Hermione Granger stood in front of her alarm clock at 7:45 in the morning. She glared at the blinking numbers and tried to forget exactly why her brain had chosen this time to wake up.

She didn't mean to wake up exactly in time for her meeting with Malfoy that, until this moment, she had been planning to skip. Her internal clock was apparently conspiring against her. The numbers on her digital clock flipped up a digit to 7:46, and she let out an indignant huff, crossing her arms over her chest and swearing that she wasn't going to go.

At exactly 8:01, Hermione raced into the coffee shop, her cheeks pink from running in the bitter wind the whole way to the café. Malfoy smirked as he watched from a small, two person table near the door. With her curls still wild and eyes heavily lidded from sleep, she looked striking in an effortless way. Not that he would ever admit it to her. If he did, she would probably hex him into oblivion.

Her coffee colored eyes found him at last, oblivious to all the thoughts running through his head. She scowled at him and made a show of ignoring him and walking to the counter to order her drink. As she reached into her purse to pay however, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"I'll take care of it," a masculine voice said. Hermione bristled. Did he think she couldn't take care of herself?

"Actually, I am perfectly capable of paying for my own drink," she growled at him.

"Yes, but it would be rude for me to let my date pay," he said, and then promptly handed the confused cashier a ten dollar bill. "Keep the change."

Hermione stared after him, open mouthed, before stalking over to the table he occupied. "We are not on a date."

Draco smirked out her. "Actually, technically we are." He couldn't help but shrink back under the look she gave him after that. "Okay, okay, if you want, we can pretend we aren't."

Looking a little bit happier, Hermione stared at the seat across from Draco, and then looked at him. He raised an eyebrow. After looking around the café to make sure no one she knew was there, she slid into the seat, sitting on the very edge of it in case she had to make a hasty escape.

"I'm not going to bite, you know." He said, sounding slightly offended.

"What do you want?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Why did you want to meet me here?" Frustrated, Hermione took a sip of her coffee, only to spit it back out. "My coffee is so much better."

Draco chuckled, and as she looked out the window at the snow-covered buildings, he studied her features, noticing finally that the ghost of a smile was etched onto her face. For one second, she didn't look defensive and he decided to enjoy it while it lasted. It ended after a few seconds however, when she felt him staring at her in her peripheral vision.

"What were you thinking about?" he blurted, and he was rewarded as a look of surprise flitted across her face, no matter how brief. He didn't expect her to answer honestly, and wasn't disappointed.

"Why do you care?"

He seriously considered the question. He wasn't sure why he cared about this fiery brunette. Sure, she was pretty, but it would never work out. She hated him, and with good reason. However, something about her captivated him.

"How many jobs do you work?" The question took her by surprise, but she stubbornly refused to answer. He sighed. "Granger, if I was going to hurt you, I would have done it by now."

For a moment, she just looked at him. Then she sat up straighter and said, with a defiant tone, "Four." He couldn't help but admire her independence and refusal to be dependent on anyone else, even though it was likely going to be the death of her.

He crossed his arms and examined her stony face. "Granger, you are one stubborn woman." And then it happened. She smiled at him, a real one and he found that he couldn't breathe. It struck him as funny that one smile from her was such a big deal, and for a moment he got lost in it.

But then the bells jingled, and another customer walked in, and Draco cursed them as Hermione's expression locked itself up again. Merlin's beard, she was the most frustrating creature he had ever encountered.

That's when the televisions, as muggles called them, switched over to the evening news. He looked up to see his father's heartless sneer reflected back at him, and instantly turned to Hermione, who had blanched. Even the muggles were searching for him, thinking that he was just your common murderer. Draco saw that Hermione was about to make a run for it, and they both stood up at the same time.

He followed her out of the café, and right before she could escape, he put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm not like him. I promise. I'm so sorry, Hermione. I may be arrogant and rude, but I would never do something like that." She didn't say anything, so he decided to give her some space. But just as he turned around, her voice stopped him.

"You don't have his eyes," she said softly, and he turned around to look at her. She looked far away, however. "His are colder." And with that, she pushed past him and didn't look back.

That night, Hermione lay on her bed reading about patronuses when she felt a thought tugging at the back of her mind. Something about an old memory…

It was midnight, and Hermione couldn't sleep. She tiptoed down the cold, stone floors of Hogwarts, heading to the library. It had been weeks since she had slept properly. She couldn't go to the Great Hall without seeing the bodies and bloodstains everywhere, even though they had long since been cleaned up.

Insomnia isn't something you can hide. Her eyes were bloodshot, red rimmed, and practically swallowed up by the dark circles under them. She was dizzy and miserable, but even when she did manage to fall asleep, it only lasted for three hours at the most and she always woke up screaming.

It was everywhere, the remnants of the war. People talk about how happy they will be after a war is over, but they never are. They never are. Hermione knew that she would never forget it. She would never forget slipping in the pools of blood on the floor, the wailing of the dying, and the sight of twisted limbs. She would never get used to seeing George without Fred, and would never cease to hear Molly Weasley's wails at his funeral.

Never.

She was stopped from thinking any further by a muttering in a room attached to a nearby corridor. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she peeked around the edge of the door to see an unexpected sight.

Draco Malfoy stood in the room, muttering the same spell over and over again, trying and failing to cast it.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A wisp of vapor shot out through his wand, and he aimed his fist at a nearby wall, frustrated by his failure. Then he stopped, wiped the sweat off his forehead, took a deep breath, and picked up his wand.

"Expecto Patronum."

Light burst out from his wand, forming the shape of a lion. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Draco, the stereotypical Slytherin boy, had the patronus of a lion? At a different time it would have made her laugh, but now she just watched, wide eyed, as the young Malfoy finally smiled and watched the patronus proudly.

Hermione stared at the book she was reading,

"Death Eaters, or the supporters of the dark wizard Lord Voldemort, are known for being incapable of producing patronuses. This is due to the fact that to form a patronus, one must have a happy memory." Hermione whispered the sentences to herself, realizing the truth.

Draco Malfoy was never a death eater.