The Way We Were

Hermione sat on her bed in the Heads' tower. She was glad tonight that she didn't have to share a dorm with anyone, knowing that would make things more painful. And it would mean crying in front of people, which Hermione hated almost as much as she hated Malfoy. But she didn't hate Malfoy. That was part of the problem. She wished she could hate him, because if she hated him then she couldn't love him and if she didn't love him she wouldn't be so hurt tonight.

She should've known it couldn't last. After all, she was a muggleborn. To the Malfoys, she was a mudblood. And he, well, he was Draco Malfoy, the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune and linage. Even in the eyes of those to whom "purity of blood" meant nothing, the Malfoys were recognized as one of the most ancient families in all of the Wizarding world. It was rumored that they'd known Salazar Slytherin himself.

Mem'ries light the corners of my mind

Misty watercolor mem'ries of the way we were

She had been so horrified when she realized that Malfoy -- even in her mind she spat his name -- was head boy. She'd spent six years trying to avoid him and now they'd be working very closely together and -- she suddenly realized with utter horror -- they'd be sharing a tower. They'd have their own rooms, she hoped, but they'd share a common room and who knew what else.

The first few weeks had been an utter disaster. Hermione was surprised she didn't hex Malfoy into oblivion. But, slowly, she found that their exchanges were beginning to lose their edge. Slowly his insult of "Mudblood" began to appear less and less and his insults of "know it all" and "Dumbledore's girl" became more of an amiable tease. Her replies of "At least I'm not a ferret," also lost their edge, becoming more of a friendly jab. Before they knew what was happening, or how it happened, they'd become friends.

And then there was that night... In the weeks leading up to it, Hermione had noticed Draco watching her more and more. She would catch him watching her at meals, during class, at night when he was supposedly studying. She rarely caught him looking at her (he was very good at looking away very quickly, or looking otherwise engaged), but she felt his gaze frequently. That night they'd had a meeting with all of the prefects to discuss how the Halloween party had gone. Overall, the response had been good and Hermione had returned to their tower that night feeling very pleased with the two of them.

"We did good," she'd told Draco on the walk back.

"Yeah, we did," he answered.

Afterwards, Hermione curled up on the couch in front of the fire, reading. Draco was sitting at the desk that sat in front of the window to Hermione's right. When the clock on the mantle rang eleven, Hermione got up, crossed the room to the bookshelf and filed her book. Before she turned to go, she stopped to see if Ginny had returned the book she'd borrowed the week before. As Hermione scanned the bookshelf, running her finger along the spines of the books, she felt Draco come up behind her.

"Ginny hasn't returned your book, if that's what you're looking for," he told her.

Hermione turned around. "How..." she began, but was immediately silenced as he kissed her.

At first, Hermione was shocked into immobility, but after a few seconds, she found herself returning his kiss. After a few more seconds, Draco broke the kiss.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

Draco smirked. "Ah, so the know-it-all doesn't actually know it all," he quipped.

"I just got kissed by a ferret. If you were in my position, you would be shocked into confusion, too," she returned.

He shrugged. "Still, I would think for a smart girl like yourself it would be easy to determine." Hermione looked at him, levelly.

"Despite my better judgment, I find that I fancy you, Hermione Granger," he said.

For the second time in five minutes, Draco had startled Hermione completely and entirely. Draco was very good looking (one would have to be blind not to notice) and he could've had any girl in the school (even the Gryffindor girls) and he fancied her? Hermione had a hard time believing that. She didn't see herself as particularly attractive (although most of the boys in the school did) and she couldn't see why Draco would fancy her, but as she looked in his eyes she saw that he was being completely genuine. She wondered how to answer him. Suddenly she was faced with her own feelings.

"I find, Draco Malfoy," she replied, her words slow and deliberate "that against my better judgment, I fancy you as well."

Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind

Smiles we gave to one another for the way we were

Hermione sat on her bed in the Head Girl's room. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She slowly flipped through a photo album that was open on her lap which chronicled the events of her seventh, and last, year at Hogwarts. The very first picture was one of Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione's Head Girl badge glinted in the sun, as did Ron's and Ginny's Prefect badges and Harry's Quidditch Captain badge. The four of them were laughing, enjoying their last ride to Hogwarts together. Then there was the picture Colin Creevey had snapped that night at the feast as she had been recognized as Head girl. Scattered throughout were pictures of Draco. There was a picture of him at the Halloween party, standing with Hermione at the punch bowl, one of him being pummeled by snowballs during Christmas break. There was one of them on Christmas, kissing under the mistletoe (the night they made their romance public), one of them at New Years, their Valentine's Dance photo... Hermione stopped for a moment to look at this one. In it, she was wearing a dark, Gryffindor red dress with gold and silver accents. Draco was wearing a simple tux that was so dark red it appeared almost appeared black. They both looked amazing but far more striking was how they appeared together. He had her pulled close against him, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Her arms snaked around his and her hands rested on his. Although it was a magical photo, neither moved almost at all. It was as though they were content just to stand there in each others' arms. And, indeed, that was the case, Hermione recalled.

As Hermione moved through the photos, lingering on the memories that came with each one, other images flooded her mind: Draco flashing her a smile from across the Great Hall at breakfast, him coming up behind her, whispering promises of the night to come, the two of them speaking under their breaths to each other during potion while in their voices insulting each other until the potions master threatened them with detentions and taking away house points. There were images of herself, smiling hidden smiles as she'd thought about him and little presents he gave her at dinner via owl day after day. Mostly, the images she treasured were of the times the two had caught the other's eye over and over again and just knew what the other was thinking: "I love you."

Can it be that it was all so simple then,

Or has time rewritten every line?

Hermione watched the flames jump and dance in the fireplace. Outside, snow fell softly. Hermione snuggled in closer to Draco. Earlier, they had been studying together for their end of term exams, but their books had long since been abandoned and now the two were lying on the couch. Draco's arms were wrapped around Hermione and his Slytherin blanket was draped across both of them. This is what heaven must feel like. Hermione thought as she drifted off to sleep.

It was all so simple then. When Hermione was with Draco all of her problems disappeared. But no, Hermione remembered. It wasn't just that simple. Yes, they'd had times they could pretend, but there were other times...

Hermione scanned the Slytherin table, concerned. She'd seen Draco this morning but not since breakfast. They had Transfiguration together, the second class of the day, and he hadn't been there. Just a few minutes prior, at the start of lunch, she'd run to their tower and he hadn't been there either. She was going to stop by the hospital wing as soon as she finished eating and right after lunch they had potions together. Hermione knew if he wasn't in either place, she would begin to worry in earnest.

After checking the hospital wing and finding he wasn't there, Hermione didn't know if she should be more or less worried. When he didn't show up for potions she decided the answer to that question was more. Suddenly, Hermione felt the potions master come up next to her.

"Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy left a message for you with me," he said, handing her an envelope. "He said you would worry when he wasn't here." With that, Professor Snape returned to his desk.

'He knows me so well,' Hermione thought, opening the letter.

My Dearest Hermione,

I have been called home for some family business. Don't worry about me! I should be back in no more than a few days.

I love you,

Draco

Although Hermione's fears were eased, they weren't quelled completely. What was so important for Draco to be called home in the middle of a school week? And it wasn't as though Draco's home was the safest place for a person to be.

When Draco walked in to dinner three days later, he looked as though he'd been through Hell. Not to the casual observer, no, but Hermione recognized that under the Malfoy façade, Draco's three day hiatus from school had been anything but pleasant. Hermione tried all of dinner to catch his eye, but he completely ignored everything except his food. After dinner, she hoped he would return right to their tower, but he disappeared again.

A few hours later, Hermione heard an almost timid knock on her door. Not bothering to get up from her bed, Hermione pointed her wand at the door and it swung open. On the other side, Draco stood, hesitating.

"Hermione, I..." he sighed and shook his head. He to a breath to try again but he just shook his head again and came to join her on the bed.

"Draco?" her voice was heavy with concern.

"I didn't have a choice," he said and suddenly all of the anxiety she had felt at him being gone came back, hitting her with such force it made her sick. Hesitantly, she reached over to push up his sleeve, her hand pausing just before it touched him. She was so afraid of what she would find, but she knew she had to find out, for good or ill.

"You don't have to do that," he told her. "It's there. I won't stop you if you need to see for yourself, but if you don't want to, you shouldn't have to."

Hermione's hand dropped as she heard him say that, feeling so many different things at once. She was thankful that he told her, scared for his safety, angry that he didn't fight it, thankful that he was safe, afraid for the future, hurt for him because he was hurting.

Hermione needed to know one thing though.

"What if you'd had a choice," she asked, Draco's heart sinking as she did.

"I..." he didn't meet her eyes, covered his face with his hands. "I don't know. This is what I was raised for. I've changed a lot this year, because of you, but..." he sighed again. "I just don't know. All I know right now is that this puts us on opposite sides of a war neither of us is capable of winning."

He looked up from his hands which he had been intensely studying the entire time and immediately knew it was a mistake. All of the fear and confusion and anger and concern Hermione was feeling was reflected in her eyes. Ultimately, it was too much for him and Draco did what he hadn't done since he was four years old -- he started to cry. Without thinking about it, Hermione moved closer and wrapped her arms around him.

If we had the chance to do it all again,

Tell me would we? Could we?

Hermione thought back to the time-turner she had in her third year. She wondered if she had the opportunity to go back and warn herself about what was to come if she would. She also wondered if, knowing what she knew now, she would still follow the path that ultimately led her to the point she was at. She wondered if all of the ups and downs were worth it. If she could've seen the whole picture before she got involved with Draco could she have even made the choice she did or would her practical side have won over her hopeless romantic side?

She also wondered about Draco; wondered if he would've done it again, give the chance. She knew he had been lying to his parents since their relationship "went public". He'd told his parents he'd been using her to find out information on Harry. She knew that was causing intense strain on him.

Their relationship had also caused strain on their individual outside friendships. When she'd first told Harry, Ron and Ginny, she did so separately so that she could avoid getting ganged up on, and while they accepted that it was her choice and they weren't going to change her mind, they certainly hadn't liked the situation and didn't accept Draco by any stretch of the imagination. Hermione knew that Draco's friends hadn't been nearly as level-headed as any of hers (In Hermione's case, once Ron got over his red-headed, Weasley temper, all of them had discussed it without much animosity, whereas Draco's friends practically plotted his death until he convinced them that he was just using her).

She also was aware of how much Draco was hurt when they broke up just a few hours before. She'd seen the pain in his eyes, heard it as the utmost emotion in his voice. He'd used phrases like, "This has to be over," "We have to end this," and "We can't continue." He'd used the words "have to," "has to," and "can't." And she'd known at the time he was right. And she knew now that he was right. Once they left Hogwarts, they were on opposite sides of a battlefield. They couldn't do that to each other or themselves.

Mem'ries may be beautiful, and yet,

What's too painful to remember, we simply choose to forget

Draco came in to the common room shortly after two a.m. Hermione, who'd been waiting up for him, jerked from her sleep on the couch. It was the third time he'd come in so late that week.

"Draco?" she began, but he cut her off.

"Not tonight, Hermione. Go to bed."

Without another word, he crossed the common room and disappeared into his own bedroom to sleep, closing the door firmly behind him.

Draco continued to come in late for the next several weeks. Despite his initial dismissal of her, Hermione continued to wait up for him. Some nights when he returned, he would take her in his arms and snog her senseless, telling her over and over again how much he needed her. Other nights reflected the first. He would come in and speak to her briefly, normally saying no more than "I'm home now, Hermione. Go to bed," before closing himself in his bedroom for the night.

Those nights, though, were relatively easy compared to a third kind of night. Draco would return, covered in blood and looking like he'd seen, and maybe even brought, death. These nights, Hermione would clean him up, wiping the blood from his clothes, leaving his robes to be cleaned and, afterward, lying down next to him in bed, pretending that he hadn't been where he had or done what he did.

It was these nights that Hermione hated herself. She couldn't hate him, he hadn't been given a choice, but she did make a choice. Every night he came home like this, she chose to comfort him. Who was comforting the families of those he'd killed that night? she asked herself accusingly. These nights, Hermione knew she was no better than the Death Eaters' wives who were doing the very same thing as she was. No, a voice taunted. You are worse. You're a traitor. And she knew that voice was right. She was a traitor. A traitor to Harry, to Dumbledore, to the Order, to her family, to herself. At least the wives of the Death Eaters were loyal, whereas she was not. She deserved no more than to be taken to Azkaban and administered the Dementor's Kiss for what she was doing, because even death was too good an end for her.

Eventually, Hermione couldn't cope with the situation any more.

"Draco, this has to stop," she told him. "I can't do this anymore."

He sighed, running his hands through his hair like he did every time he got frustrated. "There's nothing I can do, Hermione. You know that. I gave up whatever little freedom I had to choose when I took the Mark."

Hermione shook her head, tight lipped. "You have to figure something out, Draco. I don't really care what it is, just so long as you quit leaving," she told him, her voice almost threatening. He tried to answer, but she didn't let him. "No, Draco. I don't want to hear it. If this doesn't stop, I'll go to Dumbledore. You know I will."

Two nights later, he quit leaving, sighting her threat as the reason why. "Do you think Hermione that just because I'm not there the attacks will stop?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I know they won't. But at least you won't be a part of them."

Draco didn't leave again until the Easter Holidays, claiming that his family was going to visit his very ill grandfather. Hermione knew better and her suspicions were proved correct when the Daily Prophet headlined the attacks the second day of the holidays.

When he returned at the end of the week, Hermione did everything in her power to convince Draco to go to Dumbledore, become a spy for the Order so that if he ever got caught he would never be in any danger of facing Azkaban or worse. He flatly refused.

"We all have to make choices, Hermione," he told her. "I made mine and I have to live with the consequences. Now you have to make yours. Do you stay with me or not? I am not going to alter my decision in any way and I won't tell you what to do. Just remember, Hermione, that you have to live with every aspect of whatever decision you make." And she stayed. That night, Hermione gave him her virginity.

So it's the laughter we will remember

As she sat on her bed, heartbroken, Hermione didn't remember those nights. She didn't remember the pain, the worry, the self-loathing. She didn't remember the way he had hurt her when he dismissed her those nights or how used she felt when he'd kiss her long and hard the other nights, as though she was an escape from what he'd just done.

Instead, she remembered the time they'd played in the leaves together, how he whitewashed her that winter and she'd returned the favor a few days later, burying him under a pile of snowballs. She remembered the late nights planning the Christmas celebration and Valentine's Dance together. She remembered playfully arguing over graduation decorations and activities. She remembered the night he'd discovered, much to his great pleasure, that she was ticklish and how they'd run around their common room, he chasing her, until she finally was caught. That night they'd laughed until they'd cried.

Whenever we remember

The way we were

Mostly, she remembered how wonderful he'd been to her. He never let her open the door for herself or pull out her own chair ("I'm a gentleman," he would say, "And gentlemen don't make ladies like you open their own doors"). She remembered and cherished the presents he gave her for no other reason than "I love you." Her most cherished memory was not long past.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"Don't you trust me?" he returned.

"Of course, but..."

"Then hush. No buts, love. Unless you don't trust me..."

It was after dark, probably nearing eight-ish, Hermione guessed. Earlier that evening, Hermione had been studying in the common room while Draco was mysteriously absent. She genuinely hoped he hadn't been called on another raid. He'd said he wouldn't be leaving again during school time.

When Draco returned, he didn't give her any time to ask where he'd been, just told her to "Go put on something nice." He then further suggested, "I like that white spring dress you have, the one with the little pink flowers." He flatly refused to answer her questions as to why, just pushed her into her room and closed the door behind her when she kept asking.

When she'd come out, she was surprised to see, although she wasn't sure why, that Draco had changed as well. "Draco..." she tried again, but he didn't let her continue.

"Hush, Hermione," he said gently.

And now here they were, almost sneaking across the Hogwarts grounds just after sunset. It was a good thing that it wasn't a school night or Hermione might've put up a fuss. She still wanted to know where she was going, but Draco was right. If she trusted him, she shouldn't keep trying to get an answer from him. He wouldn't lead her into trouble.

Draco soon led her into and through one of the Hogwarts gardens. Suddenly, he stopped and turned around to face her. "Close your eyes," he instructed. Hermione would've asked why but by this time she'd realized that would be fruitless. Once her eyes were closed, Draco took her hand again and carefully led her around a corner. "There's a step down here, Hermione," he told her. Once she had stepped down, he dropped her hand and told her, "You can open your eyes now. When she did, a small gasp escaped from her.

Candles softly lit a small courtyard. Along the sides of the courtyard, small lights formed a curtain that opened right behind where they'd stepped through. In the middle, a picnic blanket was spread and a basket sat on it. "Draco, it's beautiful." She whispered. He took her by the hand once more and sat her on the blanket, then started pulling food out of the basket.

"We haven't had a lot of time to see each other recently," he explained. "When we're together in public everyone is watching our every move. When it's just the two of us, we're normally studying or trying to get everything put together for graduation. I've missed you."

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him. "I've missed you, too."

When they were done eating, they laid down on the blanket to look at the stars and enjoy each other's company. Unfortunately, time seemed to speed up and before Hermione thought it was possible it was time for them to attend to their responsibilities as Head Girl and Boy. The two of them sat up and Draco turned to face Hermione.

"Before we leave, Hermione," Draco began, "I just wanted to tell you something." Hermione's breath caught in her throat and she felt her heart speed up. "Normally," he continued, "I'm so comfortable with words, but I don't really know how to preface this, so I'm just going to say it. I want you to know, Hermione, that you are everything to me. You have stuck with me throughout this last year and you gave me a second chance in the first place, which I certainly didn't deserve. You are the reason I get up in the morning and I want to be going to bed with you in my arms and waking up to you every day for the rest of my life. When this whole stupid war is over, I am going to ask you to marry me. If I could, I would ask you tonight, but we both know I can't. Until then, I want you to know one thing. No matter what happens between us because of this war, because of my parents, because of anything, I want you to remember this one thing. I love you, Hermione Granger. I love you know and I will always love you."

By this time, Hermione was crying so hard all she could do was nod her head and reply between joyful sobs, "I love you, too, Draco. For always and forever."

Hermione remembered that experience with such detail for one, important reason: that was the first time Draco had told her he loved her. She'd always known that he did, but she hadn't heard those words, "I love you," until that night.

Tonight, that memory was especially comforting. Draco had assured her that he would always love her, and she trusted him. She just hoped that once the whole, damnable war was over they would both be alive (and free) so that things could go back to the way they were.

The way we were

Hermione sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. Despite the fact that it was the last week in May, there was a fire lit in the fireplace. Hermione had said she liked the ambiance a fire gave, so Draco had complied and lit it for her. To compensate for the increased temperature, the window was open. Draco sat at the desk that butted up against the window, writing something. It struck Hermione that the appearance in the room was almost identical to one that had been present here so many times before--including the night that Draco had first kissed her and told her that he fancied her.

Suddenly, Draco put down his quill and walked over to the couch. "Hermione, we need to talk," he said. All at once, Hermione was filled with the overwhelming sense of dread that comes with hearing those words.

She set down her book and said, "I'm listening," even though that was the last thing she wanted to do.

"Hermione, you know I love you," she nodded, "and you know I want to marry you some day," she nodded again. "But," and she could hear the intense amount of weight that word carried, "that day is not today, Hermione. Today, right now, we have to end this. We've both graduated and both of us are going different directions. Ultimately, we are both going to be fighting on opposite sides of a war within the next two or three years, if it even takes that long.

"While we were here, we were safe. We could pretend that this could work right now. But it can't. Both of us are adults now, and we have to realize that this can't work right now. We have to end this. When we leave Hogwarts, this can't continue. We can't continue."

By this time, Hermione was crying and she could tell that the only reason Draco was holding out was because of his Malfoy upbringing. It was killing Draco that he had to do this, and Hermione saw it in his eyes. He took a deep breath and continued.

"I love you so much, Hermione, and I hate to see you like this. I'm dying inside because I know it's me that is making you cry and I want nothing more than to make your tears go away. But I can't anymore. As hurt as this is making me, it would kill me to find you locked in a prison and tortured by the Dark Lord because of me. You're already vulnerable because you and Harry are friends. I don't need to be giving Voldemort more reason to come after you."

Hermione knew he was right. They had been pretending. From the very beginning they had been pretending. She knew she should consider herself lucky that they were able to pretend as long as they had. But now, they were having to face reality. It was time for her to grow up. She was an adult now and it was time for her to act like it. Facing this reality was one of those things she had to do.

"Please, Hermione," he said, "I know you're a smart girl, brilliant, in fact. Please, please don't make this harder than it already is. Please..." he was practically begging her now, "tell me you understand." Hermione just nodded, crying too hard to actually form the words.

The two of them sat there for a few more minutes, Hermione crying harder than she had in her entire life. Then, when he couldn't stand her tears any more, Draco got up, took her in his arms and led her to her bedroom door. When he got there, he took her hands in his. "I'm going to kiss you good night one last time, Hermione," he told her. "I'm not going to kiss you again until this war is over except once, when we leave next week to go home. When this war is over, though, I promise you I will spend every day making up the time we're going to lose. When it's over, we can pick up right where we're leaving off tonight. Everything can go back to the way it was."

And then he kissed her. It was a kiss so full of need and desperation and hunger and that it expressed more accurately the emotions that were being felt than anything that could've been said or sung or written or painted.

Finally, Draco broke the kiss, just as Hermione felt as though her legs were going to give out beneath her. And as he closed her door behind her, she heard him whisper, "I love you Hermione and I'll be counting the days until we can go back to the way we were."

Mem'ries light the corners of my mind

Misty watercolor mem'ries of the way we were

Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind

Smiles we gave to one another for the way we were

Can it be that it was all so simple then

Or has time rewritten every line?

If we had the chance to do it all again,

Tell me would we? Could we?

Mem'ries may be beautiful, and yet,

What's too painful to remember we simply choose to forget.

So it's the laughter we will remember

Whenever we remember the way we were

The way we were.