait to hang around her flushed face in wild abandon. His eyes grew wide at the sight of her in a green brassiere. She shrugged nonchalantly and simply said, "What? You can't see it properly if I just hold up the side."

"Green, Granger?"

"It matched the jumper." This was true. Her jumper was blue with a green stripe across the bust. The bra in question was the same green, and the jumper hung nice over it. Boys never understood the thought involved in dressing women. When his hands drifted close to the band, almost on their own accord, she grabbed his wrists. "And it stays on, Draco. I have no intentions on going that far in the library tonight. That fantasy will have to wait."

"You fantasized about shagging me in the library."

Oh dear, that really was how that sounded, wasn't it? A blush filled her cheeks and spread to her chest, and she put her hands on her hips in an attempt to look braver than she felt (although she was sure that it failed in the absence of her jumper). "Library, yes, you specifically? No."

"But in a library?"

She raised a shoulder to emphasize her flirtatious smirk. "I like the smell of books. Libraries are safe. I can't help the fantasies that come from that safe feeling."

"Who knew?"

She crossed her arms, vaguely aware that the motion pushed her breasts up just so, and his eyes went straight there. "Are you going to look at that scar or what? It's drafty in here."

"First, I am going to go with 'or what,' then I will."

Before she had a chance to ask what he meant by that, he was kissing a path from her collarbone to the curve of her breast where the soft skin met the satin of the bra, and all coherent thought left her brain. She felt him pull the strap from her shoulder, and she cried out his name on a gasp as his lips closed around her nipple.

Well, she thought as she clung to his shoulders and hard to ignore the pooling heat in her core and the evidence of his arousal pressed against her most sensitive point, he did leave the bra on. Leave it to a ruddy Slytherin to find a loophole.

He pulled away with the faintest of popping sounds and pulled the strap back into place. He chuckled at her shocked appearance, she knew she was gaping at him, panting slightly, and she knew he could tell how turned on she was by her face alone. "I thought you would enjoy the 'or what' portion of your question."

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. And before you ask, no, I am not complaining." She took in his flushed cheeks and dilated eyes, darkened to the color of summer storm clouds with arousal. "I can also, ahem, tell you aren't, either."

"You are testing my restraint, Hermione." His voice was low and rough, and the words were spoken against her, his hot breath causing gooseflesh to rise on her skin.

"As you are testing mine, Draco," she confessed as she lifted herself from his lap so she could turn to give him the best view of the scar on her side. Getting off his lap also had the bonus of limiting contact in certain places to keep them from going too far too soon after forming their strange and new friendship.

While she was in the process of turning, Draco took advantage of her altered center of gravity and knocked her over into the cushions, pulling a laughing squeal from Hermione as she bounced lightly. Leaning over her, he took her lips in a kiss that had her toes curling, but she pushed him away with effort. Rolling towards him to show her side, she lounged on the fluffy cushion as though lounging about the library in her bra with Draco Malfoy was a normal occurrence. She was oddly comfortable, though.

He studied her for a moment before unbuttoning his own shirt and tossing it aside. "It's only fair," he said by way of explanation. She noticed his torso was covered in scars, as were his upper arms. It looked as though whoever caused them wanted to be sure they would not be seen, making her wonder if he had been tortured since his failed mission to kill Dumbledore. She reached her fingers out to trace the two angriest scars that slashed across his chest starting at his left shoulder and leading towards his right hip, but he caught her hand in his.

"Not yet," he said, kissing her fingertips before kissing the 'mudblood' scar again and lifting her arm above her head so he could see the purple mark from the dark curse, never letting go of her hand.

"Thirteen inches?"

"Again, to the millimeter. I've measured it several times."

"I've seen this curse used at revels. It was a favorite of Dolohov's. How did it not kill you?"

"He had to cast it silently. It seemed to have taken the edge off, but I was unconscious for several days and taking an intense potion regimen for weeks. Sneaking them around my muggle home was interesting, since I was sixteen and couldn't charm them to look like anything else."

She sat up, finally tracing the long scars she had noticed before. "Are these from what I think they are from?"

"If you are thinking Potter and an unfortunate altercation in Myrtle's bathroom, you would be right."

She scoffed angrily. "I told him not to play with the notes in that book."

Draco shrugged before handing her back her jumper. She threw it over her head to hide the shy smile, she had forgotten that she was just sitting there in her brassiere. "Luckily for me, Snape also created its counter curse. Imagine my surprise when he told me where Potter's sudden magical prowess in Potions came from."

After he shrugged into his shirt, Hermione brushed his hands away and took over the task of buttoning it herself. The act seemed more intimate than anything they had done so far, and he had his mouth on her breast, but it also felt just as natural. Something about sharing a small space or an intimate moment with Draco was like a soothing balm for her. With him nearby, it was as though she could do anything.

Draco cleared his throat once she dropped her hands and he waved his wand to set the nook back to rights. "Now, I know it is not yet the fourteenth, but we are coming up on curfew, so dare I risk escorting you back to our common room?"

"Dare away, although it is still strange that our little collection of eighth years are practically Houseless. Or, we're all the Houses."

He offered his arm and picked up her discarded and forgotten novel with his other hand. Hermione smirked at the old-fashioned gesture, but took his arm anyway. They walked in companionable silence most of the way through the castle. Their common room entrance was located near the Hufflepuff one on the ground floor. Two small towers for the returning Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students, a ground level one for the Hufflepuffs, and a dungeon-level room for the Slytherins. The common room held traits of all of the common rooms so they all felt at ease and at home in their new space. They also numbered so few that they each had their own room, although they frequently bunked in the common room or shared bedrooms to chase off the nightmares they all experienced. Hermione was the first to wake up screaming, causing a bit of a commotion, and she had fallen back asleep with Padma and Hannah Abbott on either side of her, and Dean Thomas at the foot of the bed. After that night, everyone started to sleep with their doors unlocked, or just staying in the common room as a group.

When they neared the portrait that marked the entrance of their common room, a landscape featuring Hogwarts with a centaur standing sentry, Draco slowed their pace.

"I know this would be better asked tomorrow, when it is no longer your least favorite day, but after everything else, I have nothing to lose. Would you accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Hermione smiled, beamed really, up at him. "I would love to."

"It's all right that we are sort of doing things out of order?"

"We are not exactly a conventional pair, so I think we can change things up a bit."

"And it's all right that I am sort of technically banned from the Three Broomsticks?"

"Why would you be…," she trailed off as the events of their sixth year came back to her. Katie Bell screaming, Ron recovering from drinking poisoned mead, "…Oh. That's fine. I'll order food and butterbeer as takeaway and we will picnic."

"Have you always been like this?" he asked, his voice bemused.

"Like what? Patient? Accommodating? Pragmatic?"

"Well, yes, but I was thinking that you were more than those things."

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. "What would be more than pragmatic and patient? Those sum me up rather well."

"Those words are too bland for you," he said as he lifted her chin so he could kiss her easier. "More than those are simply just…wonderful."

Author's Note #2: My first published Dramione! I know the end is a bit OOC for our favorite Slytherin cutie, but it's a Dramione story…so I don't know what you can expect. Be gentle with me, I don't use a beta and it's late, so there are probably lots of mistakes. I just wanted this posted while it was still the thirteenth!

Author's Note #2B: 3/25/18 Okay, so out of nowhere, I am getting traffic to this story again, so I reread it and fixed some glaring errors and flow. I am also considering throwing in a sequel and turning this one shot into a two shot. Thoughts? Let me know! ~Nimue