He waited, on Wednesday. He stood where he couldn't be seen, but could see the cafe. There was no way he would arrive before her; they probably wouldn't let him sit down anyway.

A thought occurred to him. Perhaps this was her idea of revenge; to make him stand there and miss his chance of a meal at the soup kitchen and have to go hungry all day. Maybe she was even watching him, and laughing. He felt the bile rise at the thought. He should go now, and damn her to hell.

At 12:29 she arrived and sat at an outside table. He went to join her, sitting with his back to the street to avoid the stares. The same waiter who had served them last time immediately rushed over.

'Miss Granger! It is a pleasure to see you again.' He handed her a menu, dropping the other one on the table.

Draco thought this is what it must be like wearing an invisibility cloak. Two years ago he would have had the man killed – no, he wouldn't have done. His father probably would. His aunt would have done it herself.

Hermione perused the menu whist the waiter hovered next to her. 'Have you decided what you're having?' she asked Draco, looking at the untouched menu.

'Maybe I'm not hungry.'

'Don't be stupid. Order.'

He picked up the menu and glanced at it. 'Steak and Kidney pudding.'

She turned to the waiter. 'I'll have the Chicken Caesar salad…and two coffees please.'

They sat in silence until the food was served. 'Eat' she said.

Draco's self control lasted until his nostrils caught a whiff of gravy, then there was no stopping him and the food was swallowed with barely a chew. Once the first pangs of hunger had been assuaged he looked back up from his plate.

'Are you going to tell me why I'm here, Granger?'

'I've got some funding for the drop-in centre.'

'So? Does that mean we get two slices of bread from now on?'

She told him her plans, pretty much as she'd laid them out to Kingsley just the other day.

'Where's the money coming from?' he asked.

'My benefactor would prefer to remain anonymous, for the time being.'

'Meaning if it were known nobody would go there again; they'd rather starve.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows and gave him a sceptical look. 'I hardly think they'd die for the moral high ground, do you? But you have got a point, surprisingly. Trust might be a problem; that's where you come in.'

'?'

'They'll trust you; you're one of their own.'

'?'

Oh for Merlin's sake, Malfoy! I'm offering you a job.'

'A job?'

'Yes. And whilst your brain is struggling with such an outlandish concept as actually working for a living, do you want to order dessert?'

'I'd be working for you?'

'Have you got a better offer on the table?'

'Why?'

'I told you; they won't trust me.'

'But why ME? All of this; the food, the job. Why did you even want to talk to me?'

'I don't know.' She ran her hand through her hair. 'I…When I saw you the other day…it just seemed wrong.'

'I picked the wrong side; winners write the histories.'

'No, not just that. You were wrong. I may have hated you at school, but you had…something, a spark. To see you so crushed…it just seemed…wrong.'

'You felt sorry for me?' He put his head in his hands. 'Ye gods, how low have I sunk?'

'At school you were a stuck-up, obnoxious, hateful little creep. But I saw behind that, in the sixth year. I saw how frightened you were, and how lonely. Yes, maybe I do feel sorry for you; for what you were forced to become. Your childhood wasn't that much different from Harry's, really. So, what do you say?'

'But I'd be working for you?'

'You could say we're working together – if it makes you feel better.'

'When would you want me to start?'

She glanced at her watch. 'If you hurry up and order, shall we say 1:30?'

He looked around, at the buildings and the people hurrying past. Hermione could see the struggle going on in his head. It was the final act of betrayal to everything he'd been brought up to believe in. It was money to buy food.

'I'll have treacle tart and custard.'

-o0o-

She spent the afternoon taking him around the centre, describing her plans for each room.

'I thought we could use these two for shower rooms. There's some piping and things arriving in the morning. Do you think you'll be able to put them together?'

'I suppose so, I'll try anyway.'

'Good. When people come in they'll be given new, well different, clothes – we got sacks of them arriving tomorrow as well. The old ones can go straight to the laundry which will be…er…behind here. We can put a hatch in.'

'You'll be here all the time? What about your job?'

'I've got a secondment for a couple of months.'

'So it is being funded by the Ministry?'

She chose to ignore him, and moved on. 'Then the barber can go in this room here. Once we've got them smartened up they'll stand better chances at job interviews.'

-o0o-

'GRANGER? TURN THE WATER ON!'

She stormed into the room. 'Will you STOP calling me GRANGER!'

He looked at her, and then dropped his eyes. 'Would you mind turning the water on, please, Miss Granger.'

Hermione almost winced at how cowed he'd become. It would be so easy to bully him unintentionally, or otherwise. 'I'll go and do it now, Mr. Malfoy.'

He heard gurgling as water started running through the pipes leading to the showers he had been installing. Suddenly, a jet of it spurted out from where it shouldn't, soaking him.

'GRANGER! OFF!'

'I HEARD THAT, MALFOY! UP YOURS TOO.'

'NO! Turn the water OFF! Please.'

'Sorry!' Hermione apologised, slightly abashed.

Slowly the cascade slowed to a trickle and he left the shower room. 'I think that's the final leak. I'll get on to it in the morning.'

'We could have a go at fixing it tonight, if you wanted; it's only 4:30.'

'I have to get going or all the half decent places will be taken.'

She looked at him quizzically. 'I need to find somewhere to sleep tonight' he told her. 'As it starts to get dark all the good places go.' He headed for the door.

'But you're wet!' He shrugged. 'Come here, at least let me dry you off.' She took out her wand and started doing drying spells on his clothes. Suddenly she stopped. 'Where's your wand?'

'Ask Potter, he took it.'

'Of course, I'd forgotten. I don't know what he did with it, after the battle. Couldn't you get another one?'

'I told you, I was thrown out of the house with only the clothes I stood up in. I've not got the money to buy a new one – even if Ollivander would sell it to me. See you tomorrow.' He turned back to the door.

'Wait! I've just realised what you said. Are you still sleeping rough?' He nodded. 'But I advanced you some wages, why can't you get a bed for the night?'

Another resigned shrug, she was becoming familiar with it now. 'It isn't the money; it's my face. People see it and slam the door shut.'

A couple of years ago that would have been impossible. Hermione looked at his gaunt figure; he expected to be treated this way, now.

'It's going to be really cold tonight.' She hesitated, what would Ron say? Or shout, more likely. 'We've got a spare room; you can come back with me.'

'A muggle house?'

She bristled instinctively. 'Yes, a muggle house. Is that worse than a doorway?'

'They won't want me there. Anyway, I stink.'

'We have got a bathroom. I don't live in a cave, you know. I'll wash your clothes whilst you're there; you can borrow some of my dad's things until they dry. I'll take you side along.'

-o0o-

So these are muggle houses, he thought to himself, as they approached one that looked exactly the same as all the others. Neat little boxes with neat little gardens in front and neat little cars parked on the drive. Hermione took a key from her bag, and he looked at her quizzically.

'They don't like me using magic to open the door. It sort of spooks them, a bit.' She opened the door and let him in. 'The bathroom's straight up the stairs. Help yourself to soap and shampoo. Leave your things outside the door.'

'Gran…Herm…Thanks.' He headed up the stairs whilst she went into the living room.

'Hi mum, dad. Umm…I've brought someone home with me. He's having a shower and I need to wash his clothes and borrow some of your things, dad.' Two bewildered faces looked back at her. 'It's a long story, I'll explain later. He's…aah, going to be staying for a couple of days. I hope you don't mind.'

She went up stairs with some bin bags to put his clothes in; she certainly wasn't going to touch them with her bare hands. She could hear the shower running and shouted through the door. 'I've left you some clean clothes out here. Just come down when you're ready.'

Fortunately she'd got the clothes into the washing machine, and the door shut, before her mother came to find her. 'What's that smell?'

Hermione sprayed some air freshener around. 'He spilt some sour milk over himself at the drop-in centre.'

'So, who is "he"?'

'Just somebody I was at school with.'

Twenty minutes later, Draco came down stairs wearing clothes that felt very strange to him. They were only chinos and a polo shirt, but he felt as if they were some strange tribal outfit. He certainly felt better for his shower; he hadn't realised how filthy he was, and how his skin had always itched.

His hair felt a lot better too, for being washed. It had grown long over the past year or so, and was almost half way down his back. He'd found a sort of stretchy band thing in the bathroom, and used it to pull his hair into a pony tail. As he stood in front of the door, he wondered what these people were going to say, and how they would treat him. They must know who he was, by now. He knocked.

'You can come in, you know' Hermione had called out. When he entered she stood up. 'Mum? Dad? This is Draco. Draco, John and Jean, my parents'

'Very nice to meet you, Draco. Any friend of Hermione's is welcome here' said her mother. 'Dinner will be about an hour. Would you like a cup of tea?'

They sat there, not really saying much because Hermione and her parents were watching a box in the corner that had moving pictures with people talking. Draco thought it must be a television; he'd seen them in shop windows. Eventually the people stopped talking, and some music played. Hermione's father picked up a squat black wand and pressed a button on it. The television became dark and silent.

'Sorry' said her dad to Draco, 'but we do like to catch up on the news. So, you're a friend of Hermione's are you? Were you at school together?'

'Yes' said Hermione, quickly.

'Not in Gryffindor, though? I don't remember Hermione mentioning you.'

'He was in…a different house, dad.'

John Granger nodded. 'You were at the battle, though? Yes? I hope you took a couple of the …others down.' He clenched his fists a couple of times. 'I like to think of myself a liberal, Draco, but when I think of what that animal did…and his bloody "Death Eaters"…well, I'm sorry, but a rope's too good for them. She had to send us to Australia to stop them murdering us. They tortured her, you know. Bastards.'

'Dad, it's over now,'

'Yes, we should move on I suppose; forgive and forget eh? God knows how. You know Hermione gives up her free time to look after some of them do you, Draco?' Pride shone in his eyes as he looked at his daughter. 'She's a wonderful girl.'

'Draco's helping out there, too.' Hermione said quietly. Parents could be really embarrassing at times

'Good, that's good. Show them the error of their ways; teach them there are better alternatives than hatred and war.'