I promise answers are coming in the next chapter! One reviewer requested witty banter, and I can say that there will be witty banter in the story. Well, at least what I consider witty banter. I'm one of those "thinks I'm funnier than I really am" kind of people.

Chapter 2

Hermione sat in the Weasley family's kitchen, shucking peas and listening to the conversations around her. Her mind was on Hogwart's apprentice to the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who lived in the staff quarters next to her own. Her task forgotten, she rubbed her right arm, once again feeling the pain of the blade that had carved mudblood into her skin half a decade ago.

"I can't believe McGonagall would hire that git," she heard Ron Weasley say. Quickly, she glanced at her friend, eyes wide and breath shallow. "She's gone batty, I tell you. It's like she's forgotten who he is and what he's done. Merlin, the Death Eater spent a year in Azkaban, and now he's allowed around children? So he can, what, teach them his twisted beliefs? And he's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? What better place for a Death Eater!"

"Ron, stop," Harry muttered, catching her eye. They didn't know the truth. Harry and Ron had been locked in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor while she was tortured for information. They had probably heard her screams. They had probably heard her beg for mercy. They hadn't heard Bellatrix Lestrange though. And Hermione never told them about it.

"No, don't stop on my account," Hermione said, leaving the table. "I have to get back to work. Lots of papers to grade."

Harry's brow furrowed. "You've assigned homework the first week of school?" he asked. "Man, you're tough."

Flashing a small smile, she stepped into the fireplace and returned to Hogwarts. Back in her rooms, she gathered her worked and took the long walk down to the lake. The wind was gentle enough to not stir her papers and the sun hid behind the clouds. It was perfect and peaceful, but it didn't last.

"Looks like we had the same idea," Draco commented, standing over her. "Um, I can find someplace else to work though."

"No, it's fine," she decided. "There won't be too many more perfect days here. Might as well take advantage of it while you can."

He nodded gratefully and sat down, making sure to put enough space between them so Hermione would be comfortable. They worked in silence until Draco finished. Instead of leaving, he watched her. Her brow would furrow as she read over her students' essays, shaking her head at the simplest mistakes before making notes in the margins. "Reckon you're tougher on the kids than McGonagall was?" he asked.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and shrugged. "It's not my job to go easy on them," she replied, moving on to lesson plans. "We're preparing these children for the future. I don't want our world run by people who barely passed their O.W.L.s because they had an insufficient education."

"I wasn't suggesting that it's wrong to be tough," he said. "My classes were given homework the first day too. I was just curious where we stack up against our old professors. It's crazy, isn't it? The last couple of years here, I couldn't wait to leave, to never have to come back here. Everything that happened, everything I did, I thought it would be better to be anywhere but here. Now, it feels like being back home. Is that crazy?"

Sighing, Hermione set aside her work and stared at the Black Lake. "A bit," she conceded. "It's definitely strange to be here again, and not just because I'm standing on the other side of the desk. There are a lot of memories here."

Draco nodded in agreement as he fiddled with the blades of grass beside him. "You know, I really am sorry for everything that happened," he told her. "I regret every single thing I did back then, and especially what I did to you."

Suddenly, she gathered her papers and got to her feet, leaving behind a confused Draco. "I don't want to talk about it, Malfoy," she said as he followed her. "I told you we were never talking about it. Why would you bring it up?"

He caught up to her when they reached the front doors. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said softly. They stood close, but he made it a point not to touch her. "I just...I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

Taking a deep breath, she accepted her apology and went to the staff quarters alone. Entering her bedroom, she pulled back the blankets, kicked off her shoes, and got into bed. She would only allow herself a few minutes to cry before getting on with life. With the blankets pulled over her head, she allowed the tears to flow.

When time was up, she dried her eyes, got out of bed, and joined the staff and students for dinner. Taking her usual seat, she surveyed the staff table. Draco was the only one missing. "Looks like he's finally keeping his promise," Neville muttered as he filled his plate. Hermione said nothing as she poked at the piece of chicken in front of her. What little appetite she had had was gone, and she had no idea why.

"I'm not feeling well," she excused, pushing back her chair. "I'll be in my room if you need me, Nev."

He let her go with a worried look, but said nothing as she left. Returning to the staff quarters, she knocked on Draco's door. "I'm done," she said when it opened. "If you were avoiding me, you can go eat now."

"I'm not hungry," he admitted. Shrugging, she turned toward her rooms. "Granger, wait. Just...are we ever going to be okay?"

Sighing, she leaned against the cold, stone wall. "I don't know, Malfoy," she replied tiredly. "Part of me wants to say yes because we need to be, but the other part keeps reliving that night."

He invited her into his rooms and poured two tumblers of firewhiskey. "I do too," he confessed. "Every night since it happened, in fact. I may have been a spoiled, rotten, bullying git, but I never wanted to hurt anyone. Knowing I hurt you...I just can't get over that."

"You hated me," she reminded him, sipping her drink.

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, because you're smarter than me and better at magic than I am," he said. "I was raised to believe I'm supposed to be better than people with your heritage, and then you show up and prove me wrong. You...confused me. It doesn't excuse my behavior, I know. And I know you don't want to talk about it, so I am yet again sorry for bringing it up."

"Aside from us, Neville's the only one who knows," she shared. "I never planned to tell him, or anyone, but he found me crying in my room the first night I arrived here. I've kept it a secret for five years."

"Why?" he wondered.

Staring at her firewhiskey, she replied, "To protect you."