Author's note: Hello everyone! :) This my first story on here, so please forgive me if it's a little messy. I've been bothered by a writer's block for a while, and hoped this would do the trick. Thank you for reading, and please review!

Disclaimer: The characters, and the rest of the content from the world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them, though they're a delight to work with.

People say it's never too late for redemption. Draco Malfoy knew better. Much better.

Two years had passed since the war ended. The smoke was gone, the embers had died down, but it was all still fresh in Draco's mind.

He hadn't been to Hogwarts since the day he decided to switch sides and Potter had won the war, but he was sure he wasn't welcome there. It didn't matter how much information he'd given them, or the fact that he'd killed Lucius himself. Perhaps, to them, it was all too good to be true. He'd felt their eyes on him every second during the aftermath, wondering how the boy who helped killing Dumbledore had been capable of betraying his own family, dark lord or no.

Even Hermione Granger, after being his friend for several months prior to his grand revelation, hid in the crowd as they turned against him.
He hadn't dared to look at her face, but he knew what it meant.

Whether fear and distrust was a quality assigned to the "proud and brave" houses of Hogwarts, or if it's just the way ordinary people think, he couldn't say. All he knew was this: if he stayed there for another night, some hateful Gryffindor was going to strangle him in his sleep. So he ran.

The ministry would've tracked him down if he'd left the United Kingdom. No matter what his choices had been towards the end, the leaders of the wizarding world had announced a policy for former Death Eaters and their accomplices. They weren't allowed to use dark magic, obviously, none of them were to work in administrative positions, and most importantly, none of them could leave the country in ten years. It felt like being on probation. Hell, it was being on probation. Everyone around him expected him to throw a fit or demand a revolution, but the only thing Draco wanted was some sodding peace and quiet.

That was why he'd decided to move to Watford. The city was in no way deserted from the world of magic, as it's located half an hour away from London. However, it had a higher muggle count than any other district in the area, so he could go to the sodding grocery store without being shunned. Simultaneously, he wasn't too far from civilization, and he wasn't entirely without friends.

Several other former Slytherins had decided to do the same, and Blaise Zabini lived just in the area. Only a few weeks after moving, the two of them had got together and made a plan to make these ten years bearable: by starting a muggle bar together, make enough money to survive, and then take it from there.

Where the golden trio was, he didn't know. He'd only ever cared for one of them, and she'd flown off everyone's radar. He didn't know why. He told himself not to care. Draco had done well enough without her this far, and that wasn't going to change.

"Breathe, Granger."

He'd found her this way; a trembling, sobbing heap in the restricted section of the library. What he'd been looking for there in the first place, he could no longer remember. It had something to do with Theo and his stupid kink for pranking Hufflepuffs. Granger's shoulders froze the second he mentioned her name, but she didn't lift her chin.

"Draco," she said quickly, as if to verify his identity, though there was no question in her voice. "Don't worry. There's no… I don't… I'm fine."

She lifted her head as she uttered the last words, and something inside him clenched. Her face still managed to look composed, just for a moment, but there were cracks in her façade. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks were covered in red blotches, and her lips were cracked and split. It was one of her nervous habits, he knew, gnawing her bottom lip until it bled.

"Don't bullshit me. What happened?"

Granger ignored his question, burying her head in her hands. When he realized she wasn't going to answer, he sat down beside her.

"Don't," she mumbled wearily. "I don't want to talk about it."

"It's fine. Come here."

She shifted to rest her back on his chest, shoulders still shaking. He hadn't thought out what he'd do for this part; he never thought she'd sit this close to him willingly. Hesitating, he snaked his arms around her shoulders as he tried to calm her down. Looking down at her hands, he saw her knuckles were chafed and swollen. Had she hit someone?

"Do I have some arses to kick, or did you do this to yourself?"

There was a small silence.

"I had to obliviate my parents; send them off to Australia. They have no idea who I am."

Shit.

Draco's mind was racing. What was he supposed to answer to that? He'd cut contact with his parents as well, but they knew he was alive. For all he knew, they didn't bloody care, either.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, because there wasn't anything he

could say. Not really. "What can I do to help you?"

The room fell silent once more, and he released his breath when he felt her head fall back into the crook of his neck.

"I'd like to sit like this for a while, if that's fine with you."

Draco woke up with a jerk, burying his face in his pillow. What the hell was that? Several months had gone by, and Hermione bloody Granger had managed to stay clear of his mind. Until now. His usual dreams contained strange, unrealistic mixes of fiction in reality. This one was a memory. The worst ones usually were. It's said that the memories that least match reality are the ones you'd think of the most. This dream had returned so often during his first year in town, it was hard to be sure it was real at all. Perhaps he'd made it up; that would've been much more realistic. Merlin, he had been far gone, hadn't he?

Waking up in the mornings was always a struggle. Draco got up, showered, brushed his teeth and ate half-done breakfast, all at an agonizingly slow pace. Blaise would be opening the bar today, he knew that, but if he let himself sleep longer he'd never get up at all. His dreams were too realistic, too tempting.

He left his flat at nine in the morning, in a – predictable – dark green coat and black scarf. Watford hadn't woken up just yet, its concrete walkways painted by the deep orange sun. He liked it best this way, he'd decided, empty and full of promise. He'd never seen the city of London half as peaceful.

"Up early again, Draco?" a voice said as he entered the café at the end of the street. It was Linda, a non-magical waitress he'd made friends with during his first week in town. He smiled at her, trying not to look as tired and disoriented as he felt.

"Yeah," he said simply, walking over to the counter. "A double espresso, please."

He'd grown especially fond of muggle coffee, during the past year. Of course, most wizards know how to make the stuff by using magic, but after trying the real stuff it all tasted like water. Muggle coffee woke him up properly, as was its purpose.

"You haven't slept at all, have you?" she said as she worked the coffee machine, concern evident in her voice.

"No, I've slept," he defended, truthfully. "Just not very well."

She handed him his coffee, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "You don't have to pay. I'm pretty sure we've earned a fortune from you already."

Draco wasn't sure about that: he only came in a few times a week. It felt rude to argue about it, however, so he just smiled. He hoped it didn't look as half-hearted as it felt. He watched her with wary eyes as she bent over the counter to rearrange some glasses. She might as well have shoved her tits in his face. Before everything that had happened, he wouldn't have minded at all. Now, it just made him feel sick.

"Don't you guys open at ten?"

He looked down at his watch, happy for the distraction. "Blaise is opening today. I better head over there anyway, he always forgets something important."
Merlin, he sounded like an old man. Linda stood up and put her hands on her hips, looking slightly disappointed.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around then."

"Sure," he said in response, leaving five pounds on the counter.

"I told you it was on the house," he heard her say, but before she'd finished speaking he was out of the door. Blaise had urged him on to take the girl out; have some fun while he was stuck there. He'd gone out with some of the girls who met up at the bar, but although they served as a distraction for a while, he grew bored after a few dates. He didn't know what it was; their obvious advances, their predictable short dresses, or just the fact that none of them were her.

They had been following her for quite a while. Draco watched her back as she hurried down the hallway (did she always walk like that, or had she noticed the two snickering idiots behind him?), robe brushing against the ground, wondering what her body looked like underneath. The girl couldn't dress provocatively if her life depended on it.

"Well get her into a corner," Theo whispered, far too loudly. "See if she knows any dirty secrets we can use against the boy who lived."

Draco clicked his tongue, well aware she could probably hear them. "Too predictable, Nott."

"We could throw her books out the window. She'll scream bloody murder."

Blaise burst out into laughter, and the Gryffindor froze ahead of them. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in deject. Did they always have to fuck everything up?

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Her voice was weary and hoarse, and made Draco wonder whether this was a good idea at all. He pushed the idea to the back of his mind, approaching her with a smirk on his face.

"Hello Granger. How is our favourite Gryffindor bitch?"

She glared at him for a moment, dropping her bag to the floor. Draco wondered if she was going to hit him again, like she had all that time ago.

"Bugger off, I don't have time for this."

His smiled widened then, and he stepped closer, realizing how much taller he was than her.

"What are you going to do, uppercut me with that teeny hand of yours?"

He'd expected her to get angry, but instead she looked almost concerned.

"What are you doing, Draco?"

That threw him off for a moment. What was she playing at, using his first name?

"It's Malfoy," he spat as he measured her with his eyes. "And you're going to do something for me."

Her eyebrows shot up on her forehead, but if she was afraid, she didn't let it on.

"Am I?"

"Head into Snape's storage and fetch us a bottle of veritaserum."

Granger looked confused, her eyes switching between the three boys. "Veritaserum?"

He wasn't intending on using it on her, although that would be rather hilarious. Pansy Parkinson had stolen something from Theo's suitcase, and he evidently

really needed it back. What the stolen property was, he refused to say, but Draco assumed he didn't want to know.

"That's the one."

"And you're just going to do what they tell you to?"

The boys behind him fell completely silent. Draco felt the blood drain from his face.

"What?"

Granger's expression didn't change, and it was driving him mad. "You're not half as tough as you think you are."

"You filthy little-" he was about to say mudblood, but the word wouldn't leave his mouth. Instead he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the wall.

He felt Theo and Blaises' eyes on his back.

"Nobody tells me what to do," he spat, towering over her tiny body. Still, she didn't look afraid at all. Instead she narrowed her eyes and stared straight into his.

"Not even your daddy?" she hissed back. He felt his stomach drop, and could only stare back at her. That fucking…

"He can't have asked you to join them yet. You wouldn't be messing around like this if he had."

He shoved her back into the wall once more before letting her go, losing his composure.

"Get away from me, you stupid-"

"Mudblood?" she countered before he could finish, her eyes shooting daggers into his. "Go ahead Malfoy, say it like they taught you to."

"Fuck off," he hissed as he walked away. He signalled at Theo and Blaise to follow, and hoped the bitch wouldn't decide to go after them. He didn't need this shit.

"You're not one of them," she yelled at his back, but he didn't want to hear it. Whether it was true or not didn't matter.

It wasn't like Lucius Malfoy would ever sell his own son.