AN: Last chapter! Again thanks for all of your time on this story. I have decided I will work on an epilogue as requested, but it might not be done for a few weeks!

Also, to clarify: I really do appreciate any and all reviews! I had posted a response last chapter saying thank you to a really dedicated reviewer who typically leaves a short review that was construed as being rude; I sincerely meant it that I appreciated their dedication. Seeing that someone read the chapter and took the time to say thank you really meant a lot to me every chapter, and I had only wanted to express that. I realize written words leave out a lot in term of tone but that was not meant to be sarcastic. Only story-Draco is that sarcastic! So, my apologies to anyone who felt that my response to your review was in jest or mocking; that was not my intention. I wish you could see what a smile your feedback-short, long, positive, or negative-gives me!

Tara: Thanks! I hope you like this chapter. I'll be curious if you felt it nudges them in the direction you hoped for.

1fan: Wish granted, although I can't guarantee it will be quick!

Draco became a bit of a recluse. The day after the party he'd gone to Diagon Alley and thought he saw her from a distance; the panic he'd felt - had she seen the memories he'd given? How much did she hate him? - the shame that had engulfed him had meant he'd turned on his heel and Flooed back to the Manor immediately.

And it wasn't as if he was lacking activities. He had an Aunt and cousin he'd never met to become acquainted with, not to mention the cousin's small son he was rapidly becoming very fond of holding (especially when he made his hair match Draco's!). He had background donations to make towards Hermione's charity in Stan Shunspike's memory and to the War Orphans Foundation. He nominated Hermione for a seat on Hogwarts Board through layers of wizards so it couldn't be traced back to him, suggesting they incorporate new curricula to prevent another war and to promote respect and understanding of Muggle culture. He met with Longbottom and discussed how Draco could found a new research wing of St. Mungos for victims of this and the previous war who suffered from rare curses. He brewed Potions with his godfather to donate to Hogwarts, to St. Mungos… in short, penance. He had a lot of penance to do.

Even from his self-imposed seclusion, he could follow her though. The Prophet followed her with a tenacity that exceeded even Skeeter's obsession with her during their fourth year. She testified at Death Eater and Snatcher trials, advocating for imprisonment instead of the Dementor's Kiss and for re-education and re-habilitation rather than incarceration where it wouldn't harm the public safety. She championed House-Elf rights in Dobby's memory, a teary-eyed Harry Potter's support buoying popular support for her campaign. She went to lunch with classmates; she spent lots of time going to museums and shows and meals with her parents. In short, she was flying to the heights Draco had known she was capable of when he has gambled on her potential to save her life while he drowned in the aftermath of his own sins.

He wondered, every once in a while, if it felt like penance to her too.

*** TR ** TR ** TR ***

On August 15th, she wrote him a letter. He had stared at it for an hour before opening it, imagining all of the things she might say. She hated him; he'd betrayed her; he'd said they'd been enemies but seeing the memories, she'd truly understood how awful he was… he deserved to be in Azkaban. She wouldn't even be wrong was the worst part. There was nothing Draco could say to defend himself from these imagined words.

But Draco Malfoy had no right, he decided, to protect himself at her expense. And so he'd finally opened the letter.

Draco,

I have some ideas for a new campaign to decrease prejudice in Wizarding Society and need your insight. Meet me at Florean's Friday at 6pm?

Hermione

He stared for another hour as he tried to prevent his now manic mind from reading too far into this; he felt like his thoughts were trying to break out of his head! Had she forgiven him? Or had she just not gotten around to looking at the memories he'd given? Or was this just about getting him to finance the project-Merlin knows the Ministry had a bootlace budget these days as they rebuilt society. But he could live with that. He'd given her the entire Malfoy fortune if it meant she looked at him with anything less than derision and hate. Or even if it meant there was a sliver of hope she might one day smile at him with half the warmth she once had.

He tried hard to ignore both the parts of his brain that sneered that he really had completed his transformation into a Hufflepuff and the part that insisting on thinking about Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.

*** TR ** TR ** TR ***

Friday arrived and Draco found himself at Florean Fortescue's (renamed in the man's honor and now run by a distant relative of the deceased) half an hour early. He was dressed impeccably-as assured by Blaise, Theo Nott, and Pansy when he'd called them over earlier to help. He hadn't even really minded their ribbing and mocking him as long as he looked his best; not like he was trying to impress her, or flaunt his wealth, but good. He wanted to look good for her. He liked to think he'd matured enough in these past months to be able to admit that.

He brought a Muggle notebook and biro so he could take notes. Hermione appreciated diligent notes, and he hoped she might notice he'd adopted the Muggle tools. He was quite good at using them now-really, they were far superior to parchment and quills even with the Ever-Flowing Ink spells and Anti-Splotching Charms.

Fifteen minutes after he'd arrived and arranged and re-arranged his notebook, his robes, mulled pre-ordering her a hot chocolate before deciding it would be too presumptuous, then un-deciding about the pre-order-she loved hot chocolate-she arrived. She was different. The way she held herself, the way she had done her hair; it was half-way between the old Hermione and his Hermione. His stomach did a weird flip to see some of his Hermione in her posture and smile. His stomach did something closer to leaping off a cliff when he realized she was smiling!

"Hermione," he practically gasped. Dammit! He'd practiced his smooth, cordial greeting in the mirror for nearly an hour that morning.

"Draco!" She bustled to the table and set down her beaded bag on the table before stepping towards him. Was she aiming for hug? She seemed to hesitate at the same moment and thrust out her hand to shake it. Draco practically lunged to take it.

"It's so good to see you," he said, his suavity returning as he gestured at the monstrous hot chocolate that Fortescue's second-cousin was bringing out.

"Likewise," she smiled again, but it was a little tighter than it had been when she'd arrived. What had he done wrong?

She sipped at her drink and an uncomfortable silence settled over them. The thoughts he'd had-of confessing the words he'd wished he'd said before they had charged into battle, of apologizing for everything, of offering everything he had to help-evaporated. This was his one shot at redemption in her eyes, and in this moment it seemed so impossible. There were so many ways to say the wrong thing, and potentially none were the right thing. Somehow, in the time between that moment he'd chosen to save her from his Aunt and this moment now, she had become the standard by which he judged himself. And he found himself lacking, desperately so.

"I watched your memories," she interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh," was all he managed. That stifling silence reigned again. "I can't imagine why you're here with me then and no hexes are involved."

His voice sounded dry and hollow even to his own ears. She looked at him with that same piercing, inquisitive look he'd labelled as her "trying-to-ready-people-like-books" stare.

"Why did you pick those memories?" she finally asked.

"I don't know if I somehow sugar-coated this in the Manor, but I was awful to you at Hogwarts," he drawled. "There aren't other memories where I secretly thought you were beautiful and wonderful and questioned my prejudice. Those memories are the truth of how I treated you. And, well, I thought you deserved to know that."

Unsaid was his conviction that Potty and Weasel would have supplied damning memories of him if he hadn't. He would never forget the venom in Potter's eyes any time he'd hugged Hermione, despite their somewhat cordial interactions since that final battle.

"I don't think that's right," she argued. "We were in, what, tens of classes together, not to mention meal-times throughout our years at Hogwarts. And you don't have a single memory of just being in class and listening to the professor where I was in the background, not being mocked or teased by you?"

He blinked at her. Some Slytherin he was. He had picked only the worst of his memories like some self-sacrificing Gryffindor!

"Don't get me wrong," she continued. "I really appreciate that you included those memories. I can imagine how awful it must be to hand memories like that to the victim of your childhood bullying."

She stared into the distance for a moment, and Draco wanted desperately to grab her hand. He settled for clutching his own cocoa instead.

She cleared her throat. "Your memories were awful to watch. I know you told me we weren't close, but to see you as my enemy, as my torturer was so jarring. But, at the same time, it showed me how strong I was-I am-and how I got to be that way. You told me I didn't belong, believed it with every fibre of your being, tried to get me to believe it too, and I didn't bow, didn't break. Anything other than your nose," she grinned.

"So thank you, for dredging up those awful memories to help show me who I was."

"Any time," he murmured.

"I should hope not!" she shot back. "I really intend to retire memory charms for good."

"Your parents are doing well?" he asked. He knew they were, unless the Prophet had started doctoring photos. But he wasn't ready to continue this conversation, which had pulled so many conflicting emotions-frustration at picking those memories when there had been an easier choice, guilt that she assigned noble intention to that choice, hope that she might still forgive him.

"Yes," she gushed. "Somehow, somehow they have forgiven me for what I did to them and have really thrown themselves into helping me learn about who I was before- all this." Her hand was flapping wildly to illustrate "all this", and Draco ruefully remembered how he'd thought she was so graceless and uncoordinated. She was vibrant and alive and unrepentantly herself.

"I never really thanked you for coming down to Australia to help with my parents," she offered.

"I'll say 'never again' this time to ensure you know I don't intend on supporting another Dark Lord intent on killing your folks," he joked.

It fell flat even on his own ears, but Hermione laughed heartily.

"That's good to hear! I am also mostly sincerely hoping never to get embroiled in another conflict like this. I'd really like to work to fix the issues that led to it in the first place," she explained earnestly.

Draco deflated a little, remembering why she'd asked him here. The last few minutes of sharing had felt like friends connecting. Without anything behind it.

"Great," he forced out. He hoped his smile didn't look as hollow as it felt.

Her eyes narrowed a little, and he nearly panicked as he realized she saw through him. Part of him rejoiced that she knew him so well, she could read him as few could and part of him wanted to self-Transfigure into a teapot to avoid the rest of the interaction.

She took a fortifying sip of hot chocolate. "Or it's a bit of atonement too, I suppose." She stared straight into his eyes, her own wide with nervousness. "Looking back at what I did during the war-Obliviating my parents? Imperiusing crowds of people and making them fight and kill each other? Not just your father-in the final battle too. I Confunded people to find where my parents went… I didn't manage to save Charlie Weasley, and I didn't cry when he died, because I had cast dark magic on myself so that I didn't remember him. The list goes on."

"Your Obliviating your parents unconditionally saved them!" Draco argued automatically. "I know we looked for them, and we didn't find them. And your actions in the war saved so many lives! You picked the right side from the start and fought for it, and you fought hard. Plus, you didn't even know some of those spells were dark after your memory was gone."

She shrugged. "Did I really have a choice? The side that was going to kill me and my family or the other side. Of course I picked the one that was against my own enslavement or death or torture or whatever else he had planned. And I Obliviated my parents with my memory intact. And every person knows killing is wrong, Dark or Light spells aside. And I'm good at the Imperius Curse. The Ministry has pardoned me-times of war and all-but I feel like there are these stains on my soul that won't come out."

Her nail chipped a flake of dried chocolate on her mug.

"Anyways, I suppose I'm trying to fix it, to improve. I'm a mess half the time; I feel so guilty and sometimes for things I don't even remember. And worse for the things I do. I have nightmares and day-mares, if that's a thing. Ron and Harry and Ginny don't think anything is wrong. Ron insists my facility with the Imperius is somehow your fault," she gave him a sad, crooked grin. "Everyone seems to insist on making me a hero when I know I'm not and wants to gloss over all the ugly bits that got us here."

"I doubt it," Draco countered after thinking for a moment. It was rare he realized, that he really gave his opinion, rather than spouting the words that would get him what he wanted. "Your friends are really good, but it's not like they haven't seen darkness and made mistakes. Potter nearly killed me in our sixth year, for example, with a dark curse he read in a book and knew nothing about. I'm sure he blames himself for dragging all of you into danger your fifth year at the Ministry and for his godfather's death in that battle."

Draco paused thoughtfully, "And they forgive, really forgive. Longbottom, for example. I've been talking with him and, dare I say, even become friends. He's working with me to bleed my Aunt's account dry to build new facilities at St. Mungos for war victims. Including his parents who were tortured into insanity by said Aunt. He knows what I did at Hogwarts, he experienced life there under the Carrows and me.

"My guess would be that your friends love you and care about you and don't want to see you hurting. They know you and at the core believe you're good, so that's what they're sticking to; nuance and subtlety isn't their thing-I'll never know how you got tossed in with that lot! But Gryffs love a good heart to heart, so if you pin them down, you should be able to talk about all of this to your own heart's content."

She still looked miserable and fragile.

"Or you could talk to me," he offered. He tried to make it sounds flippant and not a desperate plea to keep him in her life.

The corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "What am I doing now?" she joked.

She nodded to herself, and her face hardened into the determination she was known for.

"Ugh, okay. Let's get down to business," she muttered, Accioing his notebook and pen from him. He pretended not to notice when she subtly wiped her eyes.

*** TR ** TR ** TR ***

They talked for the next two hours about some of the ideas she had for integrating Muggle and Wizarding Society. Some were easy-providing books on wizarding culture to Muggleborn students and their families to ease their passage into the world of magic or hosting a movie night for wizards to see Muggle films. Some were harder-creating a buddy-system where wizarding families and Muggle families hosted children over the course of their childhoods to foster better understanding and new friendships or creating a research institute that combined Muggle technology and magic to speed things like Muggle drug creation or create useful fusions, like a magical version of a cell phone. The notebook was full of text and drawings and diagrams in both their handwriting. For that brief time, Draco was just happy, spending time with her, working with her. She was brilliant, a shining star in the darkness of the world.

Finally, the shopowner informed them he was closing up, and Hermione babbled apologies to him for holding him up.

"So when should we meet next?" she asked. She was smiling again and holding his notebook out to him expectantly.

"It's yours," he insisted. Next time! He felt he could hardly breath.

"Tomorrow?"

"I brew with Severus in the morning…" the words were out before he could stop himself. He could cancel that! Why would he scuttle his own chances to spend time with her?

"Oh! Really? That sounds wonderful. It's still so remarkable he was able to save me for the cursed ring and then distill the curse to hobble the Dark Lord. It must be so incredible to learn from him! I mean, I know I had him in class, but… one-on-one. Anyways, the afternoon then?"

He nodded mutely. He still couldn't believe this was happening. They'd met up, and she'd thanked him for his memories of his mistreatment of her. Then they'd brainstormed and planned. Just like old times, you know, back in the war when he'd basically kidnapped her and tried to brainwash her. Salazar this was bizarre. Maybe it was all some twisted dream.

She was twisting something on her finger. He saw the red flower flash between her fingers. How had he not noticed it before?

"Is that the engagement ring?" he spluttered.

"It's mine now," she defended. "It cursed me, so I think that makes it mine. Plus your mother gave it to me."

He nodded again. When had she seen his mother? This was getting stranger by the minute.

"Okay," she looked nervous. "Well, tomorrow then?"

He nodded for a third time. Gods, what was wrong with him? He couldn't even speak in her presence anymore. He was as tongue-tied as an awkward Hufflepuff!

She turned to go and offerred a tiny wave at him when that blasted, infernal, evil, stupid, supposed-to-be-caged, dratted, senseless, impulsive, Gryffindor, crazy, and did he mention soon-to-be-squashed part of his brain that had originally gotten him into this mess blurted out, "Do you want to go to dinner?"

"Now?" she asked.

"As a date," he amended, as if that answered her question. Seriously he needed to figure out how to excise that part of his brain. Maybe Hermione could briefly pause her moratorium on mind magic to help him. He'd just gotten more from her than he had any right to hope for-her smile, her thanks, her time tomorrow, and he had to be greedy and ask for more. Had to watch as she delicately turned him down, and slowly spent less time with him from the awkwardness it caused to spring up between them. Then he'd watch her romance in the papers with Weasel or maybe even Potter, her real engagement ring, her wedding, her kids… His own mother would set him up with that Pureblooded Quidditch player he'd been so set on, and it would be nothing like what he'd could have had with Hermione even with her just a friend. If only he could have just been satisfied with what he had and not gone and ruined it.

"So where are we going?"

"What?" he spluttered. His mother was going to have to re-enroll him in etiquette classes. What a mess he was!

"I said 'yes' to your dinner date, which, I might add, really spoiled my plan for asking you out in a grand gesture but I'll forgive you this once. Then I asked where we are going," she stated slowly. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards again.

"Paris. Let's go to Paris for dinner," he responded.

"Okay," she laughed, and grabbed his hand looking expectant.

Nevermind, he mentally amended. That blasted, infernal, evil, stupid, supposed-to-be-caged, dratted, senseless, impulsive, Gryffindor, crazy, and did he mention soon-to-be-squashed part of his brain was getting a raise, a promotion, and perhaps being put in charge for good. He was going on a date with Hermione Granger!

Sure, they had the scars of war to heal, old rivalries to smooth over, society to rebuild, but suddenly all of that seemed so trivial, so easy in comparison to what he'd just accomplished. He'd fight harder every day for that brighter future with Hermione by his side…

"Paris?" she reminded him.

"Of course, my lady," he bowed dramatically, enjoying her snort of laughter, and they disappeared with a pop.

FIN