Draco's throat was raw like he hadn't breathed properly for days.

It was dark when he opened his eyes. It took Draco several seconds to recognize he was in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey assured him as much, but Draco had just spent God only knew how long questioning everything he saw in his mind. How the hell could he know whether this was not yet another dream to torture him?

Draco glanced to his left and saw someone there. Made practically invisible by a Disillusionment Charm, he couldn't quite make out who it was. He knew who he wanted it to be, but that was just another mind game he was unprepared to play. Draco was relieved when they ran away, likely scared by the arrival of Madam Pomfrey at his bedside.

"How did this happen?" she asked. Draco's reply got caught in his throat when he saw her expression of disbelief. He glanced toward the exit, wondering whether his phantom had done more than simply stalk his bedside.

Over the next few hours he was poked and prodded, fed revitalizing potions, and asked all sorts of questions. He chose not to mention the invisible figure at his side. Madam Pomfrey threw around words like "true love's kiss" and "moonseed" and "brink of death." Draco did not hear much between them. All he could say was,

"I want to go home."

.oOo.

Draco didn't feel bad about leaving without saying good-bye to his friends, he just wanted to be in his own bed.

They sent him back via Portkey so Draco arrived outside the manor like a stranger. He shivered against the cold, having left in the clothes he had been wearing for a week. He had not bothered to button his coat, just threw it on, touched the potion bottle and landed on his ass outside the gates. They swung open and Draco began the quarter-mile trek up the driveway. He looked around to see everything was the same as it had been when he left three months earlier. The grass was still green, the peacocks were still white, and the manor was still standing.

The front door swung open without Draco so much as touching it. Malfoy Manor practically pulled him in of its own accord. God, it felt good to be home. The door swung shut behind him and Draco made his way down the hall. He ignored the shouting of the portraits insulting him; they knew the moment he inherited the manor they would be torn down, Sticking Charm be damned.

He made his way up the staircase and passed his father's study. He heard voices inside, lots of shouting that faded as he made his way down the hall. Draco turned into his bedroom and tossed his coat on the floor. He crawled onto his bed, back to the pillows, and pulled his legs up to his chest. Draco pressed his face into the space between his knees and took a deep breath.

Home.

.oOo.

"Are you fucking mad?!" Draco shouted.

"I am your father and you will not curse at me!"

Draco tossed the December 28th edition of The Daily Prophet onto his father's desk. The headline above the fold read, "Malfoy Considering Guilty Plea?" His whole body shook with some combination of fear and rage. His father had the gall to sit behind his desk and talk down to Draco like his entire future was nothing to worry about?!

"A PLEA BARGAIN?!"

"It is an option we are considering, nothing more."

"Do I have any say in this at all?!" Draco shouted. "Or are you going to keep making my decisions for me the rest of my goddamn life?!"

"Again with the cursing, my son—"

"I will stop cursing when you stop trying to control me!" He added an extra, "FUCK!" to sharpen the point. Draco watched his father sigh, watched his shoulders slump, and then he got that look on his face which said I wish you were less like your mother.

"The Wizengamot will let you off with a fine of twenty thousand Galleons if you plead guilty to the charges of attempted assassination," his father said.

"Tell them to fuck off!" Draco insisted. He learned long ago that throwing things in Father's office was not allowed, so he walked over to the door, opened it, then slammed it shut again. The rage inside him calmed for all of a half-second before welling up again. Draco returned to his place at his father's desk.

"You may have forgotten Draco, but you did try to assassinate Albus Dumbledore. You are, technically, guilty."

"I did what I had to do to protect our family!" Draco shouted. "He would have killed you then he would have set Fenrir Greyback on Mother and made me watch! Of course I would kill Dumbledore to prevent that from happening. Not to mention that I failed! I am not guilty, Father. I did what I had to do as a prisoner of war."

"Oh, you were a prisoner of war, were you?" his father challenged. "Must have been the most well-adjusted one in the history of time seeing as you were attending school—"

"I skipped every class from March through April," Draco countered.

"You were well-fed—"

"Hardly ate due to anxiety, nerves, the pressure of saving my entire goddamn family."

"You were loved!"

"BY WHOM?!" Draco shouted. There it was, the crux of it all. He could hardly breathe as the words came tumbling out of his mouth. "If you loved me, Father, you would have seen what the Dark Lord would do to me. You should have known he would make me pay for your failures. While you got to stay safely put in Azkaban, I was stuck trying to keep the three of us alive. Do not delude yourself into believing your love has ever saved me from anything."

Lucius Malfoy looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. The air left his lungs with an audible whoosh that would have been comical if Draco wasn't absolutely fucking livid.

"I am not guilty," he insisted. "It is not a crime to be an asshole. Everything I did was to keep us alive, never because I had any allegiance to the Dark Lord. Unlike you, Father, I sure as hell won't go to prison for him."

Draco turned on his heel and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

.oOo.

Theo came by the following day. Draco leapt up from the sofa and grabbed him in a tight hug. Thank fucking Merlin for Theo. No matter what, he was always level-headed and sanity was such a rare attribute in their circle.

"Nice to see you too, mate," Theo teased. "Saw that nonsense in the Prophet. You father isn't really going to make you plead guilty, is he?"

"No," Draco said without dropping his hold on Theo. "Potter's agreed to testify on my behalf. I can win."

"That's great," Theo wheezed, "and I would really like to live to see it so if you could stop trying to puncture my bloody lungs—"

"Sorry," Draco said, letting Theo go and taking a step back. Merlin on high, it was just so nice to have a friend who didn't question him at every fucking turn. Theo sat in the chair across from Draco, only a coffee table between them. Draco fell backward onto the sofa and crossed his legs beneath him. Theo surveyed him, not saying much for several minutes. It was just as well, Theo's value was in his presence just as much as it was in his words.

"I'm glad you're not dead," he finally said.

"Heard about that, did you?" Draco asked.

"Yesterday wasn't the first time you made the front page of the Prophet this month," Theo answered. Draco rolled his eyes. "They used a nice picture, though. One with your hair done up all proper and shit."

"Small comfort." Draco chuckled darkly. "I doubt I will return to Hogwarts, though. That was … an experience."

"What happened?" Theo asked. Draco was silent for awhile so he amended, "You don't need to tell me. I know about the moonseed, but no one knows who woke you up."

"I know," Draco revealed.

"You know?!" Theo asked. Draco couldn't fully hide his smile.

"Yes, I know," he coyly replied. Theo rolled his eyes.

"For fuck's sake, Draco, who kissed you?"

"It was Granger."

There was a lengthy pause where Theo's eyebrows knitted together in confusion before he burst into laughter. He inhaled deeply and said,

"Right, okay, no, really—Who was it?"

"Hermione Granger," Draco repeated. Theo swallowed thickly and fell back into his chair.

"You mean to tell me that you are in love with Hermione Granger and she might love you back?"

"I imagine the first part of that does not surprise you," Draco said.

"No, not really," Theo admitted. "We all knew you liked her. She was the forbidden fruit—"

"Best not talk about fruit right now," Draco admitted. "Still a bit of a sensitive topic."

"Right," Theo chuckled, "so she hated you and beat you in everything. Of course you liked her. Regardless of blood status, she could outsmart Merlin himself and she's only nineteen. But how the hell did she fall for you?"

"Like hell if I know," Draco answered. "We became friends, but … I dunno, Theo."

"What was it like, then?" he asked. "Being poisoned?"

"Hell," Draco admitted. "The best sort of hell."

"How d'you mean?"

"The things I saw …"

"Like what?" Theo asked. Draco sighed. He supposed it would be nice to talk about it a bit. Theo would probably be more understanding than anyone else.

"Moonseed is a slow-moving poison. It takes a week to engulf the body and it projects memories of your 'true love,'" he said with accompanying air quotes. Those were all words he memorized from Madam Pomfrey. Words he clung to.

"So you just saw a bunch of Hermione Grangers in your head?" Theo asked. Draco shook his head and sighed.

"No, and that is what I don't understand. I did not know I was in love with Hermione. Not really, Theo. I like her. I like her a lot, she's fucking wonderful, laughs at all my jokes—"

"Well she'd have to love you to do that," Theo quipped. "You are not all that funny."

"And you are not all that handsome so how the hell you landed Tracey Davis is beyond my understanding," Draco shot back with a smile. He noticed a distinct blush on Theo's cheeks.

"She's great, but we are talking about how you almost died," Theo insisted. "Let's get back to that."

"You are shagging, aren't you?" Draco asked, suddenly desperate to know. That blush on Theo's cheeks deepened and Draco's smile widened. "I FUCKING KNEW IT!"

"I'm really happy," Theo admitted with a shy smile. He ran a hand through his hair then motioned for Draco to continue.

"Right, well … Everything they told me was about memories, but I do not have memories of Hermione that are very good. She hadn't even snogged me yet. We weren't far enough along in our relationship for it to be love, you know?"

"Draco, what did you see?"

"That's just it, there were no memories. Everything I saw while the poison spread was about what could have been. If I hadn't been an absolute cock to Hermione for seven years … How happy could we have been? We would have been friends earlier. I could have helped her in Potions, she could have helped me in Arithmancy, we could have slept through Care of Magical Creatures together …"

"The poison wasn't about temptation for you," Theo recognized. "It was about regret."

"Exactly."

"Then it all makes sense."

"Try me," Draco said.

"If we are to reason that regret was weighing you down, then you would only wake up for a second chance. It does not mean you have to be in love, so much as you needed the promise of love and forgiveness. Maybe forgiveness is what pulled you out of it."

"So she's not in love with me?" Draco asked, disappointed. He freaked out at first, but as the days passed he hadn't minded it as much. In fact, it was almost pleasant to know he could change so much. It meant he had the ability to become more than his father was.

"She would have to love you to forgive you, wouldn't she?" Theo asked. "At least a little."

"Dunno," Draco admitted.

"You could just ask her," Theo pointed out. "Use your words. People have been known to do that from time to time."

"I don't think I will see her again," Draco said. "I do not want to go back to Hogwarts. I nearly died there, and—"

"And how many times have you nearly died here?" Theo challenged.

Draco rolled his eyes and said, "I hate when you are smarter than me."

"Then you must lead a very hateful life, Malfoy."

.oOo.

He did not return on the first day of classes. Draco said it was because of his near-death experience, but Theo was right. He was afraid to face Hermione. Why the hell had she run away? Was she so ashamed to love him? If so, Draco couldn't entirely fault her for it.

His mother brought dessert up to his bedroom. She sat on the edge of his bed and handed him a small bowl of mango sorbet. One of those conversations, then. His mother could pry just about anything out of him with mango sorbet.

"I know it was the Granger girl," she said. Draco concentrated very hard on his sorbet. He swallowed a large spoonful to avoid confirming what his mother knew. She asked, "Do you wish to speak about it?"

Draco shook his head.

"I think we should speak about it."

"I like her." Draco said it to his sorbet more than to his mother. He didn't look up, terrified of the expression he would find on her face.

"May I ask why?" Narcissa asked. Draco sighed and swallowed a smaller spoonful before answering.

"Because she is brave in a way I never was," he admitted. "She is smarter than me, tougher than me, and she somehow always finds a way to solve a problem. Even if it means kissing me, she will always solve the problem."

"Oh, my son," Narcissa said. She ran her fingers through Draco's hair like she did when he was little. Draco looked up to see his mother smiling at him. He didn't know what he expected, but it certainly was not resigned delight. "All I want is for you to be happy."

"I am not even sure I know what that feels like anymore," Draco admitted. "I was terrified through the entirety of the war, and the moment it ended I began worrying about the trial. All I know is that Hermione makes me forget about those things for awhile. She talks about problems that are bigger than me."

"Bigger than you?" his mother asked. "What do you mean?"

"Justice," Draco answered. "Standards for the Wizengamot, things like maximum sentences for certain crimes and providing everyone with adequate representation regardless of their ability to pay for it. She has taken everything about my trial and shown me how it affects everyone else. I like that she thinks that way. I can solve my own problems but Hermione uses my experience to solve everyone else's."

"I believe the word you are looking for is 'empathy,'" his mother teased. She smiled and stole a spoonful of his sorbet. "It appears Miss Granger is teaching you empathy. Forgive me for saying so, but that is not something you would have learned from your father. I could have done more as well, I suppose," she admitted with a small shrug.

"You aren't angry with me?" Draco asked, stunned. His mother shook her head and for a moment Draco was convinced this was just another moonseed-induced dream.

"No, my son, I am not angry. I certainly wish you had fallen for someone of Pure blood, but as I said, I only want you to be happy. If you can avoid Azkaban I will consider every moment I have with you a gift, even if there is a Muggle-born witch at your side."

"Father would never allow it," Draco countered.

"Your father will see reason," his mother said. "He is easily persuaded when the proper buttons are pressed," she teased. Draco choked on his sorbet and handed the bowl back to his mother, a disgusted look on his face. He stuck out his tongue and said,

"Gross. That is not a visual I need in my head. Oh, God, I'd rather have the moonseed."

His mother laughed and gave him a hug before she left.

"The Portkey expires tomorrow evening," she said over her shoulder.

.oOo.

Draco landed on his feet in the Slytherin common room and everyone jumped in surprise. A few people ran to hug him. Bastien Queensbury sobbed happy tears into his shoulder, previously frightened he would have to be the only person in Arithmancy with Hermione. It took him five minutes to escape and head all the way up to the Gryffindor common room.

It took him until he was standing outside the Fat Lady's portrait to realize he didn't know the password. No matter how much he begged, she wouldn't let him in.

"I know Granger is in there!" he insisted. "She will leave for dinner in thirty minutes and—"

"Should I be worried you know her schedule, Malfoy?" Longbottom asked, appearing from nowhere. Always him with the rotten timing.

"Oh shut up, she is my friend, of course I know her schedule."

"Well I will let you in," Longbottom said. Draco grit his teeth together and turned to face him. Longbottom had a hesitant look on his face, like he knew this could backfire.

"If …?" Draco asked.

"If you say something nice about me."

"Really?" Draco asked. "Are you so desperate for compliments?"

"No," he laughed, "I just want to make you squirm a bit."

"Mission accomplished, I suppose," Draco quipped. He racked his brain for something. Some nice thing he could say about Longbottom. He was friends with Hermione, so that had to count in his favour, but he doubted that would count as a legitimate compliment. "Ah!" Draco shouted. "You are the best Herbology student I know."

Neville raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't think you had it in you," he admitted. Longbottom said, "Godric!" and the Fat Lady's portrait swung open. Draco shimmied through the portrait hole and shouted over his shoulder.

"Joke's on you, since I don't consider that a compliment."

The common room went silent the moment Draco's feet touched the floor. There had to be sixty people staring as Longbottom fell out of the portrait hole behind him. Draco scanned the room for that familiar head of abnormally-bushy hair and found her in a chair by the fireplace. Draco felt all hundred and twenty eyes follow him as he walked past everyone's little nooks to stand in front of Hermione.

"Granger."

She jumped out of her chair and her book went flying, landing dangerously close to the fireplace. She nervously tucked some hair behind her ear and said,

"Malfoy! I … I didn't think you were coming back."

"Neither did I," he revealed. "But I never got to give you your Christmas present."

"We shouldn't do this here," Hermione said, nodding toward the rest of the room. "You should come upstairs; my room is empty."

"Oh, your room?" Draco sassed. "Normally I would insist you buy me dinner first like a proper gentleman."

"A proper gentleman?" Hermione asked. "How would you know of such a thing?"

And everything was normal. God, so blessedly normal. Hermione pulled Draco over to the stairs followed by claps and wolf-whistles. Granger levitated him up the stairs into the girls' dormitories. Typical Gryffindors, not realizing how easy it is to skirt around simple deterrent tactics. Once his feet were back on the ground, Hermione showed him to the room furthest in the back.

"I share it with the seventh-years," she revealed, "but they should all be out gossiping in the common room for another half hour. You said you have a present for me?"

"Friends get each other presents for Christmas, do they not?" Draco asked. Hermione nodded.

"Yes, they do. They don't usually do it in January, but better late than not at all."

"Then happy Christmas, Granger," Draco said. He pulled a small box from inside his coat and offered it to her. She smiled at the small box and plucked it from his fingers.

"I didn't think you got me anything …" she trailed off. Hermione popped the lid to reveal a single tube of lip balm. She stared at it for several seconds without saying a word. Eventually Draco asked the question that had pained him for weeks.

"Why did you run?"

"Because I was afraid of how much I wanted you to come back," Hermione admitted. "And when you woke up it meant that I … That I …"

"That you like me more than a little," Draco finished. "And I like you more than a little, too."

Hermione pulled Draco down by his coat collar and kissed him. Draco wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her closer, terrified that at any moment she would realize what she was doing and push him away. But she didn't. Hermione threaded her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. Her lips were just as soft as he imagined them to be.

She tossed the box onto her bed and pulled back to breathe. Their lips were mere centimetres apart when she said,

"I like you a lot and I might even love you a little."

"I can't believe you just kissed me," Draco admitted with a small, delighted smile on his face.

Hermione licked her lips and said, "Then I suppose I should do it again." Draco nodded and she pressed her lips against his, light as a feather. Then she trailed kisses down his jaw and neck until she met the collar of his jumper.

"Oh!" she said, pulling away. "I did get you a present."

"Mmhmm, yes, snogging me again will be present enough," Draco replied, a little dizzy. Hermione shook her head and rummaged through her things.

"I know I packed it … Should be … Ah ha!" Granger lifted a clear container about the size of a sandwich from her trunk. At first glance it appeared to be filled with little green pellets. Draco took it from her hands and popped off the lid. He stared down at the little ovals with a white "S" stamped on them.

"Thank you?" he asked hesitantly.

"I spent all break researching moonseed," Hermione said. Draco wished he could say he was surprised. "It turns out, moonseed apples are rare, and the tree produces two types of apples: one dosed with moonseed poison and one without."

"The red apples are poisonous," Draco guessed. Hermione nodded and he held up the container. "What do I do with these, then?"

"You eat them," Hermione replied.

"Eat them?" Draco asked, shocked. "You want me to eat these things?"

"Trust me," Hermione insisted. "Take three, toss them in your mouth, and chew."

Draco reluctantly obliged. He took three pellets from the container and let them rest on his tongue. Their hard coating was slick to the touch. He gently bit down on them and was surprised to find they had a fuzzy sort of centre. Then it hit his taste buds all at once: the sour taste of green apples.

"Oh my fucking Merlin these are amazing!" Draco shouted. He immediately popped three more into his mouth and Hermione took the container away. She put the lid back on and smiled.

"So you like them?"

"Like them?" he asked. "Bloody hell, you know how I feel about apples."

"I thought you might be wary of real apples for awhile, so I brought you the next best thing," Hermione said, blushing all the way down her neck.

"What are they?" Draco asked.

"Skittles," she revealed, "Muggle candy."

"Those are made by Muggles?!" Draco shouted.

"What is with the tone of surprise?" Hermione asked.

"How do I stop them from going bad? Are they safe in that container?"

"Skittles don't really go bad," Hermione explained. Draco narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

"How do you make apples that don't go bad? Muggles cannot do magic."

"Everyone can do magic, Draco. For us it's in our blood and for Muggles it is in their mind. That means we get poisoned apples while they make everlasting ones."

Draco kissed her again. A teeth-clacking kiss with his hands on her cheeks, on her shoulders, on any part of Hermione he could touch. She reciprocated with enthusiasm, joking that she was happy his lips were not so chapped this time. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck as Draco shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor. He felt Hermione smile against his lips just before she pulled back to say,

"Now you taste like apples."

A/N: Hermione bought twenty packages of Skittles and picked out all the green ones. That's #truelove. I hope you found this fic to be the most ridiculous kind of adorable.