The song for this chapter is "Still Young" by Evenings. Enjoy!

Hermione spent the rest of her weekend in a leisurely daze. She worked on and off on a few case files she'd taken home with her, but other than that she mainly lounged around her house. She was a different Hermione from her school days, much less manic though she was ever the perfectionist. After all, what was the point of being good at something if you weren't the best?

Monday rolled around and Hermione walked into work with a slight smile on her face. She was always glad to get back to work; though she cherished the free time her weekends granted her, she began to get restless after a few days without anything to work on. She strolled into the first available lift, smiling at a few acquaintances and pressed the button for the fourth level. Her fame had died down somewhat since the War, but she was still greeted by people she'd never spoken with. It was something she didn't think she'd ever be used to, and she finally understood how Harry felt.

Hermione walked into the offices of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and greeted her favourite colleague, an old school mate of hers: Susan Bones. "Hello, Sue, how was your weekend?" Susan was a pretty witch who had been in Hermione's year at Hogwarts. She'd been in Hufflepuff and it showed; she was one of the genuinely nicest people Hermione had ever met. Underneath her nice exterior was a sharp mind and a fervour for justice—Susan was a half-blood, and most of her family had been killed by Death Eaters. She and Hermione had bonded quickly and often worked on cases together.

"It was lovely, thanks," Susan smiled. "Padma and I stayed in all weekend, it was so nice to relax for once. How was yours?"

"It was…interesting, to say the least," Hermione replied slowly. At Susan's concerned look, she shook her head quickly and muttered, "We'll have to talk about it later. See you at lunch, yeah?"

"Alright," Susan replied suspiciously. "I expect full details, though!" She called after Hermione as she made her way into her tiny office.

That she got any sort of office at all was a miracle in itself. At the Ministry, if you weren't in the top tier of the office hierarchy, you were lucky to even get a desk of your own. Hermione was well on her way to becoming head of the department—she had quite a long way to go, of course—so she had been granted the luxury of the one tiny, windowless office in the Being Division of the department.

Her office was deceptively neat. Hermione liked to have a clean desk: a clear desk equalled a clear mind. She also had a complex organization system enabled in the desk and file cabinets. However organized she was, though, the file cabinet folders were always stuffed to bursting with papers, memos, articles, and various other paper paraphernalia. Hermione may have been organized but she was a bit of a pack rat as well—she was terrified of ever losing something pertinent to her cases.

Hermione pulled out the files pertinent to her case, one she'd been working on ever since her fourth year at school: House Elf enslavement. She was so close to her goal, which was to make it mandatory for each House Elf in a Wizarding family's service to be paid at least one Galleon per month. Hermione knew she was fighting a tough battle. On one hand, most wizards and witches were barely cognizant of House Elf rights and on the other, House Elves themselves didn't seem to be very adamant that they get treated with respect either.

She worked on the case steadily until a few hours later, at approximately 11:45, a small figurine of a bird on her desk chirped loudly. It was her alarm, set to go off fifteen minutes before her lunch break. Hermione had often worked straight through lunch and quickly learned that though it reflected positively upon her work, it definitely did not reflect positively on her body. She sighed and set down her quill, wincing as she stretched out the fingers in her cramped hand. At this rate she'd be done with her proposal and have it handed in to Kingsley by the end of the week.

Hermione made her way to the Ministry cafeteria to meet Ron and Harry. They'd all had lunch together as often as they could since they'd started working at the Ministry back in 1998 and, in Hermione's case, 1999. Ron and Harry were sitting at their usual table—it was over by the window (magically enhanced to show a view of the River Thames) on the west end of the room. Ron caught her eye and smiled. Harry nodded at her, looking a bit morose.

Hermione greeted them, giving Ron a kiss on the cheek to keep up appearances around Harry. This was really getting tiresome; they'd have to tell him soon. "How's your day going so far?" she asked the both of them as she opened her canteen.

Ron shrugged as Harry grimaced. "We got tipped off on where some ex-Death Eaters are hiding," Ron supplied. "It's not much but it's a start."

"Which ones?" Hermione asked. Harry glowered darkly and ground out, "Crabbe and MacNair."

Hermione nodded, feeling a savage sort of satisfaction at the idea of the Death Eaters being caught and thrown into Azkaban. Especially MacNair: he'd been the man set to execute Buckbeak back during their third year at Hogwarts. Crabbe she had no particular hatred for. If he were as thick as his idiotic son, he'd be caught in no time.

Hermione swiftly changed the subject by talking extensively about the progress she was making on her proposal. Ron and Harry managed to not let their eyes glaze over completely, and Hermione was glad she still had the ability to put them in a soporific state. It was better than having a sullen Harry stabbing at his steak and kidney pie as though it were a Death Eater's face.

She chattered on through their lunch until they were all finished eating. Sending Ron a message with her eyes, she managed to make it seem like she and Ron were hanging around to say a "special goodbye", which made Harry run out as soon as he caught on to what they were implying. As soon as he was out of sight, Hermione unwound her arms from Ron's neck and made a face.

"I hate having to act like some sappy couple whenever we're in public," she muttered to him.

"Believe me, I feel the same," Ron replied glumly. "It's bringing back too many memories of sixth year."

Hermione's face twisted into a half-smile, half-grimace. She felt guilty laughing at Lavender Brown now, as the poor girl had died during the battle at Hogwarts. She knew Ron felt the same, but they had to move on at some point, and Ron and Lavender had been rather ridiculous back then.

"Anyway, let's get going. I've got to get back to my proposal," Hermione said. Ron rolled his eyes playfully and replied, "As if I didn't know that already; you talked about it enough for the past hour." They walked to the lift and took it to their respective floors, narrowly missing the rush of the second lunch break.

Hermione didn't see Susan when she got back to her office; she must have already gone down to the cafeteria. Susan and many other workers at the Ministry had lunch at one o'clock instead of noon like Hermione. It helped to not crowd the cafeteria, and the workers who had lunch later also worked one hour later. As Hermione was in the upper echelons of the Ministry, she was granted an earlier lunch and an earlier work day. Not that she even took advantage of it; Susan usually had to stop by Hermione's office in order to get her to leave work by 5 or even 6, so Hermione wasn't at all surprised to hear a soft knock on her office door that evening at 5:03.

A second later, the door opened, framing Susan. "Hermione, it's after five, come on." Hermione didn't look up as she replied. "Barely, it's only 5:03. Let me finish this paragraph and I'll stop then, I promise," Hermione said absently. She dimly heard Susan sigh, and a few minutes later finished her paragraph with a flourish. "Done!"

Susan smiled fondly at Hermione. It had become routine for her to stop by Hermione's office to check on her, make sure she wasn't working herself into the ground. Even by Hufflepuff standards Hermione was hard-working. "You want to go to the Leaky Cauldron?" Susan asked. "I could use a pint and then you can tell me all about your weekend, like you promised."

"That'd be lovely. A Firewhiskey sounds amazing right now, actually," Hermione admitted. She reached up and pulled her wand out of her hair, letting the riotous curls fall into a wild mess around her face.

The two women Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and managed to snag a small table in the corner of the pub, away from the general hustle and bustle that was the Leaky Cauldron after a long workday. Hermione wordlessly cast muffliato so no one would eavesdrop and, after they got their drinks from a harried Hannah Abbott, relayed her weekend to Susan.

"You'll never guess who was at the Weasleys' on Friday," Hermione said. Susan smiled and said, "Well, when you put it like that, why not just tell me straight off? Just tell me; you know I'll never get it anyway." Hermione waited for Susan to finish her sip of ale and said calmly, "Draco Malfoy."

"You're taking the mickey," Susan said immediately.

"No, I'm not," Hermione said, holding back a smile. "Now, just listen, it gets even more odd."

Susan's eyes got progressively wider as Hermione told her the rest. By the time she was finished, Susan looked positively agog. "There's no way that was Draco Malfoy," Susan decided. Hermione just shook her head. "Arthur invited him for a reason. I think he and Molly feel a bit…sorry for him, actually."

Susan's face set stonily. There was no love lost between her, whose family had been murdered by Voldemort's followers, and Draco Malfoy, a known former Death Eater. Hermione looked at her sympathetically and placed her hand over the other girl's. Susan sighed and her face softened. "I know I shouldn't hate him," she murmured. "I admire Molly and Arthur; they're far more compassionate than I could ever be."

"No," Hermione replied. "You have every right to feel the way you feel. Don't berate yourself for it." She smiled and squeezed Susan's hand. "And I'm sure if you saw Malfoy again, you'd be surprised at how different he is. You might surprise yourself."

Susan smiled tearily at Hermione before wiping at her eyes with a no-nonsense air. "Enough of that," she declared briskly. She drank the last of her ale and gestured at the bar. "Want another? I've got an hour or so 'til Padma's home, anyway."

Hermione glanced at the ancient clock mounted on the wall above the bar. "Bollocks!" she exclaimed. "I've got to run, I need to get more food for Crooks before the Menagerie closes!"

She stood hastily and ended the muffliato with a sharp slash of her wand. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sue; thanks for the drink!" With a flurry she pushed her way through the throngs of people and burst out the back door to the entrance of Diagon Alley.

A fine mist was falling as Hermione hurried up the cobbled street towards the Magical Menagerie. It was closing in a few minutes and she had completely run out of cat food for Crookshanks; he was very particular and wouldn't eat anything else. As she reached the door of the Menagerie, another customer walked up to the shop as well, and she slammed into the person with full force. The person thankfully had quick reflexes and grabbed her by the arms to keep both of them from falling.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Hermione gasped before she caught a good look of the person she'd run into. Her breath caught in her throat as she realised that it was none other than Draco Malfoy. His face was just as thin and tired-looking as it had been on Friday, though it had a bit more colour in it. He nodded briskly and said in formal tones, "It's quite alright. After you," he gestured at the door to the Menagerie. Hermione flushed with embarrassment and scurried into the shop.

After purchasing the correct cat food, Hermione glanced surreptitiously over at where Draco was standing. She was curious as to why he was at the Menagerie—buying owl treats, perhaps? But no, he was standing near the Kneazle kittens, staring into the cage.

Hermione's curiosity got the better of her and she walked over to Draco. "Hi," she greeted. "Sorry to bother you, but—just—are you thinking of getting a cat, by any chance?" She smiled kindly at his blank expression. "I've got a half-Kneazle; I don't know if you knew that. His name's Crookshanks," she babbled.

Draco stared at her for a moment in bewilderment and then slowly answered, "My cat—Artemis—died last month. And so here I am." He smiled dismally.

Hermione averted her eyes from his face, not wanting to insult him by letting her sympathy show so openly on her face. He might see it as pity and take offence. Instead, she let her eyes wander aimlessly over the pile of sleepy Kneazle and half-Kneazle kittens laying in the cage. There were colours and patterns of every sort.

"Well, you certainly have your pick of the litter," Hermione commented. Draco nodded shortly and remained quiet. Hermione continued her perusal of the kittens, noting that one seemed separated from the rest. It was smaller than the others, and a plain grey colour. Hermione reached in to pet it. It pushed its tiny head against her fingers, clearly longing for attention.

Draco noticed and reached in to take the kitten out. He cradled it with a gentleness that Hermione never would have imagined him possessing. The clerk noticed and called out, "You don't want that one. It's the runt of the litter. Half-blind as well."

Hermione scowled. Could she not escape prejudice anywhere? She opened her mouth to retort, but Draco beat her to it. "It's fine," he said quietly but firmly. "I'll take her." The clerk shrugged, clearly not bothered either way, and rang him up. Draco carefully tucked the kitten into his cloak pocket, her small head poking out but the rest of her body warmly nestled in the expensive fabric. Within moments, she was asleep.

At the sight of the sleeping kitten, Hermione smiled. Who knew Draco Malfoy had a soft spot for animals? She never would've guessed it back when they were 16. Hermione glanced at Draco's face. He was looking at her with a curious, guarded expression. Hermione was reminded immediately of an abused animal.

"So, Draco," Hermione said deliberately. "What are you going to name her?" She nodded at the kitten.

Draco started a bit and glanced down at the kitten. "I hadn't thought of it yet," he replied. After a beat of silence, he said hesitantly, "Do you have any ideas?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side, trying not to look too pleased that he'd asked her. "Well, she looks like a Cliodna to me."

"Cliodna," Draco repeated. "That sounds perfect, actually." He laughed softly. "Thank you."

He was turning away to leave when Hermione called out. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering," Hermione paused uncertainly. "If it's alright with you, would I be able to come visit sometime to see how Cliodna is doing?" Immediately after saying it, she felt silly.

He took a moment to reply, but when he did it made Hermione smile widely in relief. "Yes, I think that could be arranged."

"Thanks, Draco. See you," she replied. He nodded at her and walked up the street. Hermione had to stifle giggles that were bordering on hysteria. The way things were going, it seemed she was destined to become friends with Draco Malfoy.

The days passed, and when Thursday rolled around, Hermione received some unsettling news from Ron.

"Dinner is off this Friday," he told Hermione and Harry during lunch. "Dad wouldn't say why, just said that he and mum were going to be busy."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Is it because of how I acted last time I was there? I tried sending Molly a note apologising but it just came back unopened—"

"I don't know, mate." Ron interrupted, shaking his head. "Dad didn't mention anything except that they'd be busy. Just leave it alone for now, Mum'll come around when she's ready."

Harry sighed, raking his hand through his already messy hair. "I can't stand her being cross with me," he said mournfully. "What if something happens and I never get to apologise?"

"Harry, don't worry about it," Hermione said soothingly. "Molly knows you love her, she just needs to be left alone for now."

Ron clapped Harry on the back bracingly, and stood up from the table. "Let's go," he suggested. "I could use some practise with my duelling skills."

Hermione smiled gratefully at Ron before the two men left. It wasn't that Harry was bothering her, but it was so difficult to get him out of his dark moods. Ron had learned quickly that a session of duelling usually helped Harry expel his bad feelings rather than through conversation. Luckily they were in the same department and were allowed access to rooms created specially for duelling practise. Ron had been mentioning lately that he wanted to settle down into a less intense job, though. He'd wanted to help after the war, and now that most of the Death Eaters were either dead or in Azkaban, he'd acknowledged that being an Auror just wasn't for him. He'd not mentioned it to Harry; it was yet another secret Hermione and Ron had withheld from their closest friend. Hermione could tell it was weighing on Ron's shoulders and knew the truth would have to come out soon.

She returned to her office and decided on a whim to send Draco a note. This Friday was the perfect opportunity to establish a tentative friendship with her former classmate.

Draco,

I don't know if you heard from Arthur already, but this Friday's dinner at the Weasleys' is off. I thought that perhaps I could stop by to see how Cliodna is doing, and we could maybe make a dinner of it?

Let me know,

Hermione

She sent the memo flying through her doorway to Draco's department. She felt that a work memo was less personal than an owl. If he got it at work in the form of a memo it wouldn't draw attention to him in the way an owl would, in any case.

Hermione went back to work on her case for the rest of the day. She was broken out of her trancelike state when a purple paper aeroplane zoomed down onto her papers. She unfolded it with trepidation, worried that she'd gone too far in inviting herself over.

Hermione, the paper read,

Thank you for letting me know about the Friday dinner. Arthur informed me already and invited me to next week's gathering. Come to the Manor at 7 PM; I'll have dinner prepared for us.

Malfoy Manor is located at Little Frith, Savernake Forest, Wiltshire England.

Draco

Hermione smiled. Of course the Manor was secret-kept; she'd been there just the one momentous time, but she'd been Apparated there by Snatchers. She found it ironic that the Manor was located in a public-access forest, yet was completely hidden from Muggles. It must have generations upon generations of ancient magic protecting it. Despite herself, Hermione was impressed.

She decided to leave work at the time she was assigned for once. She stopped by Susan's desk to tell her she was leaving. Susan looked up, surprised. "But you never leave without me coming to tear you away from that bloody proposal of yours!" Susan exclaimed. "Are you feeling alright?" Her eyes expressed genuine concern mingled with bemusement.

"I'm fine, just thought I'd take advantage of my early work hours for once," Hermione replied nonchalantly. Susan's eyes narrowed with suspicion but she seemed to let the matter go. "Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow. Go on, I'll not keep you here on the one day you decide to leave of your own volition!" Hermione laughed and went to the Atrium to Floo home.

She arrived to a loudly purring Crookshanks. He'd been waiting by the hearth as if he'd known she'd come home at that very moment. "Hungry, are you?" she remarked lightly. Crookshanks wound his way around her legs and purred even more loudly. Hermione rolled her eyes and, smiling, made her way to the kitchen to locate Crookshank's food. Once she'd deposited it into his bowl, she leaned against the countertop, observing him. He was getting on in his years, but it didn't show. His ginger fur was still lustrous and vibrant and he still acted like a young cat. Hermione reckoned he had at least one good decade left in him, seeing as he was half-Kneazle.

Her musings on pets brought her mind around to the inevitable: her impending trip to Malfoy Manor. Her throat tightened as she imagined the imposing building and her last, and only, visit there. Would the drawing room have changed? Would being in that castle of a home bring back old and terrifying memories?

She brushed her concerns aside; she'd deal with them as they came on Friday. She set about creating a light dinner for herself, soup and a salad, and settled down at her small table to eat. As the night progressed, she felt the loneliness settle around her like an old, familiar blanket. Hermione knew it was an aftereffect of the War. The Muggles called it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The only person she'd talked about it with was Ron, and she hated having to use him as a crutch whenever she felt it set in. So, most of the time, she ignored it and went about her life as though everything were normal, as if she hadn't seen people tortured and killed—sometimes by her own wand—all before she'd turned 20.

Hermione cleaned the kitchen with a tired wave of her wand. Her kitchen was a comfortable blend of Muggle and magical items. Since their disastrous time spent on the run during the War, Hermione had taken it upon herself to learn how to cook. She found cooking the Muggle way soothing and therapeutic, and strangely like potions. Put ingredients in a pot, see whether the result was palatable or not. She was no great cook, certainly no Molly Weasley, but she was decent enough and enjoyed it enough to cook as often as possible.

Perhaps I should bring something to the Manor tomorrow night. Hermione perused her pantry, trying to get ideas. If anything she could bring some sort of pudding. She decided upon treacle tart. She'd made it enough times for Harry to have perfected her recipe. Hermione mixed the ingredients and when the tart was ready, set it in her icebox to wait until the next day. She yawned. It was only 9 o'clock but she felt exhausted—part of the War's aftereffect, she supposed.

She crawled into bed and Crookshanks joined her a moment later, still purring loudly. Hermione vaguely remembered reading somewhere that cats' purring had slight healing effects and smiled before she fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

Cliodna (pronounced "cleev-nah") comes from the very helpful HP-Lexicon website; she is a witch featured on a Chocolate Frog card. She was, according to the website, the Celtic goddess of beauty and the eldest daughter of the last Druid of Ireland. Savernake Forest is a forest in Wiltshire, England. I wanted the Manor to be in a forest to add some mystery and I liked the look of Savernake. I also figured that if anyone could have a giant manor hidden in a public-access forest, it would be the Malfoys!