Finally left to his own devices, Draco allowed his mind to wander to the time he'd shared with Hermione Granger. He couldn't help the faint shadow of a smile that ghosted at his lips. She had made him insane, devoted to her entirely, though he would never admit just how deeply his desire for her truly flowed. After the War, she had put together a task force of witches and wizards to repair Hogwarts Castle. Despite the immense backlash she had faced in her decision, she held fast in allowing Draco to aid in the reconstruction of the school. It had been hesitant at first, and he never truly understood why she had given him that chance, but that had become his way in. He had used that tiny window she had given him, the fleeting moments they shared clearing rubble from the hallway or righting fallen trees in the Forbidden Forest, to grow closer to her. She was beautiful, intelligent, charming, confident, strong, and talented: since he'd abandoned his father's ridiculous blood superiority pedagogy, he had realized that she was the perfect woman. It had taken quite a bit of time, but he had slowly chipped away at her hesitance and reluctance, and she finally gave in to his request to take her out for dinner one cold spring night. Even now, as she sparkled just beyond his reach, he swore it that it had been the best night of his life.