Welcome to "To Love You More"! Falling for the enemy was easy, but our favorite duo has a long way to go before learning how to 'love you more'.

It's going to be a loooong story, and I thank you for giving it a shot! This is my idea of how Hermione and Draco could have, realistically, formed a loving relationship amidst the canon events created by the brilliant JKR (hint: it's not based on sex).

Romance. Intrigue. Angst. Slow-Burn Dramione, HG/DM, HG/other characters, NOT a POLYFIC, rated M for adult themes and situations, but not for smut.

Hermione sacrifices much to aid the Order based on the "Art of Divination". What?, you say? Yes, you read correctly; she has her own personal prophecy-a closely guarded secret-in which the Dark Lord has a very vested interest. The debacle that was the Battle in the Department of Mysteries has serious repercussions. However, nothing turns out as expected. Someone(s) untrustworthy is pulling strings, Polyjuice falls into the wrong hands-with disastrous results—and is there something in the water….or in the Polyjuice? Secrets and lies abound, playing havoc with even the strongest of loves and lives.
Please heed the trigger warnings, which I will try to warn of at the start of each chapter (where applicable), but make note of them here as well: teen pregnancy, "off screen" rape, virginity loss, mention of miscarriage for a minor character, character death

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To Love You More

Chapter 1

-July 1996: The last day of 5th year

Hermione Granger was slowly coming-to. She'd been in a potion-induced sleep, napping on an antique sofa in front of a fireplace. A small fire warmed and lit up the stone walled-and-floored room. She was barely-aware of whispering voices, but she was unable to identify the owners of them, the potion still fogging her brain's frontal lobe, wherein was home to rational thought. She only was aware of snippets of the conversation:

"….Yes, I performed the charm…." said a quiet voice.

"….will not accept this….too headstrong…." argued another.

"….perhaps she is not the…." suggested a timid voice.

"….need to know immediately…." a voice said, speaking quietly but with much authority.

"….poor little thing…."

By the time Hermione was fully cognizant, there were only two other people in the room—the Headmaster her Head of House, Professor McGonagall—though she was certain she had heard more than two voices speaking while she was in her drug-induced state.

Hermione had to focus intently to remember how and why she came to be in the Headmasters' Office, why she had been having a kip on his settee—she felt mortified that she had fallen asleep in the Headmaster's office!—and why he was now telling her that her "role in this war may be perhaps the most important of them all."

'Oh, right,' she thought, 'Professor McGonagall had come to Gryffindor Tower to tell me that the Headmaster wanted to speak to me in his office, and she had escorted me here…now I remember everything….how could I forget?'

An hour earlier:

"Ah, Miss Granger, good to see you. Please, have a seat. Professor McGonagall, please have a seat as well," the Headmaster had greeted the two witches as he sat down in his plush, high-backed chair across his desk from them. "I'm sorry to have disrupted your last day here, Miss Granger, as I'm sure you are busy making preparations to leave for the summer, but what I must discuss with you is a pressing matter."

Hermione's surprise and apprehension about being called into the Headmaster's Office had showed on her face by the slight furrow in her brow as she bit her bottom lip nervously.

"Did I fail to complete a Prefect duty, Sir?"

"Oh, no, my dear nothing like that," Dumbledore had said with an amused look in his eyes. "No, Miss Granger, this is nothing relevant to school and everything relevant to fighting Voldemort."

'Order business, then—but why now? Why just ME? WHY me? I'm not even of age yet so I haven't been formally accepted into the Order.'

"Miss Granger, I must hear from you: how committed are you to the Order?"

Hermione was taken aback. "Sir?" she squeaked out hesitantly, looking at McGonagall in surprise. McGonagall wouldn't meet her eye.

"Are you fully aware of the ramifications of Voldemort's success in accomplishing his agenda?" the headmaster asked quietly, but seriously.

"I-I-of course, sir, I do," she stammered, totally discombobulated from this surprising inquisition. "He is vile….pure evil in the flesh….and he will destroy the Wizarding world and the Muggle world if he is allowed power. He will rid the world of Muggles and Muggleborn witches and wizards without hesitation," she said with conviction.

Dumbledore had relaxed in his chair, bringing his hands up together to his chin, his elbows resting on his desk, and giving her a sad smile.

"Very well. Then I will let you in on two secrets."

Dumbledore had then reminded her of the Prophecy Record (which Neville had destroyed accidently just a few weeks ago) regarding Harry and Voldemort. Dumbledore had then told Hermione the details of the Prophecy involving Harry; Harry himself had only just learned the details last night, according to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore then told Hermione that she "also must play a part in the defeat of Voldemort." Hermione had nodded, confused; she thought that Dumbledore already understood that she planned to fight alongside Harry and the Order. She'd thought, 'Oh! He must be wanting to hear my personal reasons for deciding to fight with the Light!'

"I will fight with everything I am, Sir. I, as a Muggleborn, will not let Harry and the Order fight for Muggles and Muggleborns without joining in that fight myself."

Dumbledore, smiling, had said, "I have, at times throughout the years, doubted the exactitude of the Sorting Hat, especially in its placement of you into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw, but today, Miss Granger, I am certain you were sorted appropriately."

Hermione had blushed and beamed with pride. It was true that the Hat had indeed considered her at first for Ravenclaw House, but it had ultimately declared her a Gryffindor, and she had always been proud of her House.

"However, your part in the fight may not be on the battlefield," Dumbledore had added, causing Hermione's expression to fade into a quizzical one.

"There is another prophecy….which relates to you, you see," he had said quietly, then pausing, waiting for her response.

Predictably, Hermione had respectfully responded, "I do not believe in Divination, Sir. I believe we make our own fate."

Dumbledore had just nodded and waited for Hermione's curious nature to overcome her unbelief and for her to ask about the prophecy. As no question was forthcoming, he had continued. "It is unfortunate that I cannot obtain the orb containing the Prophecy for your hearing….I know how much you appreciate empirical evidence," he had said, his eyes twinkling, "but, because the orb was destroyed in the….fuss at the Ministry, it is impossible for me to do so, you see."

Hermione had winced at Dumbledore's mention of the debacle in the Ministry's Department of Mysteries; she was still healing, physically, from her wound inflicted upon her by Dolohov, and she and her friends and the Order were all still mourning the death of Sirius Black. After getting past the feeling of remorse for everything (she felt that she never should have let Harry charge in there in the first place, and now upon learning that she'd unknowingly destroyed her own supposed prophecy she was further remorseful) that had happened at the Ministry that washed over her at Dumbledore's mention of the incident, she had begun to analyze the Headmaster's words. Dumbledore, however, had interrupted her thoughts.

"Miss Granger, the author of this prophecy related it to me years ago. I have the memory of it saved in my Memory Cupboard," he had revealed, gesturing to a large glass cabinet containing hundreds of vials of white translucent liquid, "and I can use my pensieve to allow you to witness it, if you would like the empirical evidence over my word. But I assure you, Miss Granger, that my memory is still as good as ever on this subject." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. Hermione had warily nodded out of politeness, and Dumbledore had continued.

"The prophecy is thus: 'The brightest of her age must birth a child, sired by her equal, before the end, or the three will be destroyed, and the dark will triumph.' "

'Why in the world is the most brilliant wizard in history applying this ridiculous Divination crap to me?' Hermione had wondered exasperatedly. Then, she'd recalled how Harry once told her he had thought Dumbledore to be a very skilled Legilimens, and she'd immediately looked up into the Headmaster's face, feeling ashamed.

Dumbledore had just smiled at her and then had given her time for it all to sink in; he hadn't had to wait long.

"Sir," she had questioned, timidly, "How do you know this prophecy refers to me?" She was already aware, of course, that she had been dubbed by some as 'The Brightest Witch of Her Age.' But a nickname can hardly be thought of as conclusive fact, she'd reasoned to herself.

Dumbledore had given her a kind smile and, with a twinkle in his kind, blue eyes, had said, "My dear, I have known you to be the 'Brightest of Your Age' for many years now, and I am not the only professor at this school who agrees that that title belongs to you."

Hermione had blushed, again, and had looked at Professor McGonagall, who'd smiled at her proudly, nodding in agreement.

Hermione had quickly recovered from her embarrassment and had said, rather skeptically, "I am to, then, uh…..have a baby…so that Voldemort can be defeated?" She'd looked dubiously at Dumbledore, who'd nodded.

Her mind had then been inundated with thoughts swirling around inside of it. She'd had so many thoughts that she could hardly focus. Upon finally focusing on one portion of the prophecy—the timing of it—she began to run the math in her mind: I will graduate in two years….It takes nine months to grow a baby…. Can defeating Voldemort wait nearly three years?

'Of course it can't!' she'd berated herself. 'The world as we know it will not survive if Voldemort is allowed over two and a half years to remain in it! Harry was almost killed by Voldemort just a few weeks ago! IF I were to act to bring about this prophecy, I should do it soon—the sooner the better….'

At the thought, she had sat up straighter, her arms falling into her lap, and furrowed her brow while scrunching up her face as if she'd just bitten into a sour lemon.

"Sir," Hermione had said with forced politeness while she worked to right her face and keep her words appropriate. "I cannot be the one to do this. I am too young to have a baby. I don't want to have a baby. I've never even…." She'd trailed off, blushing and looking down in her lap, before she revealed to the Headmaster and her Head of House that she was still a virgin.

Dumbledore had seemed to understand where Hermione's thoughts were. Dumbledore had then cleared his throat, acquiring Hermione's attention, and sat up a bit straighter in his tall, regal, plush chair. His countenance at that point had been more earnest than Hermione had ever seen it.

"The Order knows that the battle between those of us on the side of the Light and between Voldemort and his followers MUST be sooner rather than later. We would put it off, if we could, but the fact remains that Voldemort and his forces will attack whether we are prepared or not. Therefore..." his voice had then trailed off as he did something Hermione had never seen Dumbledore do while he was speaking: he closed his eyes briefly, swallowed hard, and allowed his gaze to rest on his desk.

'Clearly,' Hermione had thought, 'he is not happy about what he's about to tell me….or he knows I won't be happy about it, at least.'

Dumbledore had looked back up and into Hermione's eyes a second later, saying, "It is imperative that you allow this prophecy to come to fruition as soon as possible. In the interest of fulfilling this Prophecy, and thus defeating Voldemort, I urge you to be open to any….advances that may come your way."

Hermione had gaped at him; she couldn't speak, and he had continued.

"Fulfilling this Prophecy, Miss Granger, may require that you accept or initiate things you normally would not with young men whom you would normally not."

Hermione's eyes had widened, but still she could not speak.

"And, to put it quite plainly, my dear, you may just have to find a willing young man, or several, and allow the Prophecy to come to fruition."

Her shoulders tensed, making her head jerk forward toward Dumbledore, as she sprang up out of her comfortable winged-back chair, her palms of her hands smacking the edge of Dumbledore's huge mahogany desk. "WHAT!?" she had yelled to (or, rather, screamed at) her Headmaster.

After that, Hermione recalled, she had worked herself into a frenzy, and Dumbledore had called for Madam Pomfrey to bring her a Calming Draught. That had been when she'd requested a small nap on the Headmaster's settee.

Now, sitting back in a chair next to Professor McGonagall and across from the Headmaster, she was in a much better frame of mind to continue the conversation. The Headmaster repeated the Prophecy for Hermione, and again gave her time to ruminate on it.

The portion of it that bothered her the most was the timing. Have a baby—have INTERCOURSE—ASAP? Hermione sighed loudly; she had expected the answer she had received on this subject—after all, who wants to drag out a war?—but she was terribly dismayed about it. She certainly didn't want to wait any longer than necessary to defeat Voldemort, for her best friend's sake and her own as a Muggleborn and also for the millions of other innocent lives at stake. Even as she thought about all of this, she was still not convinced that she would allow this prophecy to come to fruition soon, if at all.

"Sir, who are the 'three'?" she began, feeling that it was best to start discussing the more palatable portions of the Prophecy before those that really upset her.

"That would be you, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley."

Hermione felt deflated after that (and she didn't understand how Dumbledore came to the conclusion of the 'three' being her and her two best friends, but she decided not to focus on the minor details). She sat composedly, her chin resting in her cupped hands, her elbows resting on her thighs, as she contemplated the rest of the wording of the Prophecy.

Resuming her critical thinking of the Prophecy, she came to the last part to be discussed, frowning, still full of doubt.

"Sir, who, then, would be my 'equal'? All that seems logical in my mind is that he would be a Muggleborn, like myself, which considerably narrows down the possibilities, at least in my own year, but not throughout the school, let alone the whole of Wizarding England or the entire Wizarding world.…." she trailed off, lost in her own thoughts, again swirling around her heard.

"Or, maybe," Hermione then suggested hopefully after inhaling exuberantly, "my 'equal' is a Gryffindor, like me, or Harry or Ron—you know, one of 'the three' also referred to by the Prophecy?"

She sounded desperate, she knew, but she realized that as awkward making a baby with Harry or Ron would be, making a baby with essentially a stranger would be tremendously worse. She looked to her Professors with hope clearly filling up her big brown eyes.

A look of understanding had passed over Dumbledore's face, but he'd said in a very morose tone, "I'm afraid that the 'egual' does not refer to Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley. While I do not know the identity of your 'equal' (if I did I would surely tell you, Miss Granger), I do know that it is not either of your best friends."

Hermione had lost all of the color in her cheeks at the Headmaster's statement.

"How?" she boldly asked, not even realizing how brazen she was being. "How do you know that?"

McGonagall gasped and Dumbledore's eyes widened for one split second at Hermione's atypical impertinence. A look of sympathy returned to the Headmaster's pale blue eyes just as quickly as it had departed, however.

"I have pondered your questions myself, Miss Granger, many, many times, with many, many possibilities," Dumbledore said, quietly. "The best that the foremost authorities on Prophecy and I can deduce is that 'equal' relates to your title as the 'Brightest of Your Age.' Mr. Neither Mr. Potter nor Mr. Weasley fill that requirement; nor do any of the other Weasleys, I'm afraid."

So no one I'm already comfortable with, then, Hermione thought bitterly.

"But, Sir—I mean, excuse me, Sir, but—that doesn't seem very specific or objective, I mean, it's a matter of opinion, is it not? Or is there a wizard who has the title of the Brightest Wizard of the Age? For example, Fred and George Weasley, although extremely mischievous, are really quite brilliant, and Bill Weasley is a curse-breaker and was Head Boy, and Percy, too…." she again trailed off when Dumbledore merely shook his head at her, but Hermione, ever persistent and seeking answers, continued.

"Is there only one possible candidate, or are there numerous candidates—because that would surely make this easier! How am I supposed to know with whom I am to, uh, you know," she'd winced in embarrassment at having to discuss this with the Headmaster—or anyone, really—"um, have a baby? If even you don't know, then how am I to possibly—"

Dumbledore then interrupted her almost-frantic ramblings. "My dear, it is best to leave all of that to the mysterious art of Divination. What has been written in the stars will come to pass without our intervention if we just...let it unfold without hindering it…considering that 'making our own fate," he finished gently, but in a firm tone.

Using my own words against me. Her patience with Divination had long run out, and although she had been trying to remain respectful to the man she had always admired and respected in the past, she'd lost control and had loudly scoffed out loud.

If Dumbledore was surprised at Hermione's audible frustration, he didn't let on.

Hours after her meeting in the Headmaster's Office, she could barely finishing packing her trunk. She was shocked that she would have a Prophecy of her own to fulfill! She was angry about the deadline of the Prophecy! She was ashamed at her insolent behavior to the Headmaster and Leader of the Order of the Phoenix. She was, however, thankful for the Calming Draught; goodness knows how much angrier she'd be now if she hadn't been given one earlier! She was perplexed by something too; what accounted for the strange, warm, tingling she was feeling in her low abdomen?

-July 1996 - August 1996

A few days into her summer holiday while her parents were working at their dental office, Hermione was back in Muggle London, walking the beautiful streets of Hampstead (where her family home is located). It was a hot and humid July day, so her wild, brown curls were larger and sticky around her face and neck, but her clothing choice allowed her to be as cool as possible; she was wearing a modest tank top with adorably cute and modest pleated shorts (the bottom hem just hitting her knees), and chunky sandals—her wand tucked away in her beaded, crossbody purse.

She was taking a walk, trying to clear her head of her anxiety about the Prophecy. She wandered into one of her favorite music stores before really realizing where she was. The subconscious is quite amazing, she thought; music had always helped her relax.

She happily strolled through the aisles of used and new CDs, choosing a few to listen to with headphones at the back of the store. Turning a corner, while looking through her CDs for her first selection, she almost ran into a tall, thin teenaged boy wearing a brown leather bomber-style jacket, baggy jeans, and a beanie. She uttered an apology, but the boy didn't hear it as he had headphones on. She thought his choice of attire odd for July, but she moved next to the boy, where a pair of unused headphones was laying. As she prepared her selection for listening, Hermione noticed that the case laying on the counter in front of the boy was one of Celine Dion's—the same album, in fact, to which she was preparing to listen.

A guy who likes Celine Dion? Harry and Ron hate listening to my CDs of hers.

Too curious, she chanced a quick glance up at him. He had his eyes closed, listening to his selection, and although many of his features were hidden, she saw enough to know to whom those features belonged: Draco Malfoy.

Hermione could do nothing else but stare at him in bewilderment. Malfoy—in Muggle London—listening to Muggle music (Celine Dion, no less!)—wearing Muggle clothing (which, as she inspected further, was at the height of fashion, although out of season). What the heck?!

As she stood gaping at him, he opened his eyes and looked ahead of him and then, to her horror, he turned and looked around him, then right at Hermione. His eyebrows rose—or, more accurately, the beanie on his forehead moved upward. They stood staring at each other for three seconds before he turned his gaze away from her and continued listening to the CD.

Hermione turned away, too, feeling her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Hermione resumed listening to her selections. Her attempt to distract herself from the Prophecy was successful, but was not attributable to music (her brain was barely registering what she was hearing). Instead, Hermione's mind was completely bewildered, trying to work out the oddness that was Malfoy for the next hour.

After a while, she inconspicuously peeked over at Malfoy's other CD choices; he had picked an old album by Richard Marx (a signer and pianist) and one by John Tesh (a pianist).

This must be the 'twilight zone' my parents are always referencing when something completely crazy and unexplainable happens….

The next week, Hermione was out by herself again in Hampstead, and in an attempt to avoid Malfoy, she steered clear of the particular street where they had had such a disconcerting meeting the week before. She passed by a music store on her way to return a book to the library when she looked into the store's window and saw Malfoy—again! She stopped, crouched down, and held her library book over face, and then peeked her eyes up over the book. Malfoy was looking at sheet music. So perplexing….maybe a gift for his mother? She's probably very 'accomplished' on some instrument or another, being a rich lady and having nothing else to do, Hermione surmised with a scoff.

Hermione quickly turned her back to the window and scampered away to finish her errand, making a mental note to look for yet another music store at which to patronize, as there was no way she was going to any place Malfoy frequented.

On August third, Hermione met Ron and Harry at Madam Malkin's shop, and, low and behold, there also was Malfoy—and his mother. Although Draco ignored Hermione completely (and was more-than-characteristically obnoxious and surly to Harry, Ron, and Madam Malkin), his mother looked at Hermione with blatant contempt. Hermione had never been the recipient of so much hostility from an adult—not even from Professor Snape! Mrs. Malfoy's behavior Hermione could easily explain, though, as she knew that Mrs. Malfoy was a Black family descendant, and that they were notorious Pureblood Elitists: it was Draco's behavior that had Hermione confused. She had expected to be called 'Mudblood' or, at the very least, be degraded in some other way by him; but she was not.

In the last two weeks in July and the rest of the month of August, Hermione came across Malfoy a total of seven times. This is worse than at school! she bemoaned. Almost always, Malfoy was in a shop before she arrived, but twice she beat him to the punch. She tried to enjoy herself at her past-times and in her favorite places, but no matter where she went she was looking around for him; she'd stand where she had a clear view of the door, in case she needed to A: hide, or B: run out ASAP. If Hermione would see him first, he always seemed to turn to her before she could turn away without him seeing her, and if he saw her first, he didn't try to hide from her, although he seemed embarrassed.

Everything about meeting Malfoy in Muggle London was disconcerting, as was his behavior toward her at Madam Malkin's, but Hermione was most perplexed by the fact that, although he saw her every time she saw him, not once did he sneer at her or speak to her—not even to call her a Mudblood.

-September 1996

On September first, the first term of her sixth year began. Thoughts of the 'mystery that was Malfoy' were all forgotten; when her brain was not totally engaged in the classroom or studying, her thoughts would always go to the Prophecy. Over the summer she'd obsessed over the Prophecy—the 'untruthfulness of it, unfairness of it, and ridiculousness of it,' in her words. Finally, Hermione, obsessing over it so much that she was giving herself headaches, had decided to rid herself of her emotional objections to the Prophecy and to rationally sort it out. She'd decided that she trusted Professor Dumbledore with her life, and that logic dictated that she must also trust him regarding this Prophecy. After settling that, the rest came easily. She would do whatever she could to stop Voldemort, and she would do anything she could to help Harry and to save him and Ron. If sacrificing so much of herself was for the 'greater good,' then she would do it. So, she resolved to see the prophetic words transpire, now matter how distasteful it was to her (and it was VERY distasteful to her).

Now, as school began, she found herself obsessing over the 'who' in the prophecy. She searched the faces of Hogwarts. Could HE be my 'equal'? Does HE fit the prophecy? Hermione had given up on the idea that the young man in question could be someone (Harry or a Weasley) with whom she was already very comfortable….someone who would understand that her odd situation was necessary and dictated by the Prophecy….someone who would treat her well through the whole strange and awkward ordeal. She still had hopes, however, that whomever would be the father of her baby would be someone she could tolerate while raising the child.

Why can't it be Ron? That would be perfect, she thought and daydreamed—often. One such occasion, she was sitting in Potions (where she was staring at Ron who had just entered the room with Harry) when she was broken out of this reverie by Professor Slughorn asking her name.

"Granger, Sir. Hermione Granger."

"Granger….Are you a relation of the famous Potions Master Hector Dagworth-Granger, my dear?"

"No, I don't believe so….I'm Muggle-born, sir."

Slughorn praised Hermione for her answer to his questions about the four potions on display, and she unabashedly reveled in it—praise from a potions teacher for the first time in her life! And to top it off, she could tell that Malfoy was jealous about it. She smirked to herself.

Hermione really wanted the Felix Felicis that would be hers if she brewed a perfect Draught of Living Death; she could use a bit of luck as she tried to fulfill her prophecy. Everyone in the class had their own reasons for wanting it; they all had some matter of importance in mind that would warrant the use of a little Liquid Luck, but—Who of them had a better reason than an important task like Hermione had? she thought. She looked around. Everyone looked focused. Lavender looked pathetically desperate, but distracted. Malfoy, Hermione noticed, looked focused, but to distraction, like a man obsessed.

When all Draught was brewed, it was Harry who was awarded the Felicis, and for once Hermione had the inclination to take advantage of her friendship with Harry by asking him to share some with her. Hermione was startled by his expression; Malfoy was so furious that he was snarling.

Mid-September, right before Hermione's seventeenth birthday, Hermione, Harry, and Ron were relaxing in the Gryffindor Common Room after Quidditch tryouts. Hermione had confounded Cormac McLaggen to help Ron win the position of Keeper (not that she was advertising it, though), and she was almost as punch drunk about as he was.

Out of the blue, Ron said, "Hermione, McLaggen fancies you, you know?"

Hermione was not totally shocked by this; she had seen the looks that Cormac, a seventh year and the Head Boy, had been sending her way lately, the first occurring at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in August.

"He's vile," she said earnestly. Although she had considered him handsome for several years now, she never gave him much serious thought due to his reputation (and her infatuation with first Harry in fourth year and now Ron since fifth year). McLaggen had never shown her any attention until this year. Maybe HE is THE he? He is my equal in that he is also a Gryffindor and in that we are both in the Slug Club….

McLaggen was very tall and had obvious muscles, noticeable even while wearing his school uniform (minus the bulky robe). His hair was medium-blonde, thick, wiry, and slightly curly. His eyes were hazel, and his skin clear and tan. He had a charming Scottish accent to boot. Other girls referred to him as 'The Cedric Diggory of Gryffindor.' He wore a certain expression when he looked at Hermione…..like a smolder, but not frightening, she described it to herself. He is quite handsome…our baby would be cute…blimey, what is wrong with me!? I'm never like this! This is how Parvati and Lavender behave, not me! But…. I SHOULD let what may happen between him and me happen…..

Suddenly, Hermione realized that Ron and Harry were looking at her with raised eyebrows and saying her name. Hermione regained her focus on reality and looked away from them, into the fire.

I'm SO glad they are not Legilimens!

Later that night, Hermione dreamed she had a handsome, husky, hazel-eyed, curly blonde-haired baby boy. She awoke feeling sure McLaggen was 'THE He' (as she had dubbed the young man referred to by the Prophecy), and she was neither happy nor sad nor afraid of that—but THAT realization scared her. I love Ron! She held out hope for him….for them as a couple.

I won't let a prophecy of a baby deter me from loving Ron.

But she was niggled by the thought that maybe the Prophecy WOULD stand between her and Ron. She already knew that Ron couldn't be THE He her Prophecy referred to, but she could still fulfill her prophecy by bearing the baby of another guy while still in a relationship with Ron.

Right, Hermione, like any guy would be understanding of his girlfriend sleeping with someone else with the intention of getting pregnant, the rational part of her brain taunted her optimistic part.

Ron would understand. I'll be getting pregnant to save the world; how could he not understand that? If he loved me, then he'd stand by me, she responded confidently.

-November 1996

Hermione may not be able to pick Ron for the baby's father (for reasons she still could not fathom), but she still wanted to be with him. Try as she may to hint at the fact to him, though, he would not respond as she hoped—dreamed, prayed, wished on falling stars, etc.,— that he would. So, one afternoon in Herbology, Hermione, intending on asking him to be her date to Slughorn's Christmas party, broached the topic of the Slug Club and the upcoming party.

"Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, and then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug?" Ron said snappily. Hermione was taken aback—and angry.

"Actually, Ronald, I was going to ask you, but now I won't bother!" Hermione said, equally snappily, and moved her things to another table and tried not to cry. Ron was hurt and jealous because he hadn't been invited into the Club like his sister, Harry, and Hermione had, Hermione realized with sympathy. But why must he behave like such a prat about it? she fumed.

When Ron snogged Lavender in front of the entire Gryffindor House a few weeks later, Hermione was shocked and powerless to stop the tears from falling. When she ran out of the room, she was unnoticed by everyone except Harry and Cormac McLaggen (who was still watching her non-stop and sending smoldering looks her way).

As the days went on, Hermione forced herself to think less about Ron, trying to spare herself from the heartbreak she was receiving (albeit unknowingly) at his hands. Still, she held on to hope that they would be together soon; she didn't think Ron could put up with someone as superficial as Lavender for long.

She distracted herself from her love-woes by focusing on her 'search' for 'THE He," and was making some more deductions as to his identity. Dean Thomas, though dating Ginny (which would be awkward to say the least!) was a Gryffindor and a Muggleborn, had nice skin and a decent personality. Ravenclaws Zacharias Smith, Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, and Michael Corner were all very intellectual (they could be considered my 'equal'). Ernie MacMillan was an intellectual boy (with a dreamy Scottish brogue to boot, thought Hermione), but he was a Hufflepuff and not a Muggleborn; Hermione knew him to be a Pureblood (whatever that means, Hermione thought with an aggravated sigh). Then there was Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff House, who was a Muggleborn but wasn't necessarily her 'equal' as he wasn't in any of her NEWT classes (although he may be in all NEWT-level classes that I'm not taking, guessed Hermione). Of all of these candidates, Justin seemed to be the most likely, but Hermione hardly knew him.

Two Slytherin sixth-years were also on Hermione's mental list of candidates; both were smart and one a member of the Slug Club.Namely, the two were Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. She had most of her NEWT-level classes, including Potions, with them. Based on the criteria with which Nott and Zabini were added to her 'list,' Malfoy should have been added as well; but Hermione refused to even THINK about him as a candidate.

And Nott and Zabini making the list means very little; the likelihood of 'THE He' being a Slytherin is slim-to-none; most of them are Purebloods and wouldn't lower themselves to sleep with a Muggleborn. She wasn't sure, but she was willing to bet such was the case with Nott and Zabini.

Theo (as Hermione had heard Malfoy call him) was tall with thin light brown hair, light brown eyes, and pale skin. He was handsome in his own way; he at least smiled shyly sometimes, not merely smirking arrogantly like all of his other Slytherin mates. He was very quiet and seemed shy and dedicated to his studies. His only friends appeared to be Malfoy and Zabini.

Blaise was also quiet, but to Hermione, his quietness seemed to stem more from superciliousness than from shyness. He played on the Slytherin Quidditch Team (Harry had mentioned that he was their new Seeker this year, replacing Malfoy). He was very handsome; he had an oval face and dark eyes and beautiful dark brown skin and black hair, and gorgeous teeth. He was tall and lean. Hermione had heard from Parvati that many girls were always chasing after him. He seemed to have many friends, although Hermione had seen him alone in The Three Broomsticks (which was were she'd had the perfect opportunity to study his handsome features) the day in October when Katie Bell had been cursed.

Thinking of having intercourse (as her very proper mother had always referred to sex as and so, also, did Hermione) with any of them was troubling, but with the last two, she was almost physically sick. Hermione could not imagine giving her virginity to anyone she wasn't in love with, but she was fiercely opposed to giving it to a Slytherin, even to help defeat Voldemort.

That just seems so counterintuitive and counterproductive—besides being against a law of nature!

But then, couldn't my prejudice against Slytherins be likened to the Pureblood Supremacists' prejudice against Muggleborns?….No, mine is justified!

Between dealing with the Prophecy and having to listen to Lavender going gaga over Ron non-stop in their shared dormitory, Hermione cried herself to sleep most nights. And the worst part is that I have no one I can talk to about it! Dumbledore had instructed her to keep her prophecy a secret but had allowed her to tell Harry if she chose. Hermione didn't think Harry would take her Prophecy well, and he already had a lot on his mind, so she didn't share her secret with him.

Besides, this Prophecy is blooming embarrassing!

So, she did the next best thing; she started a journal. She had never been one who wrote in a journal, but she figured that it would be good for her mental health to do so.

"It should keep me from going mad," she said quietly to herself.

A voice in her head said, 'You're already talking to yourself.'

Great; I'm already there. I'm talking to myself and hearing voices,' she though, remembering that even in the Wizarding world, hearing voices was not a good thing.

Grunting to let out her frustrations, she laid down on her bed with her curtains closed and a silencing charm placed around her to silence Lavender's squeals to Parvati about her 'Won-Won', and started writing. She wrote, and wrote, wrote.

You even ramble when you write, said the voice in her head.

Ugh!

It was while she was writing that she received a note delivered by a younger Gryffindor girl. The note was from Professor Burbidge, the Muggle Studies teacher. It read:

Miss Granger,

Headmaster Dumbledore and I have been discussing your brilliant mind, unmatched responsibility, and generosity of spirit, along with your Muggle background, and we have concluded that you would be a perfect fit to tutor a student who is in danger of failing Muggle Studies and who has no one else to turn to for help in this subject. As you both are very busy Sixth Years and Prefects, we have decided that the best times for your tutoring should be during mealtimes and during your Prefect patrols, which have been scheduled to be together. Head Girl Chang and Head Boy McLaggen have already been informed.

We thank you heartily for your willingness to help a fellow student.

Sincerely,

Professor C. Burbidge

Muggle Studies

P.S. The student is Draco Malfoy

Hermione stared at his name, and then she did something she never did: "Bloody hell!" she swore.

Hermione and Draco did, in fact, have every patrol duty together, Hermione noticed when Head Boy Cormac McLaggen handed Hermione her Patrol schedule (with a smolder) for the remainder of the term. Ron (who was also a Prefect again this year) was not happy with the Patrol schedule or her tutoring Malfoy, a fact in which Hermione found more than a teensy bit of satisfaction. However, Harry, though he was also upset by her schedule and tutoring Malfoy, saw a silver lining to it.

"Hermione, I know Malfoy has taken his father's place as a Death Eater, but I need proof…can't you try to worm it out of him during one of your tutoring sessions? And he's up to something. I mean, he quit the Quidditch team for some reason, and it has to be something big for Malfoy to give up being the Captain and Seeker of the Slytherin team—"

Hmm, Harry does have a point there….shame—Malfoy looked so….FIT in his Quidditch uniform…oh my, where did THAT come from?

"—and I have so much on my mind, what with my task from Dumbledore—"

Ha! If he only knew, thought Hermione.

"—so I could really use your help, Hermione."

Hermione listened politely before enumerating the reasons why she believed Harry's hypotheses to be unfounded and declining to be his mole when it came to Malfoy. Harry didn't give up, though; he pestered her before every patrol she did. Harry always ended up frustrated with her and grumpy, and Hermione always felt useless (which she hated)….and taken for granted a bit.

Hermione and Draco met in a classroom near the Great Hall for the last thirty minutes of every dinner hour. They took Draco's Muggle Studies text along with them, Hermione quizzing Draco on the chapters, but mostly explaining the Muggle terms in the chapters to him.

Hermione was not surprised about Draco's knowledge of Muggle transportation. That's how he makes it from his home to London, she thought, as she knew his family's mansion was in the country somewhere. He also had knowledge of Muggle money. Also, that is not surprising. But why—WHY did he venture into Muggle London in the first place? Wasn't that going against all he believed in—lowering himself to mingle around with 'dirty Muggles'?

Neither had spoken about his forays into Muggle London over the summer until one night when the topic of the chapter for that day was Muggle London itself.

"What's your favorite part of Muggle London, Malfoy?" she timidly asked, unable to deny her curiosity any longer.

Draco's face showed he was surprised by her question, but one second later he plastered his usual scowl on his face. "What makes you think that I would have a favorite part of Muggle London, Granger?"

Hermione just sighed. "Never mind."

Their patrol was over shortly thereafter, and they each left for their own House dormitories.

Nothing much changed over the next few weeks. Hermione found Draco very distracted and always eager to leave. They never said anything to each other beyond the tutoring subjects and prefect duties. While Draco never gave Hermione any answers to personal questions, he didn't treat her with disgust and never used the word that made her blood boil. They studied with the classroom door open during meals and never sat beside one another. All in all, Hermione was very pleased with how the tutoring was going, and Professor Burbidge reported via letter that she, too, was happy with the change in Draco's marks. Nevertheless, Hermione was looking forward to her tutoring ending this term.

November melted into December. Harry was still as persistent as ever that Hermione play the mole in his operation to solve the 'mystery of Malfoy.' Hermione would not budge, still not seeing any evidence to support Harry's suppositions. Besides, she thought, I have my own mysteries about Malfoy to uncover—the first being why he was so often in Muggle London, experiencing Muggle music and literature, and the second (and more disconcerting) being why she had unusual thoughts about how dishy Malfoy is.

Curiosity killed the cat, you know? she thought to herself.

I know. Do I ever.

She was fully aware of the risks of being too curious, but she just couldn't help herself. One night while tutoring at dinnertime, she came right out and said, "What did you think about the music of Celine Dion that you listened to during the summer holiday?"

Draco scowled immediately, looking her square in the eyes intently. "Have you told anyone, Granger?" he asked in a low, clipped tone.

"N-no, not at all," she stammered, feeling stupid for trying to broach the subject.

"Good," he said and sniffed arrogantly.

Silence filled the room. Hermione was going to move on to the topic in the chapter from the textbook Draco was currently needing to study when, on impulse, she said, "She's one of my favorite vocalists. She has been for a few years now. Her voice is amazing. Plus, I admire her looks. As a child, she had unruly hair like I have, but now it's beautiful." Then Hermione became braver. "That day…in the music store….I was there to listen to her latest album, which I hadn't heard yet."

Draco just looked at her, surprised. She was silent, pensive, anticipating. Draco, too, was silent until he said, abruptly, "I concur about her voice, even if she is a Mug—"

Her brow furrowed momentarily before she realized that Draco was about to say 'Muggle' not 'Mudblood.' It really threw her off her game. She was about to defend the singing voices of Muggles everywhere, when Draco said, "The instrumental accompaniment in the songs is what I appreciate most about Muggle music."

Hermione was shocked for a moment. "I took piano lessons as a child, but I never practiced enough to become proficient, unfortunately. I preferred to read or to write my own stories," she finished, quietly. She hastily added, jovially, "Perhaps that's why my only talent is being a bookworm," she joked, trying to change the subject while covering up her feelings of insecurity at having just revealed personal information to Malfoy.

Draco did not laugh. Fearing she had said too much and that he was about to berate her, she fell silent, bracing for verbal abuse. Draco started to open his mouth then closed it and then opened it again, saying dully, "Your talent is being the Brightest of Your Age."

Hermione looked up in astonishment at him. What is he about? Is he joking? Should I thank him? His eyes are grey, not light blue. How have I never noticed? They are gorgeous! Hermione was still staring at him like she was under a spell (though she wasn't) when Draco quietly stood, gathered his books, and promptly left the room.

Who was that and what have they done with Draco Malfoy?

And crikey, his eyes are mesmerizing!

Christmas was quickly approaching; Professor Flitwick, as usual, was decorating the castle using his unmatched talent with Charms, and Hermione was ecstatic that her NEWT-level class was invited to help. She had always loved Christmases growing up, and now she loved magical Christmases even more. She was even looking forward to Slughorn's Christmas party.

As she practiced the charms to decorate the huge Christmas tree in the Great Hall, she noticed Draco looking her way several times. He scowled whenever she caught him at it. So he's back to normal then, she thought and rolled her eyes.

After the decorating during Charms class ended, however, Draco caught up to her, moved ahead of her, and then turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest, his body blocking her path.

"Granger, I have a report due for Muggle Studies. Bloody Burbidge—" he was cut off by Hermione gasping and giving him a scowl for swearing. He knew she disapproved of swearing from the many times over the last few weeks that he had sworn in front of her and she had taken offense, but he thought most of this chastisement was because of the derogatory term being applied to the Muggle Studies teacher, specifically.

"As I was saying," he started again and rolling is eyes, "Burbidge assigned to me a report to bring up my marks, and I have to submit it upon returning from the Christmas holiday."

Hermione waited for an actual request to be made of her; no way was she going to let Malfoy off easy. He stared at her; she raised her eyebrows.

"Ugghh, woman!" he exclaimed. Then, "Granger will you help me?" he asked quietly, dropping his arms to his sides, his fists clenched in frustration.

"Malfoy, I honestly don't know how you expect me to fit this into my schedule in just the next few weeks. I have to study for exams, patrol, and prepare for the Yule Ball, and I have Slughorn's party…." she trailed off, getting anxious just thinking about it all. Draco only frowned at her.

"Granger, must I remind you that you really have no choice but to tutor me for the sole purpose of helping me earn passing marks in Muggle Studies? Furthermore, this report is exactly how I am to earn said marks."

Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What is the topic of your report to be about, Malfoy?" she asked, knowing he was right—she really didn't have a choice.

"Muggle Family Home Life, Burbidge's selection," he replied in a factual tone and with a stoic look upon his face, which surprised Hermione. Inwardly, she cringed because she knew it was going to take loads of time to help Malfoy on this subject. Outwardly, she gave him a fake smile. "You already know so much, Malfoy. It will be simple for us to complete before the holiday. You get it started, and I'll help you fill in the areas of the topic in which you're knowledge is…minimal," she said, choosing her words very carefully. She started to walk away when he spun around and kept up with her brisk pace as she headed up the marble stairs.

"You're in the Slug Club then,' he said with disdain. "Yes, I seem to recall Zabini mentioning you were…and Potter," Draco said, emphasizing Harry's name with disgust. "You'll be taking Potter the Slughorn's party and the Yule Ball, then, I assume, as The Weasel King is dating that Brown bimbo. Gads, none of you Gryffindors have any taste," Draco declared in a snooty tone.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from grinning at Draco's insult of Lavender. Quickly recovering, however, she focused on what else he had just said and was stunned and confused—stunned that he knew so much about Gryffindors (and that he actually was talking about any of them), and confused at why Malfoy would think she would be Harry's date.

"Harry? No. I mean, he is my best friend, but that's all, and besides, he likes someone else. Why do you think I'd be going with Harry?"

Draco sighed impatiently, as if it were obvious. "Well, Granger, because Potter's the only male in Hogwarts allowed to show you any attention, per The Weasel King's little edict," he replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "That tosser McLaggen doesn't care about defying The Weasel, though, and of course no one in Slytherin, but…" Draco finished, seemingly talking to himself and looking contemplative.

Hermione stopped and turned on a dime, staring at his eyes. Cocking her head in incredulity and gesturing 'stop,' she demanded, "Wait….WHAT did you say?"

It was going to happen; Ron was going to be Avada'd, and Hermione was going to be the one to do it, IF what Malfoy said was true. After hearing Draco's tale about Ron's supposed 'edict,' Hermione had promptly turned and furiously trudged to the Gryffindor Common Room. Not seeing Ron or Harry in the Room, she turned to Neville; she knew that he could not lie (he was terrible under pressure) and that he would not lie to her anyway (he was such a sweet guy and always seemed a bit afraid of her).

"Neville, is it true that Ron made an edict about guys leaving me alone? As in 'not dating me'?" Hermione asked furiously. Neville looked shocked and incredibly nervous, and he gulped before saying, "That's, um….its, um….what I've heard."

Hermione was irate! She could not believe Ron would stoop so low. He doesn't want me, but he doesn't want anyone else to have me, either? He thinks he could just treat me like his property—like this is the Middle Ages! He behaves like this with Ginny and her boyfriends, but I'm not even his SISTER! She was off-her-bird-livid, but still cognizant enough to know that she couldn't REALLY kill him as she had first asserted to do. She could hex his bollocks and defy him in any way she could, though, she thought gleefully.

And boy, will I!

The first thing she did was ask McLaggen to be her date to Slughorn's Christmas party; he readily accepted (with smoldering stare, too, no less). The second thing she did was to hex Ron's bollocks, using the Inflammation Charm and the Itching Charm. He'll be walking slowly for a week! And boy, did he—but for only a day; Hermione didn't really have it in her heart to be too cruel. Thirdly, Hermione wrote him a letter berating his behavior and telling him how much it disappointed her. She asked McLaggen to deliver it to Ron in the Common Room; even though she could have delivered it to him herself, the look on his face before he even opened the letter was priceless and worth her having resorted to petty antics.

Strolling into the Library on a Thursday night, the day after he had rocked Hermione's world with the knowledge of Ron's little edict, Draco saw Hermione studying with Harry. Bloody hell, I hate Potter, he thought.

The hatred between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, and that between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, was well-known at Hogwarts; in fact, some described it as 'legend-in-the-making.' Draco hated Potter and Granger for very different reasons, although the hatred he felt for one Gryffindor was much greater than that which he felt for the other.

Draco had hated Potter since Potter embarrassed him before the Sorting Ceremony when they were first-year students at Hogwarts. He resented all of the attention Potter received from professors, girls at Hogwarts, and witches and wizards in the Wizarding World.

His feelings for Granger originated because of other circumstances. He had wanted (and he still did) to be the best student in his year, but he'd very quickly realized that between Granger's brains and work ethic he would have fierce competition for the title. He had eventually resigned himself to the fact that beating Granger perhaps wasn't possible for him (or anyone). He still tried; he had no choice but to do his best in hopes that he would beat Granger (at what was obviously her own game) and that his father wouldn't berate him for not doing so. His father had expected him to be top of his class and had been angry the first year when he'd found out that Draco wasn't; but he'd been livid and disgusted with Draco upon learning that a Mudblood consistently beat Draco's marks. Of course, Draco hadn't revealed this information to his father, but as Professor Snape was a close friend of his father's, his father had found out anyway. His whole family had hated Muggles and Muggleborns for as long as Draco could remember. No one would debate that the Malfoy parents were devoted to their progeny, extending that devotion to include a fervent hatred for a person who rivaled their son; they, too, hated Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

Seeing the Advanced Potions textbook on the table between his two enemies, Draco remembered the first Potions lesson of this term: Draco had fumed at Potter and Granger from across the room when bloody Potter had announced that Granger was the best student in their year (and Granger had awarded him a brilliant smile, which clearly showed her now appropriately-sized pearly whites). Potter, Draco had seethed in his seat at he'd gaped at the sight; he'd seethed at Potter—not Granger.

Draco's jealousy for Granger's achievements was outweighed by his jealousy of the attention Granger gave Potter. She befriended him, followed him almost everywhere, championed for him, cheered for him, gave him someone to rely on and trust in, and adored him. It made Draco sick; or his incredible amount of jealousy made him sick, rather. He felt nothing for her besides jealousy of her prodigious skills as a witch (no way, he surely didn't); it was just the fact that the 'Brightest' admired Potter and not him, Draco, that made him hate Potter even more. Even Draco realized the significance of being able to say that 'The Brightest' was your friend, and that she also admired you. A Malfoy, not a Potter (and for cripes sake not bloody HARRY Potter),should have the admiration of the 'Brightest'—even if the 'Brightest' were a Muggleborn. It was her admiration, not her friendship, that Draco sought (deserved), and so her blood status made no difference to him (in THIS case).

He'd been feeling this way for years, but this year it seemed to agitate him more than usual. These feelings were stronger now—or maybe it was because Granger was one of two subjects that were almost always occupying his thoughts.

As Draco ruminated over all of this, he flashed a look of disgust toward Harry as he sat with Hermione. Here he is, with Granger fawning over HIM when she should be adoring ME and helping ME with my report. He had half a mind to demand that Granger leave Potter to do his own work and to help him with his Muggle Studies report, but he reminded himself that he had more important things to do this evening.

Walking behind them, gettingas close to them as he could without being obvious, he heard Hermione telling Harry in a whisper, "Filch wouldn't be checking potions when people are attempting to bring them into the Castle. Love potions aren't dark or dangerous."

For Merlin's sake, is Granger alluding to the fact that she was given a love potion or that she gave one to someone else? Didn't she hear Slughorn say in our first Potions lesson this term that Amortentia is the most dangerous potion? He sighed in frustration and rubbed his temples and, seeing Madam Pince approaching the Golden Gryffindors, he turned on his heel and walked away, planning to use a Disillusionment Charm to sneak into the Restricted Section again. Although his main objective tonight was to researchhow to bespell objects, he thought he may also keep an eye on the two Gryffindors; in his experience, he could usually learn something from them that would later be very advantageous to his plans. His tasks were proving more difficult than he had imagined, and he realized that he needed all of the advantages he could procure—and that meant doing whatever was necessary.