Dramione Snippets

Different.

The air was cold, crisp with the lingering touch of autumn as Hermione Granger stood at the edge of the Black Lake. The stars above shimmered, their reflections rippling across the water's surface. Hogwarts loomed behind her, its warm glow casting long shadows against the grass.

She wasn't supposed to be here. Prefects had curfew, and she certainly wasn't in the habit of breaking rules for no reason.

But tonight... tonight, she needed space.

And she wasn't alone.

"You're awfully far from the library, Granger."

The voice was unmistakable. Smooth, sharp, with that ever-present undercurrent of something unreadable.

Hermione closed her eyes for a brief moment before turning to face him.

Draco Malfoy stood a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, his silver-blond hair illuminated by the moonlight. He wasn't smirking, wasn't sneering—just watching her with quiet curiosity.

"And you're awfully far from the dungeons," she countered.

He huffed a small breath, a ghost of amusement in his expression. "Fair point."

Silence stretched between them, neither moving, neither speaking. The weight of the past few years pressed against them—the war, the scars it left behind, the uneasy truce that had settled over the castle like a fragile sheet of ice.

"I come here when I need to think," she admitted, turning back toward the water.

Draco hesitated before stepping closer, his presence settling beside her, careful but not unwelcome. "Same."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "What do you think about?"

He let out a slow breath. "Too much."

Hermione could understand that. After the war, everything had changed. Hogwarts had reopened, students had returned, but nothing was the same. People weren't the same. She wasn't the same. And Draco Malfoy... he was a puzzle she still hadn't figured out.

"You ever wish things had been different?" he asked suddenly, voice quieter than before.

Hermione turned to fully look at him this time. "Different how?"

His jaw tightened. "If I had made different choices. If I hadn't—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter."

"It does," she said softly.

His gaze met hers then, something raw and vulnerable flashing behind the steel of his eyes.

She didn't know what compelled her to reach for him, but she did. Her fingers brushed against his—light, fleeting. Just a whisper of contact. But instead of pulling away, Draco turned his palm upward, letting her hand settle against his.

It was warm. Solid. Real.

Hermione swallowed. "You're not that person anymore, Draco."

The way his name slipped so easily from her lips made his grip tighten, just slightly. "And yet, I'll always be him, won't I?"

She shook her head. "You get to choose who you are now."

Draco searched her face, looking for something—maybe doubt, maybe fear. But he found none.

Instead, he found her standing there, fingers intertwined with his, grounding him in a way he hadn't realized he needed.

The space between them had always been filled with fire and sharp edges, but tonight, it was filled with something else.

Something softer.

Something that felt like hope.

And for the first time in a long time, Draco let himself believe in it.