Typical Disclaimers Apply

A/N: I made a vow to update quicker from now on...hopefully it works out. Also, many thanks go out to RadicalReason, sjrodgers108, Azrulai, and Silverbirch for reviewing chapter eight.


If she hadn't been fighting with Ginny, this week would have been one of the best of Hermione's life. She'd gone shopping for the first time in a long time, converting her Galleons back to Muggle money and checking out some of London's shops. She'd actually found a dress that didn't make her look like a street walker or a nun—she knew there had to be a happy medium and she'd found it in a dark blue, knee-length ensemble and nice shoes. She'd also used the telephone for the first time in ages; calling up her mother to finally discuss her new boyfriend. Her parents—no longer with modified memories—had moved back to Europe, but had opted to travel rather than settle down and restart their dental practices. They'd spent Christmas in Italy and Easter in India and didn't seem to have any desire to return to boring Britain. She was lucky to have gotten through to her mum on her second try—her parents were in Athens and the hotel they were in just happened to carry a signal.

Still, something gnawed at the back of Hermione's mind: she hadn't seen Harry for the past week. She'd seen Ginny at Madam Malkin's—she was buying maternity robes whilst Hermione was getting an old set of work robes mended. Ginny had shot her an icy glare before bustling out of the store. Harry was nowhere to be seen. They rarely passed at work, so Hermione wasn't sure whether he'd been coming in or not. Ministry security forbade outsiders from seeing Auror work records, so that was hopeless.

But she couldn't worry about that right now, because now she was going on a date with a nice young man, and hopefully he wouldn't take her to Burger King. She smiled to herself. Despite all of her past experiences, her intuition, and her general good sense, she had found herself fancying Draco. Well, perhaps not full-on fancying, but at least she didn't hate him as much as she did four or five years ago. He seemed to have developed some manners in their time apart, even though his mother was absolutely atrocious and his father was in prison. She didn't know if this complete personality change was permanent, or just a result of grieving. Whatever it was, it was making him more tolerable, and it seemed like fewer and fewer people at work were complaining about the son of a convicted conspirator working at the Ministry.

Hermione took one last glance in the mirror. She could look nice if she tried, she was beginning to realize. Maybe even pretty. After hours of work, her hair was smooth and shiny, her eyes were more pronounced, and her face actually had some color in it. Her lips were a little pale though. Maybe she should put on a bit of gloss?

She was just about to go back to her room when Draco knocked on her door.


"I hope you don't mind the restaurant," said Draco, glancing around the room. He had taken her to a new place in Diagon Alley; all you had to do was tell the waiter what you wanted, and with a flick of their wand the food would materialize right in front of you, warm and perfectly spiced. "I just didn't want to risk another Muggle, er, endeavor."

"It's not a problem," she said politely. She glanced down at her steak and back up at Draco. "Make I ask you something a bit personal?"

He gave her a funny look. "Um, sure, I guess."

"Please, don't take offense to this, but during school you were quite possibly the most insufferable person I ever knew." He was still staring at her, the look still etched in his features. "You insulted my blood status every time I came within ten feet of you, you tried to get Harry expelled at least three times, and you nearly got us all killed, oh, I don't know, at least once a year maybe?"

"Is this going anywhere?"

"Yes. I'm just curious, and you don't have to answer if you're uncomfortable, but what changed?" He stared at her longer, his eyes clouding and narrowing. "You don't have to—"

"No," he interrupted her. "No, I'm just not sure where to start." Draco let out a sigh and pushed his hands through his hair. "I guess it was Astoria. I met her just after the war, and, at that point, she loathed me. Probably as much as you did. See, her father was Muggle-born, so he'd been in prison for a year, and she was still mad about releasing Death Eaters into the school and allowing Dumbledore to be killed, especially after Snape was proven innocent. But I had fallen for her the moment I saw her, so I tried to prove that I was more than a Muggle-hating prat." He shook his head sadly. "I think she took me as her own personal challenge; she'd drag me to Muggle restaurants and clubs, she took me to Muggle rights rallies and she raved over that big speech you gave a couple of years ago. I guess she ended up falling for me too.

"But it was more than Astoria," he said firmly. "Especially when my father tried to regain his status by overthrowing the Ministry. I'd spent too much time in the real world to throw it all away and become a Death Eater again. I liked having the freedom to say what I want and to be around the people I liked, regardless of blood status. I liked not having to worry about getting murdered if I did my job wrong. And it wasn't as though I'd had a big personality change. I just grew up. And once I did that I realized that I couldn't be a total bigot and still live in the real world." He finally smiled.

"Wow," whispered Hermione. "I didn't think—I guess I didn't know that a person could change so much."

"Maybe it's because you've been an adult ever since you set foot inside of Hogwarts." Hermione laughed. She couldn't help it. "But I guess things have probably changed for you too."

Hermione nodded, keeping the eye contact. "Well, yeah, things have changed since last year, I guess. When I was married to Ron I'd picture a life with children. I thought about family holidays, sending our kids off to Hogwarts. I'm sure you pictured the same things with Astoria," Draco grimaced a bit. "But before we were married, during the war? I didn't have any plans then. I was living in the woods with two other teenagers, both with as little direction as me. We were just trying to live through the day. I didn't have any thoughts past the impending battle, once we found all the Horcruxes...I guess I doubted we'd live through it all."

"I never thought about that way," admitted Draco. "I guess I always knew Voldemort—" a few people near their table glanced over, their eyes wide, but Draco waved them off. "I knew he couldn't stay in power forever. I never thought of his reign as a permanent thing. But I never pictured a coup within the year—after all, he was in power for years during the seventies. Even when the Battle of Hogwarts began I figured Potter would disappear and people would escape the school before the Death Eaters. I never thought people would die."

Hermione gave him a rueful smile. "It's over," she sighed. "We shouldn't talk about it anymore. Ron left his brother's funeral and never said a word about the war for the rest of his life. And I think he was best to do that. It's better just to move forward."

"Yes," Draco said, looking thoughtful. "You know, it's nearly been five years." His eyes were glinting mischievously. "You don't think Rita Skeeter's going to write a tacky anniversary piece on it, do you?"

Hermione barely suppressed a laugh. "Oh no, she's much too classy to do something like that," she said sarcastically.

"I can see it now," he said dramatically. "'The Heroes of the War: Tales of Haunting Memories and Survivor's Guilt.' But of course, Rita has much too much integrity to write something like that."

"Ahem," the waiter cleared his throat noisily behind them. They both managed to stop laughing and turn around to see their rather irritated waiter holding a dark green bottle, seemingly procured from nowhere. "May I offer you some of our finest wine?"

"Oh, I don't drink—" Hermione said, but Draco quickly interrupted her.

"We'll take a bottle," he said, smiling toothily at the unpleasant waiter.

"Draco!" hissed Hermione as he poured her a glass. "I haven't had alcohol since—"

"Hermione," he said calmly, "one glass isn't going to kill you."

Hermione sighed, feeling exhausted and somewhat beaten. "All right. But one glass, that's it. I'm not getting drunk with you tonight, Draco Malfoy."


A/N: The plot thickens...somewhat.