Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's been following along with this story. I really appreciate your support. Please let me know what you think so far! xo

Thanks to Kyonomiko and LaBelladone x for their assistance with this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.


Several days after her encounter with Malfoy at the pier, Hermione was startled to see an owl tapping at her window. For a brief moment, it was like stepping through a portal into a different world. Then she blinked as a second owl flew up beside the first.

Shaking off the odd sensation of seeing owl post in Whitby, Hermione removed the scrolls from each of their legs, scrounging up a snack for the owls, and watching as they flew away alongside one another.

Then she sat down with a cup of tea and read them.

Hermione

How is Whitby? Hopefully you aren't tired of rain and fish. We've just received our Hogwarts letters. Are you going to Diagon Alley soon to pick up supplies? We should meet and go together. Ron and I miss you. Owl us soon.

Harry (and Ron)

An absent smile hovered about Hermione's lips for a few moments as she reread the short missive from Harry. She suspected her best friend had exaggerated the extent to which Ron missed her. He had been rather sour when she had decided to leave London following the war, not understanding her need for solitude and simplicity.

But for years, she had put their needs before her own. The needs of the cause, of the greater good. This was something she had needed to do for herself, and she stood by that decision.

Thinking to respond later, when she could figure out a method to send a reply, given the owls had both left, Hermione set the first letter aside.

A shiny silver badge fell with a clatter from the second letter, landing on her wooden table and staring up at her obtrusively. A heavy breath caught and released in her throat. She had been offered Prefect.

The thought of returning to Hogwarts felt so unfamiliar now. Like a different life, in a different time.

She scanned the letter, hand-penned by McGonagall, mindlessly absorbing the assurances that Hogwarts would be safe and operational once more. She wondered what sort of efforts had been underway to restore the castle to its former glory.

Browsing the list of supplies she would be required to purchase, Hermione wondered whether eighth years would sit their classes with seventh, or whether they would be separate. Whether they would be housed in the same dorms or different ones.

A part of her was interested to find out. To see her friends again – and to see whether they might have a quiet, uneventful year just once.

Somehow, she doubted that would be the case.

Hermione drew a pen and a notebook from the kitchen drawer towards her, the pen hovering over paper for longer than she could say, before she finally scrawled a brief response to Harry.

Whitby was an entirely Muggle town, so Hermione's only option would be to Apparate somewhere she could find an owl post office to send her letter, given she didn't know the addresses of either Grimmauld Place or The Burrow – or indeed, where Harry was staying at all.

She tucked the letter into the pocket of her jumper, resolving to think on it.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione found herself wandering Cliff Street, vehemently telling herself it was by accident.

On the third pass, however, she stopped, startled.

Malfoy was leaning against a fence post in front of one of the small houses on the street, one eyebrow raised and his arms folded over his chest.

"You must be lost, Granger," he said. Frowning, Hermione crossed the street to where he stood, a hot flush rising in her cheeks.

She fidgeted with a loose curl as she chewed her lip. Finally she asked, "Do you have an owl I can borrow to send a letter?"

Something flickered across his face that Hermione couldn't place. Then he scoffed and shook his head.

"You were seriously stalking my street to see if I have an owl?" He pursed his lips. Hermione scowled at the sentiment, half of a mind to deny she was stalking in any capacity. "And the answer is no. My owl is still in Wiltshire with my mother."

She frowned, the words dying on her tongue. She noticed the verbiage but chose not to comment. She remembered hearing his father was on trial, but it was right before she left for Whitby, and she wondered now what that had meant for Lucius Malfoy.

"Fine," Hermione said with a sigh. "Did you get your Hogwarts letter?"

"Yes," he replied shortly, his sharp grey eyes fixed on hers. It made her self-conscious and she fought the urge to squirm under his assessing gaze.

"Interesting," she said, averting her eyes. "And are you going back?"

"Probably not," he said, the words as aloof – borderline cold – as his stance.

"Why?" Hermione asked, curiosity getting the better of her, as it had a tendency to do. "Don't you want your NEWTs? And don't you get your magic back if you go?"

Malfoy sighed, shaking his head as if annoyed with her. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Don't you have anywhere else to be, Granger?"

So their newfound camaraderie from the pier was all used up.

"It was just a question," she threw back, rolling her eyes and turning to walk away down the street. "But forget it. I'll mind my own, then."

She could practically feel the irritation rolling from him as he let out a long-suffering sigh. He unfolded his arms, scuffing the toe of one boot on the walk.

"Do you want a fucking cup of tea, Granger?" he asked, as if resigning himself to her presence.

Surprised at the sudden and unorthodox invitation, Hermione turned back and blinked at him. "Don't you have to work today?"

"Day off," he grunted.

"Okay," she breathed, the word forcing its way from her lips. "I'd like that. Thanks."

"Come in, then. Mind, take off your shoes." He turned without waiting for her to follow and stalked down the walk into the house.

Hermione, her mind spinning at the abrupt turn to a rather hostile conversation, merely trailed after him. She made a show of removing one shoe then the other, and carefully set them on the shoe rack by the door; she could have sworn she saw Malfoy's lips twitch.

He walked through a small sitting room into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Not certain what she had been expecting, Hermione looked around the small house as she followed him. It was surprisingly well-kept, with very few personal touches, apart from a framed photo atop a cupboard of a young blond boy – obviously a younger version of him – and his parents on either side.

Malfoy pulled a small wicker basket out of a drawer. "We've got Earl Grey, Darjeeling, English Breakfast," he listed, flipping through the bags, "and raspberry herbal."

"Oh," she said softly, "the raspberry please."

"Good choice," he said, plucking a packet from the collection and carefully stowing the rest away.

"So you can brew a pot of tea," Hermione said, hoping to create some levity in the tense air between them.

Malfoy snorted. "Yes, Granger, I'm not fucking useless. Surprised?"

"I never thought you were useless," she said absently, running a hand along the top of the framed photo. "A lot of things – but not useless."

She half expected him to take offense – but he smirked. "That sentiment certainly goes both ways, Granger. And let's be honest. If I can brew a draught of living death, I can brew a pot of raspberry tea."

"Fair point," Hermione said with a shrug. "Where was this photo taken?" The young boy was waving, while his parents simply faced forward, frowning.

His gaze flickered to the photo and he pressed his lips together. "It was taken on the grounds of Malfoy Manor."

"You look happy," Hermione observed.

"I was young," he clipped, pouring two cups of tea. Hermione supposed that did explain the situation as well as it needed to be explained.

"Why aren't you going back to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, frowning. "Will you be able to remain here when winter comes?"

"I was hoping you would let that go," he murmured, scowling. He took a seat at the kitchen table, sipping his piping hot tea. Hermione winced, suspecting he had probably burnt his tongue, but he didn't react.

She simply raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

"You Gryffindors," he shook his head, a sneer curling his lip. "A dog with a fucking bone. Fine. You want to know why? Because I would rather spend the rest of my life here covered in fish guts than face any of those self-righteous ponces who will look down on me for making an impossible decision. Because when the Dark Lord threatened to kill my mother, I did what any terrified sixteen-year-old would do and tried to save her life. And yes, it meant I did some awful things and it made me a terrible person."

Hermione blinked, the wind knocked out of her at his sudden and honest admission.

He took a sip of tea, ignoring her reaction. "And the last fucking thing I need, Granger, is to return to a place where I'll receive only hatred and judgment from your side, and resentment from those whose families supported the Dark Lord. It's easy to judge someone when you don't know what it is to walk in their shoes."

"You could have defected," Hermione breathed weakly. "If it was so terrible."

"Could I have, though?" he asked, and Hermione heard only genuine wonder in the question. "Do you really suppose I could have gone to Dumbledore and the Order without signing the death warrants of both my parents?"

"Maybe not –" Hermione began.

"Did you know, Granger, that every night of my sixth year, when I managed sleep, I dreamt only of that fucking snake eating my parents alive?"

"How would I have known that?" she murmured, chancing a glance at him. His brow was furrowed, his grey eyes narrowed.

Hermione swallowed, taking a long sip of her tea. She didn't know that she wanted to continue down this path.

"For the record," she began, setting down her cup. "Being on the run wasn't exactly a picnic, either. Spending months on end chasing dead end after dead end looking for Horcruxes, living on whatever we could scavenge. Being tortured by your lunatic of an aunt wasn't fun."

She felt her heart in her chest, her blood racing through her veins and pounding in her ears.

Malfoy stared at her for a long time, his expression unreadable. Hermione wasn't certain whether he was breathing.

He was silent for so long that Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, to break the awful silence that had taken over the small kitchen, when he huffed a breath.

"I'm sorry, Granger." He sucked his teeth, looking put out. "That day –" He shook his head as if searching for words that wouldn't come. He moistened his lips. "I'm sorry I didn't do anything. Most of my nightmares now are of your screams."

Hermione blinked, surprised, the ire of moments before draining from her entirely.

She winced, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I appreciate that, Malfoy." She frowned, fidgeting with a coaster on the table. "I remember your face. It was your face – I could see the terror I felt echoed back at me – and it gave me the strength to deny her. That if you of all people thought it was wrong..." Hermione shook her head, releasing a long breath. "It's fine. It's over now, right?"

"Right," he agreed shortly. He let out a breath too. "It's all over. I just… needed to say it."

"For what it's worth, Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, "I think you have as much a right to complete your NEWTs as anyone else."

Malfoy frowned, his brow knitted.

"I don't want to go back there, Granger," he finally said, and his voice sounded uncertain. Tired. Exhausted.

"Then that's up to you," she said. "I just – I don't think people will judge you so harshly as you suspect they will."

He pressed his lips together and did something that might have been a smile or a grimace. "I think you always try to see the good in people." He frowned, and Hermione wasn't certain whether he meant it as a compliment or not. "Even when they don't deserve it."

"I don't think people are so easily defined," she reasoned, taking a drink of her tea. "And I don't think there are very many lines which cannot be un-crossed." She met his gaze, and he looked pained. "I think redemption is real, for those who care to seek it."

"I don't think everyone deserves redemption, Granger," he said quietly. Hermione could hear the words he wasn't saying.

"You aren't too far gone, Malfoy," she said, seeking out his grey eyes again. "You aren't undeserving of a better life."

"You don't know everything," he said, his voice hoarse.

Hermione couldn't remember how the conversation had come to this point. She hadn't realized they were even at this point.

"I know enough," she said. Her gaze flickered to the framed photograph of his parents. "The fact that you care to speak of the judgment of others – I don't know you well, Malfoy, but I think I'm starting to understand you. And I believe you deserve more if that's what you want. But it's yours to claim."

He swirled the dregs of his tea and took the last sip.

"They offered me a Prefect position," he finally said. "They're fucking barmy."

"Well, we already knew they were rather barmy," Hermione agreed mildly. Malfoy snickered.

"I'll consider it," he murmured, turning his head to face her. He clicked his tongue several times, debating his words. "Thanks, Granger."

"Thanks for the tea," she said in return. He simply nodded. "I'll be arranging a Portkey to go into London for books at some point before September." She took a breath, tilting her head. "If you like, I can see about procuring transport for you as well."

He huffed a breath that sounded like a laugh. "A dog with a fucking bone."

"Just a suggestion," she said idly, though a smile tugged at her lips. "I'd better get going. I've got to work the evening shift."

Malfoy shrugged, standing from the table as Hermione followed suit.

"Maybe I'll come by for supper," he said casually, walking her to the door.

"Sure," Hermione said with surprise, shrugging. "You should."

He offered a brief smile. "Then I will."