You, a harry potter fanfic

You

(...) represents a flashback :D

The words have been drained from this pencil
Sweet words that I want to give you
And I can't sleep
I need to tell you
Goodnight

Draco cursed and threw the quill across the room. His words weren't good enough. They would never undo the hurt he'd caused over the last 6 and a half years. How could he tell her that he was sorry? That he regretted what he'd done? How could he tell her that it was she that kept him awake at night—that it was she that kept him from following in the footsteps of his father? How could he tell her that she was the only light in the darkness that was his world?

(Draco watched her from a dark corridor as she spread her books and scrolls out on the study table in the library. She always chose the same table, and he had come to love his little hideaway.

He could watch her for hours. It was forbidden to do more—by his father, by his Master, by everyone in his world—and yet more was all he could think about. Should he test his Master's boundary and risk the Deadly Unforgivable? Should he show himself, and explain that the girl with the curly brown hair and beautiful almond-shaped eyes was his only link to anything that could be considered good within him?

Every night Draco stood in shadow, he found himself on the brink of exposing himself—but he always held back. Always one step away, always one word, one look, one action. Always too far away to make a difference.

'One day.' He thought. And slunk off back to his room.)

Draco had been made Head Boy against the majority of Hogwarts' better judgment. Headmaster Dumbledore didn't explain his reasons, but, it was clear that he meant to keep a steady eye on the blond haired boy. That, and Draco had actually earned the position—second in the class only to one other…

The brown eyed girl he dared not speak to.

It was now three months into the school year. November came with a frigid chill and a dusting of snow. And it seemed to grind its feet in for the duration of the season.

There would be no holiday this year—Students were required to stay at Hogwarts during the Christmas Holidays—a safety precaution, or so the Ministry said. That just meant Draco got to spend more time watching her.

It was late, now. Early morning by the hands of the clock on the mantle. And Draco sat slumped in a high-backed chair by the dwindling fireplace.

His gaze was locked on the door with the Gryffindor seal on it. There was a light on within—and he knew she wouldn't sleep for at least another hour. Always studying; always preparing. She was always trying to be perfect, when he saw her that way naturally.

Draco was through fighting himself. He was through arguing with the blasted mark on his arm. He'd run the subject into the ground and there was only one thing left to do—He rose from the leather arm-chair and trudged to the door with "Hermione" magically branded into it. He lifted a fist. He knocked.

When we're together, I feel perfect
When I'm pulled away from you, I fall apart
All you say is sacred to me

Hermione started at the noise at her door. She didn't know he would be up this late—and what did he want with her? Clearing her throat, and her books from her bed, she pulled the covers over her lap and called, "Come in."

The latched clicked, and there he was. Tall, Blond, Beautiful. Yet the look in his eyes stirred something within her she could not explain. She blinked away her thoughts and tried a smile, "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I hope so." Draco said. His body was rigid, his face felt like leather as his lips formed the words. "I…need help. Hermione."

He'd said her name. Was he drunk? Was he under a curse? Malfoy would rather chew nails than utter a mudblood's name. And yet there it was—"Hermione."

"I'm not going to do your homework for you—" Hermione bristled assuming the worst.

"No. No I… can I talk to you?" Draco mumbled, his eyes could no longer hold hers and he found his feet.

Hermione stared at him a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Come in. Sit." She said, and scooted so her back rested against the pillows and headboard.

(She remembered the first time she knew she loved him as though the feeling had just come over her. It was in Potions class. He was her partner. She remembered the formula exactly—wolfbane, wartroot, essence of murlap, dragon blood—but she remembered better the touch of his hand as it folded over hers, guiding the spoon slowly.

"You have to stir it twice clockwise, and once anti-clockwise. Or else you'll ruin it."

His voice hadn't been harsh like it was in his youth. He simply instructed her. His hands were smooth—calloused from Quittich practices—yet soft and warm at the same time. They were quite large—much more so than her own petite ones, and the nails were trimmed closely, neatly. She remembered nodding dumbly, and focusing on his hand and the motion of the spoon as they stirred the mixture in the cauldron.

As soon as it had begun, it was over. His hand left hers and he began to chop the wartroot. Still, Hermione was caught in the moment, her hand tingling where the warmth had disappeared.

That moment, Hermione realized that something in Draco Malfoy had changed. Somewhere between their 5th and 6th year, he had grown up. He no longer sought arguments with Ron and Harry. He no longer taunted the first years and stole her homework. He no longer called her that hateful name… In that moment, Hermione loved Draco Malfoy.)

Your eyes are so blue
I can't look away
As we lay in the stillness
You whisper to me

Draco entered the room awkwardly. He closed the door and then thought what that must have implied and wished he'd not thought to indulge his habits. He hesitated momentarily, alerting the girl on the bed to his uneasiness, before making his way over to her.

"Sit." She said again, and patted the bed in front of her. She did not know what she asked of him.

Draco obliged and took a seat at the foot of the bed, not daring to sit any closer.

"What did you want to talk about?" Hermione's voice was soft, lilting, and melodic; Draco was lost in her simple song.

He fumbled with his hands, finally clasping them together and letting them fall into his lap. "I…" What should he say to her? How could he make her believe that he wanted to be good—he wanted to be good for her. Good enough for her.

"Is something wrong?" She asked, concern coloring her face and making her lean forward.

Draco couldn't speak. He shook his head, and then nodded an affirmative. What should he say? "I have to tell you something." He finally whispered. "Something that will surely mean my life."

Hermione's heart stirred at his words. This was not the same Draco Malfoy sitting in front of her as had been so vile to her friends in the years passed. For more than a year now, she'd seen a change in him—for more than a year now, she'd wondered what could be behind those ice blue eyes of his.

She wanted him to tell her that he needed her. She wanted to hear him say that he couldn't live without her—but that was impossible, wasn't it?

Hermione couldn't explain the attraction that had grown for Draco over the past year and a half. She kept it to herself, of course, Harry and Ron would never understand. The attraction grew at an alarming rate for Hermione. She'd never expected to fall for someone as hard or as fast as she had for her childhood enemy. She felt sorry for him, sure, to have grown up under such cruel parents' thumbs; every time she looked into his eyes over the past year, she'd felt overcome with sadness. But sadness and sympathy was eclipsed by a longing to be the one who could change him.

"What do you mean? What's wrong Draco?" The name slipped from her lips as easily as it had in her dreams. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the gentle intake of breath that meant he was as surprised as she. Hermione could feel their relationship changing and she trembled at where it might lead. She wanted to cry out that she wanted to be the one to save him. She wanted to be the one he clung to—the one who's very existence brought him over to the Light side. She wanted to cry out that she loved him, but she held her breath and waited for his answer.

Amy, marry me
Promise you'll stay with me
Oh you don't have to ask me
You know you're all that I live for
You know I'd die just to hold you

Draco couldn't keep it inside anymore. He felt every thought he'd ever had build up inside his chest and burst forth from his mouth. He didn't really expect that she'd listen so closely to what he was saying. He didn't think she'd care about his childhood or his experience with the Death Eaters. What astonished him most were the silent tears she shed on his behalf. Draco felt his heart skip a beat as she raised a delicate hand to wipe away a stream of moisture from her cheek.

"I didn't know you had it so awful." Hermione murmured and she wanted to go to him. To hold him, to tell him that it would be alright in the end and that he'd see, Harry would defeat his Master and the world would be set right in the end. But she remained where she was, leaning forward, staring at those ice blue eyes.

"It wasn't always bad." Draco admitted. "When I was little it wasn't so bad. Mostly I was just ignored. I learned that it was better that way." Draco remembered the times he was locked in his room for days at a time with only the occasional house elf for company. "I preferred being ignored than being coached in the cruel demeanor of my father." Draco didn't have to look at Hermione to know she understood what he meant. After all, he knew about the Department of Mysteries. He knew his father had thrown more than one Unforgivable Curse that night. "I would like to say I didn't know any better—but the truth is—I was cruel like him because if I chose any other path, it would be my life. I am a coward." He muttered, voice low and full of self-loathing.

Hermione gasped, and reached forward to take one of his hands in her own. "That's not true, Draco." She implored him to believe her. "You were just a child. You did the only thing you could have done."

"And I pay for it every day." Draco said, his eyes locked on their clasped hands. He drew back from her and raised the sleeve of his left arm. "This is your proof." His voice was bitter, and he looked at the mark on his arm as though he could burn it off with his gaze.

Hermione held her breath as she gazed at the Dark Mark. "It would have been your life." She said, knowing that to refuse service would not have gone unpunished. Especially if you were the son of Voldemort's right-hand.

"It should have been my life." Draco corrected her, dropping his sleeve. "I should never have accepted it." His gaze finally met Hermione's. "Hermione, you have to know this is not who I am." He held up his sleeved arm, "You have to know this is not what I wanted. I want—" His breath caught in his throat and he couldn't finish his sentence.

Hermione stared at him, her heart beating a cadence in her chest that made her head spin. "What do you want, Draco?" she asked breathlessly.

"You." He whispered, his eyes never leaving hers.

They sat staring at one another for several long moments before Hermione slowly rose to her hands and knees and crawled toward Draco. Stopping when her face was but inches from his own, she licked her lips and spoke, "I know you Draco. I know who you are in here." She lifted a hand and covered his chest above his heart. "I think part of me has always known." She murmured. Without saying another word, she pressed forward slightly, joining their lips in a feather-light kiss.

When the kiss broke, neither dared to breath less they break the spell that had been cast over them. Finally Draco lifted a hand and caressed Hermione's face gently removing a curly tendril of hair that had fallen into her eyes. "You have been a light in this darkness." He whispered, knowing that he sounded more than corny but unable to stop himself. "You're all the good there is in me and I don't even know how or why or when it happened—but all I want is to be good enough. Just good enough for you." The words spilled from his mouth like water through floodgates. He couldn't help what he said and the crystal tear that seeped form his eye and cascaded down his cheek mortified him and blessed him at the same time.

Hermione kissed the single tear away and drew back on her haunches. "Stay with me tonight." She said softly, before reaching to her nightstand and picking up her wand. Waving it silently, she doused the lights, so only the fireplace crackled with an soft glow.

Taking Draco's hand, she drew him up to the head of the bed, where she pulled the covers back and crawled in beside him. The two lay facing one another in companionable silence for a long time, before Draco spoke in a whisper, "Can I hold you?" he asked.

Hermione answered him by drawing herself close and placing her head against his chest.

Stay with you
Somehow I'll show you
That you are my night sky
I've always been right behind you
Now I'll always be right beside you

Draco felt truly content for the first time in his life. He reveled in the warmth Hermione's body provided him, a warmth that melted his heart and sunk deep into the marrow of is very essence.

"Hermione, if you'll let me, I'd like to try and be the man you think I am." Draco whispered into her hair.

Hermione hummed in response, content in the warm, strong circle of Draco's embrace. "You have nothing to prove to me Draco. I have seen you for who you really are for a long time now." She whispered back, "but I would like if it you stayed with me." She murmured, sleep quickly taking her over.

Draco ran his fingers lightly up and down her spine lulling her into a peaceful slumber, while he allowed his mind to contemplate his course from here forward.

Draco determined that he would stand beside her no matter the cost. He would defend her with his life if necessary. He knew he faced a lot of adversity—his housemates and hers alike—but for the first time in a long time, he felt strong enough to meet the challenges with a steady hand and a strong heart. He would make the Light side trust him with every thought, word and deed. He would accept all the risks that came with defying the Monster that would call himself his Master. He would die fighting his father and all he had been brought up to believe if that was what it meant to love Hermione.

So many nights I cried myself to sleep
Now that you love me, I love myself
I never thought I would say this
I never thought there'd be

(The war was brutal and bloody. All wars tend to be that way. Draco stood by his decision, and took Hermione's side at the end of all things. The decision cost him the use of his left hand; and it had given him a rather nasty scar that bloomed from the corner of his left eye nearly to his jaw.

But Draco had not lost what was most important to him. Even as he faced his father, wand-tip to want-tip, he believed in love and knew somehow it would sustain him through all things. It was Draco who saw his father's last moment on Earth. It was Draco himself who had dealt the death-blow. He still felt the relief and the pain of being the origin of such an event.

Neither did Hermione find herself without struggles in the time of war. She faced down Death Eaters who showed her no mercy. Her confrontation with one, Antonin Dolohov cost her the life of one of her closest friends.

Ron Weasley took the death-curse freely, in place of Hermione. He saw it when she had been occupied otherwise, and boldly stepped between her and the putrid green light. Hermione got the satisfaction of sending Dolohov to the Dementors, but even his death could not replace what he'd taken from her. She found that without Draco by her side when the fighting was its worst, she never would have made it through.

Harry had been the most difficult to convince. Draco knew he had no small task in proving his loyalty to Hermione and her friends, but he was met with pure suspicion and distrust on nearly every front.

It was his decision to step in for Hermione that finally convinced Harry Potter that his love of the curly-haired witch was true.

Draco had faced Voldemort himself and had stood up with muggle-borns and blood-traitors and had been proud that he was not the mindless slave Voldemort would have made him. He took the Dark Lords Cruciatus curse silently, glad that it had been him rather than Hermione. He endured it so long, in fact, that there was permanent nerve damage to parts of his body. His left hand still burned and stung sometimes with phantom pains at the memory of the final day of the Dark Lord's wrath.

Harry had indeed defeated Voldemort and was hailed as a hero by all of Wizarding Kind. For Draco, however, it was the end of a life he'd never wanted to live.)

5 years later:

Draco curled himself behind Hermione on their King Sized bed and buried his face in her hair.

"It won't be long..." She murmured feeling the tiny beings within her fighting for space in their ever-shrinking home, "Any day now."

Draco smiled despite himself and reached around his wife to caress her bulging belly. "I can hardly wait, love. They're going to be so beautiful." Draco whispered, planting gentle kisses along his wife's jaw and neck. "They're going to look just like their mother." He smiled. He remembered when his wife had come to him, anxious and doubting, to tell him he would be a father. The thought, even at present, made his breath catch in his throat. He was to have a chance to be the Father he never had.

And not to one child—but two.

Hermione smiled back in the darkness, her own hand covering Draco's on her stomach. "Just as long as they have their father's eyes, my love." she whispered, and leaned into his caresses and allowing it to lull her into a restful slumber.

You

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Author's Notes:

Happy little Ficlet with our favorite couple!

I'm not really sure what to say about this—just an idea I had, I'll probably have several of these up—depending on how much I like the rest of the songs I've gathered. :D

So keep an eye out!