I had actually been planning to take the summer off from writing. Let's just laugh about that for a minute. I have a tomione ongoing, but I finished The Red String of Fate, so I didn't have a dramione. Well, half false. I do have a WIP, but it's for the Strictly Dramione summer fest so I can't post it. So. Here. We. Are.

This was in my list of plunnies to tackle and I sat down, and fell in love with it. And I hope you do too! A few things to take note of: this is a Modern Muggle AU. Are you sensing a theme yet? I quite like them. Hermione is American. She's from the United States, so the Americanisms - they're valid here.

I didn't have the freedom to explore lemons much in Red String because of what happened to Hermione, but I'm thrilled to say that's not the case here. -slaps hands together- If you'd like to see the several moodboards I made for each character, they're on my tumblr: mrsren96. Putting this out here now, this story is endgame Dramione. So you know, even if I put them through some shit first, that it's endgame.

Special thank you to CourtingInsanity, who has some stories you should go check out, for looking this over and editing it for me!

Chapter One: Granger Danger

The day she boarded a plane to cross the Atlantic was the same day she buried her mother.

September was hot even by Oklahoma standards, in which you never knew what weather you would have. Summer was coming to a close, with the leaves starting to turn to crisp reds, and oranges, it was an awful day for a funeral. Though, she supposed, her mother would have liked the weather, having always spent her time in the heat.

From gardening, to swimming, or even just sitting on their front porch with knitting needles in hand. Hermione swallowed, blinking quickly to avoid bursting into tears in the middle of the United Airlines terminal. Her mother had urged her before her passing - they'd known it was coming, had known for over a year - that she needed to seize this opportunity.

Jean Granger had been an intelligent woman, and had long since accepted that her daughter had always wanted to escape the small town she'd been born in. She frequently said that Hermione Granger was made for more than a small town, had been crafted to explore the world, and she had earned the chance to study abroad.

Really, there had been no other applicants that deserved it, but it was Hermione who had at first refused the trip. With the reasoning that she needed to be home with her terminally ill mother, with the crushing guilt that she couldn't leave her mother to go and gallivant around the world.

It was of little surprise when her mother sat her down, brushing her bald head - it was still a habit from before she'd begun chemotherapy- and explained to Hermione that she had perhaps two months to live. The smile never slipped from her face as she told her daughter that she would board that plane, and she would attend Oxford University for the next two semesters.

She'd always seen brilliance in Hermione, she said. Stating all of her daughter's accomplishments to every last person in their rinky dink town, and boasted of how her eighteen year old daughter shined the brightest in any room.

Adjusting the strap of her carry on over her shoulder, Hermione looked to her reflection is the clear glass looking to the outside. She didn't see the things her mother bragged about, but she could see how she hadn't slept in weeks, not since her mother had been put on hospice, since the hospital released her.

She'd come home to die.

It was a bitter thing to swallow, that she was leaving for England while her mother's grave wasn't even cold yet.

Handing her plane ticket to the flight attendant, whose million-watt smile exhausted Hermione. She hoped she'd be able to sleep after takeoff. The woman, her name was Rebecca from a look at her name tag, was petite, dressed in a blue and red uniform, completed by a gold necklace lying against the top of her jacket. It was as she was handing the ticket back, that Hermione noticed her wedding ring.

Her eyes widened, "That's a beautiful ring." She commented with a small smile, trying not to look so glum.

Rebecca's smile, who would have thought it possible, widened exponentially. "Thank you!" She gushed, all too eager to thrust her hand out to give Hermione a better look. It was set in a rose gold band, with a raised diamond.

Hermione couldn't pretend she knew much about jewelry to say that she liked the cut of it. The only ring she'd ever owned was the one on her middle finger right now and it had belonged to her mother. "I like the rose gold band," Hermione smiled once more, and it felt like wasted energy to carry on with this pleasantry. "Congratulations."

Hermione stepped inside the plane, taking a peek at her ticket, and shuffling down the aisle to find her seat. Nestled against the window, it was her hope that she wouldn't feel crammed by other passengers. She patted her front pocket to be sure that her cell phone was still there, and pulled a worn copy of Jane Eyre from her carry on before tucking it away into the overhead cabin.

The flight, which would last nearly eleven hours, was only part of the trip. Between waiting for takeoff, and fighting the baggage claim when she did land, it would last a whopping fourteen hours. She'd accounted for the jetlag, as she'd spend the last several weeks busying herself with facts so she wouldn't cry so much.

Hermione turned airplane mode on in the settings of her cell phone, tucking it back into her pocket. Adjusting herself, she rested her feet, clad in converse she'd had since she was a freshman in high school, on the bottom rung of the seat in front of her. It was pure luck that no one was seated there in the flight, and as the attendants flitted around the cabin, she realized there would be no one sitting beside her either.

Rebecca smiled at her as she walked past, giving her a friendly wave before moving to the front of the cabin and dimming the lights. "Can you still read, sweetheart? I don't want you to strain your eyes."

Hermione nodded, giving her a thumbs up before sinking into her seat, and opening the cover of Jane Eyre. She'd had a few copies through the years, but this one was special to her. With her father passing away overseas when she was young, there weren't many memories of him. Yet this one stayed, probably because her mom had recorded this trip to the bookstore on main street.

At eight years old, Hermione wasn't so sure what she wanted to read. She liked Nancy Drew the most, but she'd seen her mother looking at this one in the store. The cover hadn't been all that interesting, but if her mom had it, it just had to be perfect. So, Frank Granger bought it with a low chuckle, asking the owner if he had a pen.

Hermione ran her fingers over the message, scrawled in messy handwriting that her mother dubbed as chicken scratch. You're gonna be great, kid. Love you more than you'll ever know. -Dad.

It was simple, accompanied with a smiley face that had one eye higher than the other. Mister Granger hadn't been a man of many words, but he loved his family something fierce, and when they brought him home, Hermione learned of how he'd kept all the letters and drawings they'd mailed him. Sadly, the trip to the bookstore had been the last time she'd ever seen her father alive.

He'd died in Iraq, a victim of a war that Hermione painstakingly watched on the news. He'd been weeks out from his deployment ending, and staying home, and from taking her to swing at the park like he'd promised.

Hermione bit down on her bottom lip harshly, using the pain to distract her from the way she wanted to sob until she had no tears left. She hadn't cried over her father in months, not since the last anniversary of his death.

What a shitty situation to have lost both parents to situations she couldn't control. The logical side of her warred with her emotions, the clear cut guilt that was useless. It wasn't her fault there had been a war, it was her fault that there had been a goddamned bomb. It wasn't her fault that there wasn't a cure for cancer, though she'd nearly dropped her major in favor of medical school.

Everything had been out of her control, and it fucking killed her.

Turning the page, and squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn't see his note to her again, Hermione nearly dropped the book. Sitting there, written in pretty cursive in ink from the pen she knew her mother kept in her purse, was another note.

Her heart sank. When had she written this? It must have been before she'd been confined to bed rest, before she could hardly move. In the end, Hermione had taken to feeding her mother her meals. How like her it would have been to use up her strength to do this.

Hermione,

I'm fairly certain that by the time you read this, I will be gone. You wouldn't have left no matter how I begged if I were still here. It's a good thing you never wrote your notes on this page, it gave me enough space to write a small letter.

You are my greatest accomplishment. I'm so proud of you for paving the way to your own success. I know that you weren't allotted as much as your classmates. Still, I've never seen someone so stubborn. If you were told you couldn't do something, you did it anyways and you did it well. You're like your father in that regard; determined, and breaking through each hurtle sat in front of you.

I love you so much, Hermione. I'm sure there are enough words for me to tell you how thankful I am to have had you as my daughter, but I couldn't string them together if I tried. You're going to love England. I know I've teased you countless times of how you might find a handsome British man and never come home.

Hermione, home is where you want to make it. I made mine with your father and you.

Make your home wherever you want. I love you.

Love, Mom.

P.S. I put the bucket list we made in your portfolio. Do it, Hermione.

She slammed the paperback shut, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. She hiccuped, a weak broken sound. "Jesus Christ," she muttered, willing herself not to cry.

It would be a long flight indeed.

She'd expected to be exhausted, to be bordering on passing out as she disembarked from the plane. However, it was thanks to a Monster energy drink that she'd chugged, and the wheels meeting the tarmac that she was wide eyed, and grabbing her black carry on. It didn't hold much, some notebooks, a textbook for foreign relations, and her nearly ancient laptop.

She'd meant to use part of her student loans to pay for a newer, lighter model. Then life had seemed to derail, if it was ever on a set track to begin with. The little bit that had been left over she'd used for groceries, and she'd paid two months' worth of utility bills with it.

Hermione pulled a jacket from the front pocket of the small duffle bag. Lucius, the head of the family she would be staying with, had told her to bring one. Though she had no idea what the Malfoy family looked like, she had spoken to Lucius and Narcissa several times on the phone and via email. He hadn't been wrong about needing a jacket, though it was silly for her to question him; he was the one who lived here.

His wife's comment that the weather would be a bit dreary, and it would be raining was correct. Hermione made her way through the corridor with her black knit jacket slung over her shoulder. As she made her way through a throng of people, full of elbows and thick accents, someone yelled her name; well, her surname.

Turning around, she stepped out from beyond the mass of people, peeking around to see anyone who stood out. She glanced over the signs, some of them your typical cliche welcome home signs, but she didn't see one with her name. Shrugging, she spun on her heel -

-and headbutted an irritated blond, whose jaw was clenched as he stared down at her. "Are you Hermione Granger?" He asked, and she immediately wanted to comment on his accent, but she decided not to so she wouldn't seem the part of a foolish American.

But with the way he was glaring at her, she wanted to say no, certainly not. I've never heard of a Hermione Granger. What a silly name, wouldn't you say? Alas, she was stubborn, and unable to let some asshole treat her like she was already a nuisance. "I am." She replied, adjusting her bag. "And you are?"

"Draco Malfoy," he told her, rubbing his chin where there was a red mark. "Do you normally not look where you're going, or is that just a fuck up on your part?"

Her eyes narrowed. Lucius and Narcissa had mentioned they had a son, but they hadn't thought to tell her that their spawn was a complete fucking tool. "Do you normally sneak up on people?" She shot back. "As I'm sure you can see, you're supposed to wait elsewhere," Hermione pointed over her shoulder. "What did you expect to happen when you yelled my name? It's obvious that I would turn around."

"Leave her alone, mate." A dark haired boy said, stepping out from behind Malfoy and slapping him on the back. "Forgive him, he's not housetrained. I'm Theo," he offered his hand, and she moved to shake it, only to have her hand kissed.

She arched one eyebrow, but played off her surprise. Looking straight back at the jerk towering over her, she commented "Maybe you should buy him a muzzle then."

His nostrils flared, accompanied by the narrowing of his eyes. They were grey, the sort of grey that reminded her of storm clouds rolling in before it began to pour. "I'm not going to apologize when you're the one who's late." He grumbled. "I've been here for an hour."

Hermione fished her ticket from the back pocket of her jeans, unfolded it and took his hand, shoving the paper into it. "I'm not late." She told him. "It would seem you're early because I'm right on," she pointed to the time, "schedule."

At his right, Theo laughed. "You mum probably told you the wrong time so you wouldn't be late, Malfoy."

He seemed to agree, rolling his eyes, and taking her bag from her. "You're probably correct. Where's your luggage, Granger?"

"My name is Hermione." She muttered, moving past him.

"I'm in the habit of only calling people I like by their first names." The jab rolled right off his tongue, and really, she just wanted to punch him. What a waste of a nice accent on such a dreadful person.

Theo bumped his shoulder against hers. "Don't let him fool you, he's not really this big of an arsehole."

"Perhaps he's overcompensating then." She whispered to him, her chest seeming to lighten when he grinned.

And then there was the fact that her newest adversary dropped her bag so hard she was sure her laptop had just broken.

Fuck.

Hermione wasn't sure what she would have expected Draco to look like, but this was the farthest thing from what she'd envisioned. As the lanky blond led her from the airport, catching the door with the heel of one of his Doc Martens, she couldn't help but wish Lucius or Narcissa had picked her up as planned.

Because if she knew anything, her meeting with their son, who was the personification of tall and dangerous, had made it clear that they weren't going to get along. If she hadn't been so angry with how he'd blamed her for slamming into him, Hermione was certain her mouth might have fallen open. Judging by his arrogance, with the way he raked his fingers through his tousled hair - no, she wasn't checking him out, absolutely not - as he flashed a smirk as they passed some girl.

She was rambling in her own thoughts - never a good sign. "Thanks," she mumbled to Theo, who took the last suitcase from her hands. He set it in the trunk of the SUV. "Fucking watch out!" Hermione snapped, eyes narrowing on Draco.

She rubbed her shoulder where the corner of the door had met her shoulder. The only consolation was that his eyes were wide with what appeared to be empathy, but she didn't get her hopes up. "You alright?" He asked, his voice low as he took a step closer to her.

"It's fine," she lied through gritted teeth.

"You should have worn a better jacket." He told her, motioning her around the car. "My mother would tell me to give you my coat."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine." Hermione stepped backwards quickly, and opened the door, eager to crawl away from him. Shutting her door, she leaned over the leather seats, clutching the back of Theo's seat. Her fingernail polish was chipped."Is there a reason he hates me?"

He chuckled. "He's like that." Theo told her. "You haven't done anything."

She nodded, not particularly believing him at all. "Does it rain often?" Hermione asked quietly, resting her elbows on the center console. She was on the receiving end of a blank stare as Draco climbed inside.

Theo replied over the hum of the engine, turning to face her even though he was restrained by the seat belt. "It rains all the sodding time." He laughed loudly. "What's the weather like in.."

"Oklahoma," she supplied. "And it depends on what day you ask me." Hermione shrugged. "I like the rain though."

Coming to a complete stop, Draco let go of the wheel, foot coming down on the break and shrugging out of the black, wool coat he wore. There was a sharp intake of breath at the sight of his tattoos. "Those look amazing." Hermione wanted to reach out and run her fingers along his forearms, to see what they would feel like.

Swirls of ink decorated both arms, with so many designs that she didn't know where to start. The corner of his mouth quirked up, but he didn't say anything to her as he turned onto the roadway. "Do you have any?" And it was the first civil thing he'd said to her.

She shook her head, but her thoughts wandered to the bucket list that sat amidst her luggage and to number four. "Not yet." Hermione replied. "I haven't had time since I turned eighteen. I couldn't leave my mom for very long."

"If you couldn't leave her, then why are you here? You've just put a couple thousand miles in between the two of you." It was the strangled sound that left her which caused Draco to turn to look at her. "Are you...are you crying?" He asked, but he didn't sound as nearly calm as he appeared.

Theo blinked, reaching out and then yanking his hand back when she pulled away from them. "She died." Her voice was light, airy. "We buried her yesterday, I'm sorry I even mentioned her. I'm normally not so emotional."

Hermione sank into the back seat, fishing around her bag until her fingers closed around a pair of white earbuds. "Granger - " Draco began, but she ignored him, pushing the earbuds in.

The two men in front of her exchanged an uneasy look when she turned the first rock song she found all the way up.

With her hands clasped in her lap, her phone laying beside her, Hermione looked to the city around them in awe. There was something miraculous about the fact that she was even here at all. Laying her head against the window, she was content to watch how storm clouds still seemed to be rolling in, and to take in the architecture of each building.

With the events of the last day, or even the last few weeks, she hadn't had the time to be nervous about visiting another country. The questions that she would have been asking suddenly hit her all at once. What were the people like? Well, judging from the scowl Draco was wearing when she snuck a glance at him, she'd say she'd already crossed paths with the worst.

It felt like a silly thing to worry about when it came to whether people would like her or not. Yet here she was, nearly about to burst because she couldn't help but wonder if she would be regarded as the strange girl, the odd one out really, like it had been in high school.

She was blinking, just for a second, when a hand reached for her from the front seat. She shrieked, slapping it away, but Draco yanked the earbud out of her ear. "Granger, do you need to go home and sleep?"

Home?

"What?" She said dumbly.

"There's a coffee shop not far from here, and our friends want to meet you." Theo said, his smile bright as he patted her arm. "He's sorry about making you upset by the way."

Malfoy ignored the last bit of his sentence completely. "I've no idea why they want to meet you, but you've been on a plane for over half of a day-"

"If there's coffee, I'm more than willing to go." Hermione told him, pulling her jacket around her. "I could use it since I'm going to stay up all night to fix my sleep schedule."

The coffee shop, The Leaky Cauldron she discovered, was a quaint brick cafe. It had tables outside beneath an awning, where all sorts of people sat. Stuffing her phone into her pocket, she climbed out of the car, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket nervously.

It was unfair that her palms were sweaty.

"Let's go, Granger." Malfoy barked, leaving his coat in the vehicle. His boots were heavy against the concrete as he wrenched the glass door open, waiting for her. "Could you move any slower?"

She snapped. "Could you be anymore of a fucking asshole?" Hermione retorted, stepping on his foot for good measure.

"Was that supposed to hurt? Have you seen how small you are?" He was chucking, putting his hand on the small of her back and pressing her forward. "Move it, Princess."

The inside of the coffee shop, furnished with wooden tables and one long bench running along the side of the wall, felt homey. The familiar smell of coffee beans was relaxing, a smell that she could associate with lazy mornings while she sat in the windowsill.

She was too busy looking around the room, her eyes lingering on the fairy lights that hung from the ceiling, to notice someone coming towards her. A finger tapped on her shoulder, and she looked to the right to see a girl, nearly six inches taller than her, but it might have been the combat boots she wore. "I'm Pansy."

Black hair, and it definitely wasn't one of the shitty box dye jobs she'd seen before, was pinned up in space buns. Hermione noted the black choker around her neck; it suited her. "Hermione." She introduced, but she suddenly felt out of place.

"So you've met Draco already," Pansy looked as if she were about to burst into laughter.

Hermione scowled. "I've had the displeasure, yes. Is he always like that, or is it just me that pissed him off?"

Pansy slung her arms around her shoulders, guiding her to a table full of people around her age. "Would anyone here like to tell Hermione that Draco's always had a shite attitude?" She nearly yelled it, heads turning to face them.

Hermione wanted to sink into the floor. "Oh, yeah," one of the boys spoke out. This one with black rimmed glasses, and he also had full sleeves. She was sensing a trend between Malfoy and the company he kept. "Don't take it personally, he's always been like that. I'm Harry." The boy told her, reaching out to shake her hand.

She nodded, willing herself not to make eye contact with the man that was sure to be glaring at her. "Nice to meet you. I'll, uh, be right back." She muttered, ducking out from under Pansy's arm and making her way to the counter.

"What can I get for you?" The barista asked her, leaning forward on the counter. "There's a house special today, if you'd like - " Hermione nodded, pulling what converted money she had from her pocket.

"Sorry, I'm kind of mess right now." She laughed, eyes widening as the girl pushed her money back to her.

"Don't worry about it." She winked, stepping to the side and making her way through a door leading to the back.

"I'm guessing Malfoy's been a prick to you?" Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice, which was raspy, as she turned to see a dark haired man sitting on the stool beside her. "Woah," his hand shot out to steady her, seizing her by the front of her sweatshirt. "Shite, didn't mean to scare you."

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," Hermione gasped, grinning from ear to ear. "Sorry," she seemed to be saying that an awful lot since she'd arrived. "It would seem I'm a bit jumpy. You know Malfoy then?"

He nodded. "I'd say just about anyone at the Leaky knows who he is. I'm Neville." He extended his hand, and she felt a bit more grounded when he shook hers instead of kissing it. "You must be the exchange student he's been talking about?" Neville wore a plain black v neck, and if you'd asked her whether he was friends with Malfoy or not - she'd have told you no. He didn't have a tattoo in sight.

"God," she groaned. "I can only imagine what he's said then."

Neville chuckled. "I promise you it wasn't much. He was complaining that he had to change his plans to pick you up from the airport."

She rolled her eyes. "How well do you know him then?"

He shrugged, smiling at the barista when she slid two mugs across the countertop. "Thanks, Angelina. I know Malfoy about as well as I know a stranger out on the street. Well," he paused. "I suppose I know of him more than anything. Anyone who comes here would know that though. He's loud."

And abrasive, she added silently.

Hermione nodded, looking at the leaf Angelina had made across the top of her coffee. "Well, in any case I guess it's nice to see that not everyone is a tool like him." She muttered. "He's not the best welcome committee."

"Could have been worse, he could have made you cry." Silence, followed by his eyebrows shooting nearly into his hairline. "You're not serious. He made you cry?" His voice was loud, and a sudden silence fell over them, and she couldn't bring herself to turn around.

It wasn't as if she wanted to acknowledge the person who was glaring at the back of her head.

She stirred her coffee with a tiny black straw, effectively destroying the design. She looked sheepishly to the barista; Angelina, she reminded herself. "I mean, it's not so much that he made me cry on purpose."

"Would you mind terribly if I asked you what happened?" Neville took a small drink, lifting the maroon mug to his lips.

"He asked me why I'd left my mom if I didn't want to. And the truth is that she just passed away, and I left for my flight after the funeral. He didn't know."

His eyes widened, warm, and amber, as he looked down at her. "Bloody.."

Hermione would have to imagine what he would have said next, since a loud yelp rang throughout the shop. She spun in her stool, watching with a tilted head as Pansy, and two other girls, rushed towards the window. "What happened?" She asked Neville, and his arm came to rest on her shoulder as he pointed it out to her.

"It looks like that arsehole stole that old lady's purse." He told her grimly, grasping his mug once more.

Her attention was focused on the boy, she assumed, that was clutching a bag close to his chest while he ripped his hood into place. Her fingers tightened against the counter.

"Then why is no one helping her?" Hermione didn't mean for her voice to be so loud, nor did she mean to draw the attention of every last patron.

However, that's exactly what she hopped out of her seat without a second thought and sprinted towards the door, the bells chiming in close succession. There was a loud yell of someone emitting her surname, because that was seemingly all Draco would call her.

The air of Great Britain was brisk as it met her face, and she refused to look at the glass window where a crowd had gathered. It was mere seconds after her "Hey!" that the door of the coffee shop slammed open. Not bothering to look over her shoulder, she shoved past someone who she'd nearly toppled over.

"Oi! Watch where the fuck you're going!" The man brushed off his suit, and the only consolation for Hermione was the loud expletive that left him - probably from whoever had chased after her plowing into him.

The kid, she assumed it was a teenager, sprinted across an intersection, throwing a glance over his shoulder to see that she was still chasing him. Hermione jumped over the puddles she could, and when she slid across the hood of a car, it hadn't been intentional.

Her legs burned, and running against icy rain was at the bottom of her list of things she'd rather be doing. Who knew if she would even find the old woman who'd had her purse snatched? Hermione ran in front of a car, an oversight, before jumping out of the way. Heavy footfalls were right behind her.

When she finally caught up to him, with the mugger being an arm's length away from him, Hermione lunged for him. Headbutting strangers was becoming a habit she thought, as her forehead slammed into the back of his skull.

Her elbow met the concrete hard, and there was a loud crack that made her whimper in pain. "Come here, you asshole." She hissed, latching onto his jacket from where she'd been laid out on her back. It was not the best move she'd ever made, since his hand, mostly the heavy ring on his index finger, bloodied her nose.

"Give me the fucking handbag." Malfoy snarled, leaning over her mostly, and rolling the guy onto his back. Pressing the bottom of his boot against the kid's sternum, Hermione attempted to tell him not to be so rough. "Here," he snapped, applying more pressure than needed on the boy's chest, and tossing Hermione the black handbag. "If I look inside of that, will anything be missing?"

Her eyes were still watering as there was a gurgled reply next to her. "You're kind of harsh," she heard herself say.

Looking every part of his stereotype, Draco glared down at her as if he wanted nothing more than for her to be the one under his boot. "You're batty." He growled, offering his hand as if it were the last thing he wanted to do. "He could have broken your nose and you want to tell me that I was too harsh on him?"

Hermione hissed when he tried to pull her to her feet. She'd made the mistake of attempting to use the arm she was sure she had broken. "Oh, fuck," she mewled, grabbing her elbow. "I probably broke it."

He glared at her. "You've got to be kidding me. What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?" Malfoy yelled at her, yanking her up by her other arm. "Do you normally sprint after strangers? I lost count of how many cars almost hit you." His chest rose and fell with each word, each of them louder than the last.

"No one was helping her!" She screamed at him, standing on her tiptoes to get as close to eye level with him as she could manage. Her next mistake was to throw her arms out in exasperation, white pain shooting up her arm. "It was better than just standing there!"

His friends were rushing towards the pair of them. She recognised Pansy and Harry, with Theo not too far wall Hermione could do to keep her eyes on her soaking wet shoes. "You should have worn a better coat." He sighed.

"You're not wearing one either." Hermione pointed out, but he didn't comment on that. "I'm not sorry for chasing after him."

"You're ridiculous." He dragged his hand down his face, his eyes closing before looking down at her again, this time he seemed just a bit softer. "I doubt you broke your arm."

"Somehow, that doesn't make it feel any better." Locking her right arm across her midriff, she clutched her elbow tightly. The pressure helped.

"That was," Harry yelled, twirling Pansy as they walked, "the best bloody thing I have ever seen."

"For fuck's sake, don't encourage her." Malfoy growled.

"We were debating," Theo shrugged his coat off, stepping behind her to let it rest on her shoulders, "of a nickname for you while you were with Longbottom. And Harry's thought of a perfect one."

She arched an eyebrow, fairly certain her attempt at nonchalance failed. "What would that be?"

Harry came to her side, raising his hands as if she could see anything beyond the storm clouds rolling into England. "Imagine - "

"Has anyone ever told you how dramatic you are?" Hermione asked, forgetting about the pain long enough to smile when everyone laughed.

"Oh, you have no idea." Pansy snorted, holding her sides from laughter.

"Granger Danger," Harry finished.

"Huh," she said. "You know, I don't think I've ever had a nickname. Well, at least not one I approved of." Hermione told him.

"You like it?" Harry asked her.

After a second, she nodded. As it was, she could have made a list of the mistakes she'd made thus far, within an hour and a half.

High fiving Harry with her bad arm was at the top. And of course that was when Malfoy smiled.

It wasn't supposed to be this long. Whoops. Attention makes me happy. :)