Thanks

Draco Malfoy stood nervously at the back of the café's short queue staring at the menu overhead written in various colors of chalk. He stuffed his hands deep in his coat pockets as he tried to hide his nervous shaking.

It had taken six months after the war for the Ministry to finalize his sentencing. He'd remained on house arrest the time in between, faced with reliving his worst memories day in and day out. He sweated in his sleep until he gave up on trying to sleep in normal intervals at all. He then spent his time in the remains of the family library, the bits that weren't confiscated by the Ministry, and read until he basically blacked out each day.

Being escorted to the Ministry for his hearings was like a gift. Any reprieve from the cruel memories that had taken place in this house was a gift. Any time when he didn't pass by the bolted door behind which he'd watched them interrogate his former classmates or watched her scream and bleed on the wood floor was a godsend.

After six months of deliberation, the Ministry finally decided what would happen to him. He'd been saved for last after all. When Harry Potter testified on his behalf, he'd never known such combined grief, irritation, and gratitude.

Six months living in Muggle London was the creative sentencing that Kingsley Shacklebolt had agreed to give him. No magic—they had his wand locked and warded deep in the Ministry—no contact with his mother. Nothing. They allowed him a basic flat with a small allowance of his funds from his vaults to be transferred into muggle pounds. That was after he'd paid a hefty fee to the Ministry in order to help rebuild Hogwarts.

He'd tossed and turned his first night in that flat, plagued with memories playing behind his closed lids as he'd not been allowed books from the family library to take with him.

Now he stood trying to feed himself after stumbling into the first restaurant as close by as possible. However, he couldn't decipher the prices. He'd look like a right fool if he approached the muggle behind the counter and couldn't count his money.

He heard the bell over the door jingle and watched in disbelief as a mane of honeyed curls moved past him. His eyes studied her from head to toe on their own accord. Dark jeans with flat boots and a nice grey coat—she was still small but that was to be expected.

He heard her voice next and swallowed nervously. He'd never forget that voice. He heard it in his nightmares, screaming usually, but sometimes just speaking softly in disappointment. Why had he stood by and done nothing? Did he truly hate her that much?

He felt as if he was going to have a heart attack when she turned after paying and taking her ticket. She froze when she saw him standing there however; her mouth pressed into a thin line before she nodded at him sharply in greeting and went to take a seat near the window.

Draco's eyes fell to the floor before he glanced over his shoulder to see that she'd shucked her coat over the back of her chair and sat with her legs crossed neatly and a book now in hand.

He had two choices. He could be a coward as usual and leave post haste. Or…he could do something he'd never done before and approach her.

His feet moved on their own it seemed before he stopped before her table. It took a long moment before she sighed finally and placed her bookmark between the pages and set her book down.

Hermione Granger stared up at him expectantly for a moment before she spoke.

"I'd heard about your sentencing agreement. Harry wrote me at school. I'd not realized you were in my parents' neighborhood though."

Draco swallowed and glanced once more at his shoes. He had very little pride left. Plenty of anger but that was mostly reserved for his father. However, very little pride.

"I—your parents," he started evenly.

"They're fine, Draco," she sighed. "Memories restored and home in England again. I didn't much appreciate all of that leaking to the Prophet."

He flinched as if she'd struck him and she seemed to notice. Her brow furrowed in confusion but she stayed silent.

She'd called him Draco though. He didn't think they'd ever called one another to their face by their given name.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I was allowed newspapers but that was all from outside mostly."

Her eyes softened considerably and she nodded in understanding. Why? He certainly didn't deserve her understanding. He'd had a lot of time to think over the last six months and he knew that of all those he'd wronged, he owed twice as many apologies to this witch.

Hermione glanced out the window and the snow falling more rapidly. Her parents were fine, true, but since she'd come home on the train for holiday they just wouldn't stop worrying over her. She'd needed a small break, as horrible as that sounded. They had no idea what the war had been like and she refused to tell them to true extent of the horrors she'd seen. Or experienced.

"Are you staying to eat," she asked after a moment. "You can join me if you'd like. You don't have to though," she added when his eyes widened.

"No, I'd…" he averted his gaze. "I'd like to but…"

Hermione tracked his eyes as they turned to look at the menu over his shoulder and then glanced at his face again.

"You don't know how to count the money, do you," she asked softly.

No judgement. No malice or amusement. He certainly would have deserved all three.

"What were you going to order," she asked.

Draco shrugged and turned back to meet her eyes. "Just a sandwich."

Hermione nodded and stood from her table. She tugged gently at his coat sleeve and led him to the counter. He felt like a child being led around by his mother but what choice did he have? Starve or take Hermione Granger's help.

No pride left so he chose her help.

The woman behind the counter waited expectantly.

"Uh…just the turkey sandwich…please," he added as an afterthought.

"With crisps and a drink," the woman asked, unaware how strange this was for him.

Draco glanced uncertainly at the muggle-born witch at his side and she nodded so he turned back to the muggle and did as well.

"10.70," she responded before moving to grab him a cup.

Draco pulled a wad of pounds from his coat pocket and handed them to Hermione gently. He watched as she counted the appropriate sum, paying close attention to the numbers on the colored paper she chose.

"You'll get change," she told him as she handed him the money to pay.

Draco nodded and handed the muggle his money, receiving his change which he pocketed to inspect later.

She showed him then where he could fill his cup with something she called a soft drink.

"It's fizzy," she explained with a shrug.

He followed her back to her table and took the seat opposite her. They sat in awkward silence for a moment until she reached for her book again. She lifted a curious brow when she tracked his eyes as they read the back cover.

"Jane Austen," she offered. "I've read it a hundred times but it's one of my favorites."

He knew without asking that it was a muggle author but being that he hadn't read anything in three days since his sentencing, he didn't much care.

"What's it called?"

Hermione fought a slight smirk but her lips ultimately won. "Pride and Prejudice."

Draco's eyes widened at that but he was saved from answering when the muggle women approached with their food. He blinked blankly as she set the book aside and reached for her sandwich instead.

She was teasing him, he realized. However, upon seeing the front cover he saw that it really was the title of the book.

"Granger," he started as she chewed her first bite, he still trying to determine which corner of his sandwich to bite first. "Is there somewhere here where you can borrow books? Like at the library in school?"

Hermione couldn't stop herself from snorting and wiped crumbs from her hands as she swallowed her bite. "Do you really think the magical world has the corner on libraries, Draco? Muggles have them, too. There's one just down the street from here actually."

"Oh," was all he could manage, his pale cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

She felt a bit bad for having made him feel silly. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Don't," he spoke sternly, grey eyes darkening. "Please…don't apologize to me. I don't deserve it."

Hermione's eyes roved over his face for a moment and ultimately nodded.

They ate in relative silence after that. He followed her example when she neatly put her used napkin and empty crisps bag on her plate and stood to put on her coat.

"I have time before I have to be home," she told him as they stepped out into the cold together. "I can show you the library if you'd like."

"Please," he asked quietly.

For whatever reason, her hand itched to take his and lead him but she doubted he'd want her to touch him. Instead, she discreetly miniaturized her book and stuffed it and her hands into her coat pockets.

He followed her faithfully the two blocks it took to get there. He followed her closely as she explained the various sections and where to find genres that interested him.

He apologized finally, blurting it out rather inelegantly, in the middle of the history section. She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment too long and he began rambling, listing off the many things he was sorry for and how he'd come to realize he was wrong.

When he gestured to her left forearm where the ugly slur had been carved into her skin, she shushed him finally with a finger pressed to his lips.

"You couldn't have helped me without getting yourself killed, Draco. You know I'm right."

"I'm still sorry," he muttered when she removed her finger.

His lips were soft, she noted to herself, not sure why it mattered enough to notice.

She helped him check out five books and walked with him back out into the falling snow. She left him outside of the building where he'd selected his small flat. It was nice, she'd noted. Good neighborhood.

He found out she lived not far away with her parents.

Christmas was five days later and he woke alone. His sleep was still restless and nightmares still plagued him but he woke when she appeared, turning a nightmare into a dream.

A tapping at his bedroom window drew him from his grogginess and he stumbled to open it. A small barn owl glided inside and settled on his bed.

Draco didn't recognize the owl and hesitantly took the letter from its beak.

"I don't have any treats to give you," he told the owl as he turned the letter over in his hands. No name, only an address.

The owl merely tilted its head curiously and clipped its beak at him.

He opened the letter gingerly and unfolded the crisp parchment.

Draco,

I've informed my parents of your residence here in town. I've explained a lot of things to them in the last few days, one of which is you and your past. They want you to know that they don't blame you and would like you to know that they'd be happy to answer any questions you might have while you're living here.

On that note, they wanted to invite you to Christmas dinner. Don't feel obligated but you're welcome here if you'd like to spend the holiday with someone besides yourself and a book. I might even be convinced to lend you something from my own shelves, provided you promise not to dog-ear the pages. I hate it when people do that.

Please send your decision with Flynn. Dinner will be at seven. And don't fret if you don't have a treat for him. He's been promised double if he waits patiently.

Best,

Hermione

P.S. If you're concerned about showing up emptyhanded, as I've heard it goes against pureblood custom, you could buy a dessert at the shop across from your flat. They stay open until noon on Christmas Day for last minute emergencies. The proprietor is quite nice like that.

Draco reached quickly for one of the few quills he'd brought with him and scribbled his response on a spare bit of parchment from the desk under the window. He gave it to the owl who took it eagerly and swooped right out the window again.

Draco managed to find the Grangers' home fairly easily. She wasn't joking when she said her parents lived nearby.

He paused as he stood in front of their gate. However, the prospect of spending the holiday alone, wallowing in his self-pity, anger, and remorse just didn't appeal to him. Not if he were going to truly learn anything and change.

He let himself into the yard and walked up the short path to the door. He knocked firmly and waited.

Perhaps he should turn back? They knew about him. She'd have told him the things he'd done and the things he'd said about her.

As his determination was beginning to waver, the door opened, soft Christmas music filling the air. A woman who looked to be in her late forties stood there and studied him for a moment. She had Hermione's curls but somehow less riotous. He didn't like that. He preferred Hermione's ridiculous mane of honeyed curls.

"You must be Draco," Mrs. Granger greeted with a small smile. "Come in, dear."

He swallowed hard but stepped inside.

She took the cake he offered her with a knowing smile and nodded as she directed him where to hang his coat.

He glanced about the Grangers' living room, took in the hardwood floors and modest but tasteful furniture. Non-moving pictures of them covered the walls and shelves, most of them of Hermione. He'd almost forgotten about her larger teeth when his eyes fell on one of her where she couldn't have been more than eight or nine. The bow in her hair was ridiculous but he saw for the first time what he'd always ignored at school.

Yes, her front teeth had been too big. And her hair was abundant. But she was a cute child. She'd been a cute girl and now when he spotted her seated in the chair by the fire, a book in her hands, her curls pinned back from her face elegantly, he felt gobsmacked by another truth. She was a gorgeous woman.

She smiled when she looked up and saw him. He barely registered her father standing from the piano to shake his hand and make introductions. Hardly noticed what food they were eating when they tucked into the dining room table. He bowed his head respectfully when her mother said grace, silently vowing to read about muggle religions when he next visited the library in town.

He met her eyes across the table when her mother tutted about her attempting a relationship with Weasley.

"He's not for you, Hermione. He's a lovely friend but you're not well matched," her mother spoke softly, trying not to embarrass her.

Hermione's cheeks flamed anyway and she diverted conversation to other topics.

Her mother didn't like Weasley then. Interesting.

"What do you want to do when you go back to the magical world," her father asked him as he sliced another bite of ham.

Draco blinked at the man, not missing the way Hermione gave him a perturbed look. Why in the world was she concerned if they made him uncomfortable? It was a drop in the bucket towards his redemption, if redemption was even possible for someone like him.

"I like potion-making," Draco answered after a moment. "The Ministry has agreed to allow me to take my NEWTS if I study while I'm doing my community service here. I think I'd like to start a business in potion-making."

Draco enjoyed the meal with the Grangers immensely, even if he didn't talk much. He preferred observing and listening to them. He wanted to hex himself for next realizing how impressive it actually was to watch a muggle-born seamlessly balance both worlds. How stupid he'd been to not see it before now.

He thought to escort himself out once dinner was over and her mother announced that it was time to open presents. He couldn't stay for that. It would be a horrible intrusion.

However, Mrs. Granger insisted and he seated himself on the sofa next to Hermione as her father began digging through the presents under the tree.

Draco couldn't help it when his eyes strayed to the witch next to him. She'd worn a lovely knee-length red dress for dinner. Her heels were modest and he found himself distracted by the sight of her exposed legs. They appeared quite long for a woman of her height. He was almost a full head taller than her if his measurements were right.

If Hermione noticed his attention, she didn't say.

Draco sat quietly, afraid of offending them if he protested once more against staying.

Her father placed no less than five gifts at his daughter's feet, the same number for his wife and himself.

His last Christmas he'd counted no less than fifteen for himself. It seemed ridiculous now.

Before her father sat next to his wife to begin opening gifts, he held out two small gifts to Draco. Draco eyed the man in confusion, and it only grew when he smiled politely at him.

"Th-thank you," he stuttered.

Hermione smirked at him as she began carefully unwrapping her first gift—a lovely silver locket from her father.

"You didn't think they'd invite you to stay and not have something for you," she asked teasingly. The same way she'd teased him about the muggle library over lunch the first day.

"I suppose not," he answered, though he didn't sound sure at all.

When he glanced up and found her parents also unwrapping gifts gingerly and her mother smiling in his direction he glanced down at the rectangular package in his lap as well as a small, flatter box. He pulled in a deep breath as he unwrapped the larger of the two and found himself holding a boxed set of books. A rather nice one if the packaging was any indication.

"Hermione told us you enjoy reading nearly as much as she does. That's the Lord of the Rings trilogy," her mother offered. "It's one of our family's favorites."

A slight smile tugged at his lips, the first in months. "Thank you," he nodded in return.

He placed the boxed set on the arm of the sofa and turned his attention to the other gift. He unwrapped it slowly, unaware of Hermione biting her lip and pausing her own unwrapping as she watched him.

Inside of the wrapped, flat box, he found a book clearly obtained from Flourish and Blotts. Advanced Potion-Making and Rare Ingredients Explored by Thor Anderson

"It was a hunch," she shrugged.

"Thank you," he told her sincerely. He glanced about the room at her parents. "Thank you all."

Her parents hugged him individually as he left that evening, a knot of bright confusion in his stomach. A knot because he couldn't untangle what he was feeling but bright because he knew it was good.

Hermione walked with him down the front steps, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she'd not taken a coat.

"Thank you," he said again. He was getting used to the taste of the word, nearly as much as the word sorry.

"You're welcome, Draco."

He shuffled the books under his arm and shrugged. "I don't know why you've forgiven me so easily and I don't think I'll ask. Not yet anyway. I'm sorry I don't have a present for you or your parents."

A slow smile curled her mouth. "You already gave it to us, Draco."

When he stared in confusion, she simply shook her head and approached him slowly. She didn't unfold her arms but carefully leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek softly.

"Happy Christmas, Draco Malfoy."

Draco watched in a daze as she lowered to her heels and began to turn to go back inside. His mind fumbled for a response but hadn't a clue what to say.

"Hermione," he called.

She turned at the sound of her given name on his tongue. It was the first time.

Draco approached slowly and set his books on the clean walkway. He slipped his signet ring from his finger and reached for one of her hands. He set the warm ring in her palm and curled her fingers around it.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione Granger."

Five Years Later

Draco Malfoy walked up the familiar walkway to the front door of the muggle home. He knocked three times as usual and waited with his hands in his coat pockets, his breath billowing out in front of him in the cold.

Her father answered the door and smiled widely when he saw him.

"Draco, come in, come in."

He smiled at Mr. Granger and wiped his boots before stepping inside. He hung his coat and followed the older man through the warm home and into the kitchen.

"No, not pink, mum. I hate pink."

"Hermione, what other color could you possibly choose?"

"Grass green," her daughter responded. "It's neutral."

"What in Merlin's saggy arse are you two discussing," Draco asked, both amused and bewildered.

Mr. Granger snickered at his colorful language having grown quite used to it over the years.

Hermione glared at him as she stood from the bar stool and approached. "Must you be so…"

"Loquacious," he offered with a smirk.

She leaned up to kiss him gently but smacked his chest lightly as she fell back to her heels. "Prat."

"Yours," her father reminded her with a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes in annoyance and pulled Draco with her to the island where she and her mother had a pile of magazines and swatches of color spread.

"Isn't it a bit early to be planning all this," he whispered at her ear.

"Not at all," Mrs. Granger piped in. "She's safely past her first trimester and we must get a move on if we'll get the nursery decorated the way she wants it in time."

"Five months clearly isn't enough time," Hermione groaned as she leaned back against Draco's chest.

Draco didn't fight her when she wrapped his arms around her middle and sighed. He brushed his thumb over the rings on her left hand and spied his signet ring on the chain resting in her cleavage. (It was rather easy to see down her shirt with his height. A fact she first smacked him for informing her of years ago.)

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple as he swayed her in his arms gently, all the while her mother and father argued over the various shades of green.

"Harry and Ginny invited us to Christmas dinner at Grimmauld place this year," she informed him quietly as he continued to sway her body in his arms.

"What did you tell them?"

"That Christmas lunch is reserved for your mother and Christmas dinner is reserved for my parents but that we would be happy to join them Christmas Eve tomorrow. Harry said yes, of course. He and Ginny understand better than Ron does you know."

"I do," he nodded and pressed another kiss to her temple.

She sighed against him and he was certain she'd fall asleep standing up in his arms if he held her long enough. She'd been quite busy at work lately as it seemed her department at the Ministry would be lost without her.

"Thank you, Hermione," he whispered by her ear.

Neither noticed the warm looks her parents were giving them as they tried not to openly stare.

"Don't thank me, Draco. I love you."

But he couldn't help it. He was so very thankful.

"I love you, too," he whispered.