Hermione felt the pounding in her ears again. She would see him for the first time since the Great Hall, gaunt and stricken at the Slytherin table with his mother clutching his arm. She hadn't meant to look for him. Not in the corridors, not beneath the white sheets of the fallen, not on the way to the Chamber of Secrets with Ron, but she was a stupid girl.

How did it feel? It felt like he was barely holding it together. She, of all people, should shun him. Or yell at him. Curse him. Spit at him. Take out her wand and blast him off the face of the earth. It was crushing guilt and relief and confusion all at once when he looked at Hermione Granger. The monotony of Draco's daily routine had become both a lifeline and a noose. But this new habit of grabbing morning coffee with Hermione Granger is quickly becoming a reason to get out of bed and is unfortunately forcing him to re-evaluate his inconsequential existence. Hermione is living her life in fragments, separate pieces scattered about, and she can't find a way to step back and let the full picture form. Why is morning coffee with Draco Malfoy the only thing that makes sense anymore? *cover art created by @eternallyreadinggoodthings

I escaped my reality by reading fanfictions. They escaped their fanfictions to become my reality.

If you were to mention her name in a locker room, or in a girls bathroom, you would always get the same look and smirk sent in your direction. Because she was an urban legend. Someone people told their younger siblings about when they wanted to brag about how awesome it was to be a teenager. The details and the ending would always change, but the conclusion to the story was always that; "that girl had some serious daddy issues." (Art on cover credited to http://athousandclouds.tumblr.com/)