A/N: Arright I got this stupid idea in my head and really had to write it out… It's dumb, it's depraved, and, well, here it is. The build-up for this story, wherein I convince myself that Hermione and Draco can become friends who trust each other, got a little bit out of hand. Any resultant plot is entirely unintentional.

JKR owns everything you recognize.

In the aftermath of the war, Hermione and Ron dated for a little while, but eventually broke up when he fell back into his carefree and downright lazy habits from their Hogwarts days, while Hermione stayed driven and dedicated while beginning to climb the ladder at the Ministry of Magic. She simply couldn't reconcile her work and her social lives, which were polar opposites of each other when Ron was involved. Not to mention Ron was managing his post-war stress by self-medicating. With alcohol. Copious amounts of it. And often.

It got really old really fast, but Hermione tried to be patient with him. But the fact of the matter was, she had her own post-war stress to deal with, and she managed her stress very differently than Ron. So they broke up, and even though Molly and the rest of the Weasley clan chorused that she was always welcome in their homes, she decided she needed to separate herself from their sphere of influence. "It'll just be until I figure my stuff out. I promise I'll come back." After all, Harry was like her brother, and he and Ginny were falling more in love with each other every day, and she would hardly abandon her brother.

But first, she left.

She kept her job at the Ministry, but moved to a tiny wizarding town on the coast, where she signed a lease for a little cottage on the outskirts of town, with a dramatic cliff view and a fireplace connected to the Ministry Floo network.

One of the reasons she had chosen this town was that it was home to one of the best wizarding psychiatrists alive. And the way that Hermione managed her post-war stress was to talk about it. To share her experiences, and to hear the experiences of others, and together as a community, emerge stronger from their time together.

So it is with a great deal of hope and a spring in her step that Hermione attends her first group therapy session. She's considered a Disillusionment Charm so that she can be unrecognized, but she realizes that if she speaks about her experiences, she will either be called a liar, or be immediately recognized. So she leaves it off.

She arrives a couple minutes early, and enters the room to see a handful of people milling around a circular arrangement of chairs. She introduces herself by first name to the woman standing nearest to her, and they make small talk. Apparently the weekly sessions are sparsely attended, usually fewer than five, but the good doctor is very competent in leading sessions and occasionally the attendees meet up outside of the sessions, as friends.

Five minutes into the session, after Hermione has introduced herself to the group and feels immense relief that the attendees aren't making a big deal out of her presence – perhaps their own feelings about their experiences warrant more attention than being in the same room as a war hero, the door swings open. Hermione turns to see the newcomer, and her breath catches in her throat. It takes a second for her to recognize him as none other than Draco Malfoy, looking worlds different than when she saw him last after the Battle of Hogwarts. His face is still all sharp angles and his frame is still lean and wiry, but his hair is dramatically longer, almost as long as his father's, but shoved up onto the top of his head in a knot. A… man-bun, she thinks the kids these days call it. And his clothing! Is as far from his formerly aristocratic style as she could possibly imagine: he's wearing a red flannel shirt tucked into loose jeans that are torn at the knee and frayed at the hem, ending in scuffed work boots. Hermione blinks. It's really him. The recognition in his eyes seals the deal. He drops into an empty seat diametrically opposite Hermione in the circle, and conversation resumes. But Hermione doesn't say anything more for the rest of the hour. As soon as he stepped in, her thoughts began warring with each other: so many of her traumatic memories from the war involved him in some capacity, and to speak openly about them when he was in the audience… she didn't know how to react. So for perhaps the first time in her life, Hermione remained mum for the entire session. Malfoy did not contribute to the conversation, either.

Afterwards, Malfoy swept out in some great hurry, while the doctor called for Hermione to stay for a moment.

"Will you come back next week?"

"Yes, I plan to. The group seems quite lovely."

"I hope you'll open up next time. I think you'll find that sharing will help ease a good deal of your burden."

"I will try to, I promise." Hermione doesn't know whether she should tell the doctor about her history with Malfoy and his family, but thinks perhaps it will come out slowly in the future. She wishes desperately that she could ask Harry for his advice, but this would involve reestablishing contact with the Weasleys, and telling them that she sits in the same room as Malfoy for one hour every week. With a start, she realizes that maybe he lives in the same town. They would absolutely try to talk her into moving back to London, and that is just something she cannot have. So she will keep this to herself.

Another session comes and goes, and Hermione still hasn't spoken. Then another, and another, and all she has spoken about are the little things. Nothing that could lead her to speak about her relationship to Malfoy. He is there every week, always dressed like a lumberjack and arriving five minutes late, and departing immediately after the session is called. The doctor doesn't push Hermione to speak more freely, but she feels constant confusion emanating.

After Hermione's fifth session, she departs the building and sees Malfoy leaning on the wall. He looks like he's waiting for someone. She turns to walk toward her cottage, and he peels himself off the wall in one fluid motion.

"Granger."

"Hermione."

"What?"

"You must call me Hermione. We are to call each other by our first names during the sessions, so why should now be any different?"

"Alright, Hermione. Then you must also call me Draco."

"Very well, Draco."

She smiles awkwardly at him. "I presume you had a reason for waiting for me?"

"Yes, I wanted to ask you to not spare my feelings during these sessions, and speak your mind."

"I, what? I haven't been sparing your feelings."

"Yes, you have. You have so much to contribute to these sessions. I should know. Yet you sit there unspeaking, and I can't help but feel it is my fault."

This is the longest civil conversation she has had with Malf- Draco in all their years of acquaintance, and by far the most perplexing.

When Hermione says nothing in response, Draco continues, "You may think it is unusual for a former Death Eater to be attending these sessions where people are sharing their horror stories from the war. And it is true that they were shocked the first time I came and introduced myself. One woman wanted to have me… well, she wanted bad things to be done to me. But I explained that this is part of my atonement, hearing the stories that I and my kind hurt during the war. It keeps me grounded and inspires me to be a better person. And the doctor said that I have as much right as anyone to attend these sessions, and the other patients, they have come to accept my presence. I will never be accepted in their friendly gatherings outside of the sessions, but that is understandable. So Gran- Hermione, I wish you would speak more."

He continues gazing intensely at her, and she manages to say, "Oh. I'll… I'll think about it."

This seems to be enough for him, and he nods, once, and turns on his heel. With a crack of Apparition, he is gone.

Hermione mulls this over in her mind on her walk home. Why should his presence be a deterrent for her to speak? She realizes that she would find it strange if he was not at a session, and if she began speaking about her experiences at the hands of his family in his absence, it would feel as if she is throwing him under the bus. She resolves to give it a try next week.

She starts small, and distant from him. But as the weeks progress, and her stories get bigger and start to touch on the Malfoy family, she notices that his face is not always impassive any more. When she talks about being tortured at the hands of his late aunt, she sees that his eyes have filled up, and he speaks for the first time in all her sessions, voice choked with emotion.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I wish it had been me instead of you. But all I remember from that time is that I wanted to save my own skin. I wanted to live. Me, and my mother, and my father. I wasn't thinking about anyone else. I was so scared. But I see now that a life like that was empty. Meaningless. Thank you all for your sacrifices, and those of your loved ones. Thank you for sharing them with me." A single tear escapes his glistening eyes and makes a track down his face.

Hermione hears herself whispering, "I forgive you." With those words, she feels that a great weight has been lifted off her shoulders, with the knowledge that she is not alone in her memories, and the knowledge that even on the side of evil, preservation of self and loved ones reigned.

Other quiet voices from around the circle chime in, and it is enough to undo him, tears streaming freely down his face. He excuses himself abruptly, swiping at his face, and the group stares blankly at his empty seat. No one can seem to muster the energy to continue sharing tonight, so the doctor calls the session to an early end.

Hermione is still contemplating Draco's words and actions when she steps out of the building. A small part of her wonders where he has gone, and whether he would want company in his anguish. But the greater part of her wonders whether this is the last that she – and the rest of the group – have seen of him.

Before this train of thought goes too far, she hears her name called, in his voice. He's stepping out of the building, eyes puffy but dry, and she realizes that he's just gone to the restroom.

"Hermione."

"Draco."

"Can I escort you home?"

She pauses for a second before responding, still gazing at him steadily. "Yes, thank you."

"No, thank you," he says emphatically as they begin walking. "Thank you for saying what you did today. I don't deserve your forgiveness, or that of anyone in that room. But I feel blessed to have it."

"You've changed, Draco," she says needlessly. "I meant what I said, and I think you have earned it."

They walk slowly toward her cottage, not saying much.

"Thank you for the company," she says when they arrive.

He nods curtly, turns on his heel, and is gone with a crack.

Something has healed inside Hermione, enough for her to reach out to Harry to have dinner after work one day that week. He agrees, and wraps her in a tight hug when they meet up. Hermione is surprised to find tears pricking her eyes while she's in his embrace, and finds when they separate that his expression is similar to hers.

"I've missed you," she says, and the sentiment is returned.

They spend dinner catching up, and it comes out that she and Draco Malfoy are attending the same therapy group. Harry looks alarmed, but Hermione quickly placates him, telling him Draco's reasoning for attending, and the events of their most recent session.

"I feel like I am on the precipice of trusting him now."

Harry's brow furrows in concern, but he says slowly, "If that's how you feel, Hermione, then I trust your judgement. Please don't hesitate to ask if you ever need him roughed up, though."

Dinner is lovely, and spending time with Harry is as lovely as she remembered it. She is sad to part at the end of the night, and Harry asks if she will attend a Weasley family gathering soon.

"Yes, I would like to. But maybe not immediately."

It's enough for Harry, whose face splits into a smile, and they part with a, "It was really good to see you again. Take care and stay in touch!"

Hermione attends the group therapy sessions with less frequency now that she feels more whole and that she is slowly re-immersing herself in the world of her wartime friends. But somehow she is drawn to Draco, who, as far as she can tell, still attends every meeting. After one such meeting that they both attend, Draco stops Hermione on her way out the door.

"Would you like to have dinner?"

Hermione blinks at him. "With you?"

"Yes, with me, you great-"

"All right. Tonight, or some other time?"

Draco looks a little taken aback, as if he had not expected her to accept. "Let's go now, then."

At dinner, Hermione quietly observes him and sees that he is quite uncomfortable. They make awkward small talk for the entire time, speaking mostly of their work. She does not bring up the Weasleys and Harry, and he does not bring up his family. It's strictly professional.

But the dinners continue at a frequency of once a week. Even when Hermione does not attend the session, she finds that Draco appears on the doorstep of her cottage afterwards to invite her out. She remains somewhat suspicious of his motives at first, but as he opens up to her, she finds that she truly does trust him, and in turn, she slowly opens up to him and she finds that they have become friends.

This friendship is tested one night in December when Draco appears on her doorstep, carrying what looks like an overnight bag, and looking somewhat frantic.

"Hermione," he says, somewhat out of breath, "I don't have much time to explain, so please hear me out."

Alarmed, she invites him into her house, out of the cold rain, casts drying and warming charms, and gestures for him to continue.

"I've been cursed." Taking in her look of her alarm and confusion, he continues, "Nothing too bad. I was shopping in Diagon Alley when someone recognized me and thought they would show a former Death Eater some 'hilarious inconvenience.' So while I had my back turned, they hit me with a mental age regression curse. So right now, my mind is regressing to that of a child, and that will come together with a loss of control over bodily function."

Hermione winces when she realizes what this means.

"I don't know why I didn't go straight to St. Mungo's. I don't know if there is a counter-curse. I guess my first thought was how terrible it would look on my family name if I showed infantile behavior in as public a place as a hospital, with such immediate access to the press. My mind is currently that of a eleven-year-old and diminishing quickly, and all I know right now is that I trust you."

Something in Hermione's chest flutters a little when he says that he trusts her, but she has to remind herself that if what he is saying is true, that train of thought is bordering on pedophilia.

"So you're asking me to take care of you while the effects of the curse wear off?"

"Yes. I know this is a lot to ask, but I don't think my parents would be as understanding as you, and I trust none of my friends from Hogwarts or work as much as I trust you."

Hermione gives a little sigh, and realizes that she really has no other option. She has come to trust and respect Draco Malfoy, and in order to help him, she has to accept.

"Yes, I will try my best."

"Thank you, I will do my best to be as little of a burden on you as I possibly can. I've brought," he stops, embarrassed, a red flush creeping up his cheeks. He gestures to his bag.

Hermione peeks inside. It's filled with diapers, baby powder, wipes, bottles, formula, adult-sized baby clothing, and a handful of toys. She wonders how he managed to assemble this bag so rapidly, but this thought is rapidly banished when the adult-sized Draco Malfoy wets himself and promptly sits down on her kitchen floor and starts wailing. Apparently the age regression was accelerating as he aged down, and she pushes thoughts of planning out of her mind as she pulls him up off the floor, and brings him to bathe.

An exhausting hour later, during which he splashed bathwater up to the ceiling of her bathroom, she swaddled him in a diaper while struggling to discourage inappropriate thoughts of seeing his (impressive, even while soft) male anatomy, dressed him in footie pajamas and tucked him into her guest bed with a floppy-eared bunny. He fell asleep quickly with a sigh, and Hermione could not stop herself from kissing him gently on the forehead while conjuring guard rails for the bed. She started a load of laundry with his soiled adult clothes, cleaned her kitchen, and unpacked the rest of his bag.

She falls wearily into the armchair in her study, and looks around her bookshelves for a book that would tell her more about his condition. A general guide, or how long it will last, or a counter-curse, anything would be better than her current lack of knowledge. After another two hours of searching, she finally finds a single paragraph, saying that the time the curse takes to wear off depends on the strength of the witch or wizard who cast it, anywhere from several hours, to days, or months. The paragraph tells her that there is no known counter-curse, and in 99 cases out of 100 (she's alarmed at seeing these statistics – there are some truly disturbed people out there), the curse lasts under one week, which is a small relief. But the curse may wear off gradually or all at once, and this decision seems to happen at random.

Hermione sends an owl into her workplace, saying that she will work from home for the next week, as she had a family emergency come up that demands her attention. She steels herself to become more familiar with Draco's private parts than acquaintances of their caliber really ought to be by breaking out her collection of toys and pleasing herself to unconsciousness that night.

Three tiring days later, Hermione is re-dressing Draco for bed after his bath when she senses something has changed. She's applying baby powder to his private bits in preparation for putting him into a clean diaper, when she sees his cock twitch and slowly become rigid. She swallows hard and clamps her legs together, as her gaze travels northward, taking in his clenched fists, tight jaw, and the look in his eyes. Oh… the look in his eyes. He's back all at once, clearly. She only vaguely registers that his former intelligence has returned to his eyes, because that has taken backseat to the lust that has darkened his eyes and is rolling off him in palpable waves.

"Hermione," he growls. It's low and completely feral, and Hermione feels a little gushing from in between her legs.

But she stands up abruptly, backing away. "Sorry, Draco! You're, you're back! That's good! I'll just be going now, your regular clothes are-"

She doesn't get to finish this sentence since he has pushed himself up off the bed, he's completely naked, all of him is standing, his member standing at attention like a flagpole, like a compass seeking north, and north is… her. His eyes bore into hers as he backs her up against the wall, and he brings his forehead to rest gently on hers.

"Hermione," he breathes and it sends shivers down her spine.

"Draco," she squeaks, just to have something to say.

"Kiss me," it almost sounds like he's pleading, but she doesn't give a damn and she closes the hair's breadth, devouring his hungry lips with hers.

From there, everything happens in flashes.

Draco tearing off her shirt and growling in approval when she's not wearing a bra.

Taking one nipple into his mouth and roughly palming the other in his calloused hands.

Sinking to his knees to push her sweatpants down off her hips.

Pushing her onto the bed and dragging her hips to the edge of the bed as he rubs his nose into her panties soaked with her arousal.

His grunt of approval: "You're sopping wet. Is this all for me?"

Her whimpering and writhing in anticipation as he pushed the material aside to stroke her pussy torturously slowly with one long finger.

Her panting, "Draco, please!"

"Please, what, baby?"

Him dipping a second finger into her.

Feeling his hot breath in her core as he growled, "Do you want me to fuck you with my tongue?"

"Yes!"

"Yes, what, baby?"

"Fuck me with your tongue! Please, Draco!"

"I love how you beg," before she felt his broad, flat tongue lick over her pussy, lips fasten on her clit, fingers curled inside, beckoning her to come hither.

Her coming hither. With a noisy cry of, "Oh, Draco!"

Not having time to be embarrassed about how little time it took him to bring her over the edge before he's risen next to her on the bed and captured her mouth with his own.

Not caring that she can taste herself because she's preoccupied with giving his little friend a few experimental pumps, and finding him rigid and still searching.

Guiding him to line up with her entrance.

Maintaining eye contact as he pushed in, making her feel sexier than she has since she moved out here.

Nails scratching up his back as he pounded into her.

Him supporting himself on one arm as his other thumb found her clit, twirled and pinched it until she tensed and threw her head back and cried out his name.

Him drinking in her look of ecstasy for as long as he can before her clenching inner walls pull him over the edge, burying his face in her neck.

Kissing and nipping each other as he rolled out of and off of her.

Pulling her into his arms for a searing kiss before they both pass out from exhaustion.

The next morning, Hermione wakes up to two distinct feelings. One, something is poking her naked bum. Two, someone is alternating butterfly kisses and bites on the back of her neck.

Wait… Someone?

"Draco!" She springs up and out of bed in shock, before realizing her own nakedness and trying to cover herself while not looking at him.

"Good morning, Hermione," he drawls. He pulls himself to sit upright, and she can see a little tent in his lap – NO SHE'S NOT LOOKING. "Did you have a good night?"

"I, I," she splutters. "That's none of your business!" She lets her hands fall to her sides, in fists, and stamps her foot. She realizes this may not have been the best choice when Draco starts to crawl toward her, all predatory.

"Quite the contrary. It is definitely my business, as I pride myself on customer satisfaction."

"Draco, please," she's mortified and refuses to look at him.

He seems to deflate a little and she can hear a sigh before the sheet hits her and she gratefully covers herself. She hears him shuffle around and say, "I'm decent," and looks to see that he's seated in the middle of the bed with a pillow on his lap.

"Hermione," he starts. "Before you jump to all sorts of conclusions, I need you to know that I've fancied you for a long time. Probably since you started speaking at the group sessions. I'm eternally grateful for your everything you've done for me, both at therapy and your tender care while I was… incapacitated. And I am truly sorry if you feel that I've taken advantage of you. But you should know that I don't think you took advantage of me, and I would willingly do it again if you wanted."

This seems to be all the encouragement she needs, because she casts off the sheet and kisses him fervently. When they separate, she says, "I've taken the rest of this week off to work from home, so I suppose I have some time…"

They're puttering around the kitchen at lunchtime, both shamelessly naked, when Hermione sees the heap of leftover baby goods.

"Shall I Banish those?" she asks, gesturing.

"Hmm." Draco looks thoughtful.

"Draco?"

She looks at him to see a devious smirk stealing across his features. "I have some perversions in mind… if you're interested."

"Don't tell me, the haughty, aristocratic Draco Malfoy has a diaper fetish?"

He pouts. "When you put it that way, it sounds pretty weird. But you have to admit, we have all these here…"

"Oh, all right."

Twenty minutes later, they have taken turns swaddling each other. Draco brought her to the edge with his mouth before sealing the flaps of her diaper, and Hermione made sure to thoroughly coat his cock and balls with baby powder, going over all of it with her delicate hands, before wrapping him up. Hermione can feel herself dripping into her diaper when she looks at the outline of his cock through his diaper, and he smirks when he sees that she's unconsciously brought one hand to roll a nipple between her fingers, and is grinding against the other hand in her crotch.

"Hey, baby, none of that," he scolds lightly.

"Who's calling who baby now?" She stops anyways. But only for a second before she whines, "It feels so good! The soft material rubbing up against me whenever I move."

He smirks and takes her hand. "Come sit with me."

He sits on her couch, and sits her on his knee. "Grind."

Mindlessly, she obeys. She moves her hips back and forth as she presses her pussy through her diaper and his leg, moaning and pulling at her nipples. He is so hard in his diaper, unconsciously thrusting against his hand, generating friction for his sensitive tip as he watches her perfect breasts jiggle while she gets off on his leg.

Her breathing is getting more erratic and as her legs clench around his, her eyes fly open in horror. "Unf, I'm coming, I'm squirting, this has never happened before!" Together they watch as her diaper fills and her hips keep moving back and forth on his leg while she rides out her high.

Mortified, she tries to stand, wanting to change, but he won't let her. He lies her down on the couch, cages himself above her, and captures her lips with his own. While their tongues are battling for dominance, one of his hands moves to squeeze her soggy diaper, and she wriggles her hips in his hand.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, withdrawing his hand.

She whines at his hand's absence. "Yes! Merlin, Draco, I'm so tender! Please, I need to come again."

"Be patient, baby," he starts, and squeezes her bum, but doesn't get far before she has decided that if she can't get off, then she'll drive him insane. She's roughly moving her hand on the outline of his cock in his diaper, and soon he comes, hips jerking into her hand.

They lie together, cuddled on the couch, Hermione and her soggy diaper straddling his leg, occasionally thrusting against it.

"Hermione, baby, I need to use the restroom."

"You're wearing one."

Draco fixes her with a stare and she maintains eye contact as together they hear a trickling sound and his diaper fills.

"Now we're even."

Hermione looks down and sees that he's hard again.

"Feels good, in there?"

"Merlin, Hermione."

"Fuck me, Draco. Fuck me while we're both wearing wet diapers."

He doesn't need to be asked twice as he tears a hole in the front of his diaper, liberating his erect cock, and he shoves it into her diaper, finding her pussy ready for him. They last a shockingly short amount of time until they come together and lie on the couch in their destroyed diapers.

After a while, Hermione lifts her head and asks, "How many diapers have we got left?"