Prologue
Hermione Granger had always been a sensitive girl.
She cried once when she saw another little girl, not much younger than herself, drop an ice cream cone. She was only four at the time blubbering to her mother. "But mommy, how is she supposed to enjoy her day now that she's dropped it? Sh-she must be so sad." She had said through teary eyes.
Aside from her gentle and caring nature, Hermione Granger was a brain on legs. Nothing but puffy curls and quick wit.
She craved knowledge, almost as much as she craved to have true friends.
It wasn't until she arrived at Hogwarts that Hermione had to begin toughening up. She was used to not having friends, no one ever liked that she was smarter, but she was never downright bullied for just existing.
That is until her second year, when Draco Malfoy had called her a filthy little Mudblood. She knew what the word meant, in fact, there weren't many words she didn't know the meaning of. But still, even after assurance from Hagrid and her friends, she had gone to her room and cried. She had always been able to solve problems before, but how could she solve being a mudblood? It was the way she was born, it was who she was.
Hermione battled with the idea for days, crying until she fell asleep.
But as always, she was smarter than that. She vowed to be stronger, how could she let a silly comment undermine her accomplishments? Her wit? Never again would she let someone like Malfoy make her feel inferior.
But she also didn't forgive easily, and a certain Slytherin Prince was in the business for a dose of forgiveness and an IV full of affection.
**************************
Draco Malfoy knew who he was the second he was born.
No. Not who he was. Who he was supposed to be.
He was supposed to be an heir. The Malfoy heir and the heir to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He was to be perfect and poised, superior to all, the purest of the pure.
But even with that said, he couldn't help but be just a boy. Just a child. He was sensitive and he was soft, qualities that his mother nurtured, but his father condemned.
He was shoved into a mold, one that had him ready to burst out. But he had endured. He had called people names, he had bullied other kids, and he sneered at every turn. He spent his most formative years putting up this act that was thrust upon him.
He had once called the girl he fancied a mudblood. No, not once, repeatedly. He had regretted it, but he couldn't very well apologize, he wasn't meant to associate with people like her. That's what his father said. Dirty blood. Don't become a blood traitor.
So he had put on a show for years, until his sixth year. That was the year he decided to throw all caution to the wind and chase after her, the girl he had spent hours telling his parents and his elf dobby about(although admittedly he left out that she was muggle-born). He would gain her forgiveness, and he would gain her affection.
The Slytherin Prince would get his Gryffindor Princess.