He wasn't sure when he fell in love with Hermione Granger.

Perhaps he'd fallen in love when she had walked down into the dance floor during the Christmas Ball the year previous, the Weasel glued to her arm. It had been around this time, he mused, that he felt his first pang of jealousy- which had been quickly suppressed. He was, after all, a Malfoy. And Malfoys could not-- should not-- be jealous of mudbloods and blood traitors.

Perhaps it was when she stood up for him- against Harry and Ron, mind you- in her fierce, Gryffindor-like way; curly hair bouncing and eyes flaming. He had never thanked her for that, never. But in his heart, he had felt a faint stir of gratitude. Perhaps it was then that he saw her in a different light? Not as the mudblood but as a person, as someone with morals and ideals.

Perhaps it had been when he realized the simple joy she took in learning, in books. Her dream, she had confided, was to make sure that every little child could have a book of their own; one they could cherish and love. He had told her it was stupid, that she couldn't possibly teach all those children how to read, but she had just smiled at him in a suspiciously Luna-like manner and walked away.

Perhaps he'd fallen in love with the Slytherin part of her, the way she could mercilessly grind people into the ground with her words, the way she could make them feel like dirt. The methodical, almost sadistic way she planned revenge on various slytherin put a dagger of fear even into his own heart.

He wasn't sure when he fell in love with Hermione Granger.
But what he did know, was that he was irrevocably in love with the bushy-haired, know it all Gryffindor princess.

How? Blaise had asked when Draco had revealed that simple fact. How do you know that you love her?

I just do. he had answered, staring off into space, i just do.

But Draco, leaning against the wall, preserving his masculinity despite the vulnerability of the the question, had thought.
He realized that he'd been doing quite a lot of thinking in the past few days. Deep, thought-provoking questions that came unbidden to his mind at every turn.

And now, the question plaguing him was not when he fell in love with Hermione, but how he knew.

Blaise avoided him like the plague. Pansy took one look at him in the dining hall and walked to the other end of the Slytherin table. When Draco was thinking, he was thinking. No disturbances allowed. It took three days of hexing first years, picking fights with the portraits and chewing gum that inflated his head for Draco to get an answer.

He loved her because he loved her.
The answer had been in front of his face the whole time.

He knew he loved her, because his heart wouldn't stop thumping erratically when he was near her. (Blaise had commented that his usually pale, vampire-like face actually turned a bit rosy when he was close to Hermione.) It must be love, he thought, for he found himself smiling-smiling- at random points of the day. And whenever he saw her with Potty or the Weasel, he'd suddenly feel the most childish feeling of jealousy. (and as everyone knew, Malfoys did not get jealous of those lower than them). And finally, he knew he loved Hermione Jane Granger because whenever he saw something, he immediately connected it back to her.

Test. Hermione would ace this.
First years being bullied. Hermione would never let this happen.
Flowers.Hermione digging up flowers for their potions project.
Quidditch.Did you know Hermione was scared of heights?
Mistletoe. If only I could somehow trick Hermione into coming here.

It was unbelievable. Inconceivable.

Draco pushed against the door of the library, noting the small, flitting shadows his robe made as he rustled his way to Hermione's table, which was- unsurprisingly- cluttered with books and parchments. But Hermione- surprisingly- wasn't studying. Her head was resting on the thickest textbook he had ever seen, her eyes closed peacefully in sleep.

He noted the way her eyelashes curled slightly and rested delicately on her cheek; how the shadows of the library found its way into the crevices of her neck and how the occasional flickers of light would scatter them away. He gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and was staring at the calming image of a sleeping Hermione when she woke up.

"Mmfff. Malfoy? What are you doing here?" She sounded sleepy and he almost smiled. almost.

"Granger. Do you hate me?" He asked, leisurely pulling out a chair from underneath the table.

"mm? I dunno."

"I think you do."

"Eh? And Malfoy, may I have the honor of knowing why you think i hate you?"

"Becauseyoumademefallinlovewithyou." He said it, and now he was waiting for her answer. Rejection or acceptance. He could feel the strain, the anxiety of his heart threatening to burst. He needed to hear her answer, no matter what it was.

"I should be a euphemism for what?"

Draco's heart deflated.

"Granger-" he said seriously, leaning forward in his chair, "- I.love.you."

"Oh?" Hermione paused. And in that pause, Draco's heart stopped beating. He watched as a small smile graced her features. "Prove it."

And for the first time that night, Draco smirked.

"Gladly."

With that, he captured her lips in a soft kiss; one he would remember forever. And one, he was sure, that she would remember as well.

When she kissed him back, her hands wrapping around his neck, he knew that he would love her always.

And this time, he didn't need to know why, or how he knew. He just did.