A/N: Chapter takes place in mid-December 2008.

A/N: I had this chapter ready yesterday, then right when I was putting in the HTML Google Docs crashed and all my progress was gone. Six hours obliterated. Fortunately I still had the structure of the chapter and hope I've managed to make it better. Please forgive any errors as I've written and edited this thing twice.

TW: Emotional Abuse/Manipulation


"I found him like this."

Draco opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as Narcissa's resigned, exasperated tone echoed throughout the room. He'd been lying on the closet carpet since noon. Theo asked,

"Why are you on the floor?"

"I don't know what to wear," grumbled Draco. "Most important dinner of my life and I don't know what to wear."

"Is this an anorexic thing or are you just being a dramatic git?"

"I am fairly certain it falls into the latter category," answered Narcissa.

"Just as I am fairly certain Theo was speaking to me," Draco quipped. "And no, for once my body is not the problem. I don't know what to wear for a Muggle dinner like this. I've never dined at a Muggle house before. Is it casual? Do we need to bring a gift? What shoes do I wear?"

"I'm not much for fashion," replied Theo, "but I always thought shoes came last and you put the rest of your outfit together first."

"But I don't know what to wear!"

Narcissa walked out and Draco heard the door close.

"You always do this," whined Theo. "Every time something stressful happens, you collapse onto the floor and complain. How about you stop whinging and pick out something decent because there are a million reasons for Hermione's parents to hate you that have nothing to do with what you're wearing."

"Such a comfort."

"Look, I know her parents and they're fairly decent people."

"But I have nothing to wear!"

"Draco, your closet is so big it has a chandelier." Theo nudged Draco's bum with the toe of his shoe. "You're overthinking this."

"It is too soon."

"You've been in love with Hermione for a decade and a half, I think soon passed somewhere about our sixth year at Hogwarts."

"Not like this." Draco sat up and let his head rest between his knees. "Blaise didn't have any parents for me to meet and I've known Astoria's parents since I was a child. This is the first time I've had to meet my lover's parents. I have to convince them I am safe enough for her, you know? I know they won't believe her, they will want to see it for themselves. I have to be ... nonthreatening."

"You only have to show them how much you love Hermione. Do you think they enjoy having her live with them? They hate it. She is not well, and if they can toss that responsibility onto you, what makes you think they won't?"

Draco insisted, "She is not a pet to be tossed around."

"Of course not, but it is not a responsibility they expected to have. A year of their lives was shifted because of what Hermione did to you. And, look, I was the one who suggested the move. I stand by it, that was the proper move at the time, but I never thought she would be there this long. It's no good anymore and all three of them know it. The minute you sit down with them, you'll know it, too." Theo sat on the floor in front of Draco and insisted, "As long as they know how much you love her, they will agree to make this work."

Draco looked up at him and asked, "What if I'm not any better for her?"

Theo whacked him upside the head and said, "Don't say nonsense like that!"

"Ow!"

"Well don't be stupid!" Theo took a deep breath in and leaned against the wall. "Do you remember what I said when we found out Tracey was pregnant?"

"Yes," mumbled Draco, "you said, 'I'm not ready for this.'"

"And when we found out it was twins?"

"You said, 'Fucking hell, now I've got to buy two of everything.'"

"Yes," Theo agreed, "and I was even less ready than I was before. I came to you and said, 'I can't do this without you.' You helped us deal with kids we didn't plan for and a life we no longer got to live. We probably could've gotten through it without you, but it would have taken a lot of work and put a strain on our marriage. You were there so we never had to find out. Hermione is strong enough to get through this without you. She needs you to say she doesn't have to be that strong. It is alright for her to hurt because you're gonna be there for her. The Grangers will see that, they're smart people."

"I never expected Hermione's parents to be idiots."

"Exactly, so wear something nice and snog her when you walk through the door. They'll get the message."

Draco looked Theo in the eyes and insisted, "You could have raised the twins without me."

"Yeah, and I spent the bulk of the past two years worried I was going to find out just how true that is."

That hit Draco like a Bludger to the face. He curled into himself and grumbled,

"I'm sorry for that."

"Don't be sorry, be proud that you made it through."

"Have I?" asked Draco. "Or am I just convincing myself that I'm getting well?"

"Maybe that's part of it. But you eat three meals a day, you run at least forty-five kilometres a week, and you're about to ask the love of your life to move in with you."

"I eat three meals every day because I know if I don't, I will fall right back into that pattern of skipping meals. I have to keep going forward because the only other direction lands me at rock bottom again."

"Who the bloody hell cares why you're doing it?"

Draco frowned and said, "My therapist, for one."

"Right, okay," Theo huffed. He shifted on the floor so he was right in front of Draco and said, "I'm not your therapist, I'm your brother. All I can see is the man in front of me, and you look so much happier than you were this time last year. I don't give much of a fuck why you're getting better."

He didn't get it. Theo had never been this low, so how could he ever understand the temptation? The constant work Draco did to keep Astoria's voice on mute every hour of the day.

"Tonight will be difficult."

"The two of you will get through it together."

Theo always meant well, but there was a distance between what Theo was willing to see and what Draco was afraid could happen. If he expressed fear of a certain outcome, the answer was always simply, "That won't happen." It hadn't yet, but the what if always echoed.

"I suppose you're right."

"That has been known to happen."

"As much fun as this little pep talk has been," Draco said, "you haven't helped me with my problem."

"Which is ... ?"

"What am I going to wear?"

.oOo.

Theo left.

Draco walked around his closet once, twice, and stopped halfway through the third pass. Picking out clothes was like staring into a cupboard to find something to eat: process of elimination.

No jeans.

Black was for funerals, the Ministry, and intimidating tenants who were months late on payment. Black was the colour of Death Eaters. His colour.

No black.

No jumpers, sweaters, or knits.

That was half his closet accounted for. Draco spotted something out of the corner of his eye. There was a rack at the back full of clothes he hadn't worn. Everything the house-elves assumed he wouldn't need for many months because he purchased a bunch of things that fit and then refused to wear them. Right there, in the middle of it all, one forest green sleeve was pushed out the slightest bit more than the others.

Draco walked over and pulled the hanger off the rack. He remembered this suit, purchased on a shopping trip after his night with James Mountcastle. Draco had thought, "If he can touch me like that, maybe my body isn't as awful as I believe it is." The minute he began looking at the sizes on tags, however, that thought was drowned out by a cacophony of less-favourable voices in his head.

This suit was the only thing Draco found that day. He ran the palm of his hand along the seam of one sleeve, fabric so soft to the touch. Astoria said he looked good in green, once. Not everything about their time together was horrible; Draco would hold onto green.

He hung the suit on the back of the door and hunted for an appropriate shirt to go underneath. He had eliminated knits, but a white button-down wasn't as warm as he would prefer. Draco plucked a white turtleneck from one of the drawers and tossed it onto his shoulder.

Socks.

Socks. Socks. Socks.

Maroon. Draco grabbed the first pair of wine-coloured socks he spotted in another drawer, Summoned the suit from the door, and made his way into the bathroom. He hung everything as neatly as he could and sat at the vanity. He rested his elbows on the countertop and placed his head in his hands. Deep breath in, hold, deep breath out.

What would Hermione's parents see when he walked through the door? They would immediately notice the difference between him and Weasley. Best keep his hair as simple as possible; it was never a positive first impression if his hair was the focus. Then there was his father. How long would this dinner last before Lucius decided to make a quip about Muggle cooking? How long before Narcissa passively insulted their house? God, they might not make it through the first course. Did Muggles eat in courses?

Would they have dessert?

Oh, God, dessert.

Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. Draco pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Penelope said these moments required "positive affirmation." What good would come out of this? Any moment with Hermione was time well spent. If her parents could see the depth of his feelings for Hermione, how much he cared for her, perhaps they would accept his feelings as they were. Maybe they saw the same sort of future he wanted for her. There was hope for them to approve of Hermione moving in with him and try to make their families work in tandem.

Then again, Draco's parents hadn't seen him with Hermione. This would be the first time he could show them how much love he had to give. He could prove that they hadn't ruined him. He still had hope for a future and a family to be proud of. He was already so goddamn proud of Hermione.

Draco looked at himself in the mirror and resolved to do right by her. That was all he could control. He combed his hair out slowly, still wary of losing more than was strictly necessary. He gathered his hair into a low ponytail and smoothed out the top. Twisted it all around one finger then pinned the hell out of it. Once secured, he tucked the tail end into the bottom of the twist and pinned it. He patted some Sleekeazy's along the edges to keep back the flyaways.

Simple.

Good enough.

Deep breath in, hold, and a slow breath out.

Draco unbuttoned his sweater and let it fall to the floor. He pushed the joggers down and stepped out of them, kicked them in the general direction of the sweater. Draco's shoulders slumped upon realizing he had to get the turtleneck over his head without ruining his hair. The first of what he presumed would be several idiotic decisions throughout the evening. He was so nervous he could hardly think straight.

He stretched out the neck and managed to get the jumper over his head without squishing the twist beyond repair. He pulled the trousers off the hanger and stepped inside each leg, left first then the right. He pulled them up to his hips, pushed the turtleneck below the waistband, and fastened the trousers. Socks followed, left first and then the right.

Draco grabbed the suit hanger, jacket still buttoned, and walked back into the closet.

Shoes.

Brushed grey derby shoes. He sat on the nearest chair and laced them up, left first and then the right. He stood up and pulled the jacket off the hanger. He put his arms through the sleeves and shrugged it on. He felt different as he buttoned the jacket. Not because of his increasingly protruding stomach, but because of how everything sat on his body in a way that felt right. Draco walked to the centre of the closet and surveyed himself in one of the full-length mirrors.

Oh.

So that was what everyone else saw when they looked at him? It certainly wasn't the same, but he held himself differently. Putting on something that felt good, that felt right? Draco hadn't felt like this in longer than he cared to remember. It was meant to be like this, putting on clothes and feeling at home in them. The past two years of recovery had been a cycle of burying himself in jumpers or t-shirts, or jumpers and t-shirts depending on the season. This was what he was meant to look like ... more or less.

For the first time since he walked into Penelope's office nearly two years earlier, Draco saw a version of himself in the mirror that he could accept.

.oOo.

Draco stood out front of the Granger house, staring at the door.

"Son," Lucius said, "you do realize you have to knock on the door?"

Draco nodded.

"He is nervous, darling, give him a moment."

"What is there to be nervous about?"

"I want them to like me." Draco, eyes still on the door, said, "I want so desperately for them to like me."

"They cannot enjoy our company if they are greeted at the door by three blocks of ice."

"I know! I just need a moment." Draco admitted, "I feel like I may vomit."

"For Merlin's sake, Draco, pull yourself together!"

"Lucius, be gentle."

"If what he says is true, the Granger girl already loves him. That is the difficult part and the rest is logistics."

"Logistics? Is that why I married you?" Narcissa teased. "I suppose all the gifts you sent and begging my parents for permission to marry me were just logistics, then?"

"You know what I mean."

"Our son is nervous about us, darling, so we will stand here until he is ready."

Fuckfuckfuck.

"Okay," said, Draco, "I can do this. We can do this."

"Yes," Lucius agreed, "as soon as you knock on the door."

Draco turned to say, "Promise you will try your best?"

"I promise."

"Then I am ready."

Draco walked up the steps, knocked on the door, and Hermione opened it before he could lower his fist. She jumped into Draco's arms and he held her against his chest so her toes dangled above the floor. She hugged Draco around his shoulders and said,

"This was a stupid idea."

"Yes," Draco put Hermione back on the ground."

"But you're here now. With your parents." Hermione's smile did not reach her eyes. She nodded to them and said, "Hello."

Lucius asked, "May we come in?"

"Oh!" Hermione beckoned them through the door. "Sorry, of course. I'll take your coats."

Draco's parents followed him into the entryway and the front door closed behind them of its own accord. There was a sort of finality when the lock clicked into place. No backing out. Hermione rached for their coats and said,

"The two of you look exactly as I remember."

Lucius said, "You look smaller."

"Lovely," Narcissa interjected, "he meant to say you look lovely."

"No, it's fine." Hermione opened the closet door and tossed the coats inside where they hung themselves on hangers. "I am not the same."

Draco groaned, "We are off to a fantastic start."

Narcissa insisted, "You do look lovely, Miss Granger. That dress is nice, burgundy suits you, and you pulled your hair back."

Draco shrugged off his coat and handed it to Hermione.

"I like your hair down, for the record."

Hermione took Draco's coat and laughed.

"Look at us, we look like Christmas!" She stepped back to give Draco a once-over. "Wow, you look amazing. You look ..." Hermione shook her head. "Wow. This is how I see you every day, and I am so happy my parents will get to see it, too." She watched as his coat hung itself in the closet, then she closed the door. "Are we ready for this?"

"Honestly? I am still a bit nauseous, but the sooner this starts the sooner it's over."

"Yes, my beautiful, pragmatic boyfriend." She offered her hand and said, "Let's go."

"Pragmatic?" his father whispered. "Has she met him?"

Draco held Hermione's hand as she led him into the dining room, his parents close behind. It looked the same as it did the first time Draco saw it on the night he forgave Hermione. The night they agreed to move forward together. Her parents stood against the far wall.

Draco had never pictured Hermione's mother. The woman in front of him looked at Draco like she had pictured him and found something unexpected. He couldn't tell whether he was a pleasant surprise or, as he presumed, a disappointment. Mrs. Granger had Hermine's curls and a quiet ferocity in her demeanour that had once been so loud in Hermione. Mrs. Granger was nearly as tall as her husband, who seemed upon first glance to be her opposite. He had a friendly face, short grey hair, and a full beard. Hermione clearly took after her mother, but she had her father's wide, curious eyes.

There was a long pause as the parents sized each other up like a standoff before a duel. Narcissa eyed Mr. Granger slowly, taking him in. He did not shrink under her scrutiny, it somehow seemed to make him glow even more. His smile never wavered. Narcissa tilted her head to one side and looked down toward Mr. Granger's feet.

"You have interesting shoes."

"You think?" Mr. Granger replied, excited. "I'm not much for fashion, I leave that to Abby. I like to wear slip-on shoes but for more formal things like this, she says they're not proper enough. With that in mind ..." Mr. Granger pulled his foot out of his shoe and pushed in the back quarter of his shoe so it was lying flat. "It turns into a slip-on!"

Narcissa's eyes widened as she said, "Ingenious."

"Isn't it?"

Mrs. Granger glanced upward, as if begging the heavens to take her away from this conversation. Draco empathized. An awkward silence settled over the room, so Draco nudged Hermione's shoulder and asked,

"If these are your parents, why the hell are you so short?"

Mr. Granger laughed and a smile ghosted across Mrs. Granger's face. Hermione rolled her eyes in playful exasperation. Draco stepped away and offered his hand to each of her parents in turn.

"My name is Draco and it is nice to finally meet you both." He nodded behind him and said, "These are my parents, Lucius and Narcissa."

Mrs. Granger accepted the handshake and said, "You're more handsome than I expected."

Draco frowned.

"Thank you?"

"In fact, you're all very ... blond."

Blond. Blond? Draco dropped his hold on her hand and stepped away. He couldn't help but feel "blond" meant something else; certainly not anything flattering.

Dinner was lemon roasted chicken, green beans, and potatoes. Simple was better, and the house-elves had a secondary dinner ready back at the manor. Draco had laughed at the request, but quickly realized this meal was a bit too homely for his parents. Thankfully, Lucius and Narcissa kept their disdain for the meal to a minimum. Hermione kept tapping the toe of her shoe beneath the table, anxiety building; it had been too amicable a dinner, eventually something would give.

"So, Draco," Mr. Granger said, "tell us about yourself. Hermione has not been particularly forthcoming."

"I, um ..." Draco shrugged. "There is not much to say. Not much positive, anyhow."

Mrs. Granger asked, "What do you do for work? Or are you so obscenely wealthy you have no need to work?"

Lucius answered, "Both."

"Right." Draco shot a quick glare at his father. "Our family owns many commercial properties throughout Wizarding England. I run the business."

"How much commercial property do you own?"

Draco nodded to his father, since that was a question best put to him. Draco hadn't touched any appraisals in well over a year.

"All of Knockturn Alley except that decrepit slug repellent shop. Several properties in Ravenswood, a few in Horizont Alley, and many more elsewhere. All in total, the commercial properties were most recently valued at £450 million. We own another hundred million in residential properties here and in France. Plus the manor and our other assets, the estate is valued at well over £800 million. Lucius sipped some water and added, "It used to be valued over a billion."

"Father," Draco warned, "don't."

"Fine."

The table descended into awkward silence. Hermione thought to mention,

"Draco was the best man, of sorts, at Dean's wedding."

"Oh!" Mr. Granger lit up. "We love Dean. Such a great young man. He found a special love with Blaise Zabini. Abby loves Blaise because he cooks every time he comes over."

"I do miss having him at the manor," said Narcissa. "He was always so earnest, searching for someone to call family."

"You were close to Blaise?"

"Yes," said Lucius, "then he began dating our son and it nearly destroyed everything."

"No," spat Draco, "the two of you nearly destroyed everything."

"Apologies," Mrs. Granger cut in, "but I thought your son was an only child."

Narcissa confirmed, "He is our only child."

"Then ..." Mr. Granger slowly put the pieces together. "Draco, here, dated Blaise Zabini?"

Recognition dawned on their faces and Draco's heart fell out of his bum to land somewhere on the floor. Hermione hadn't told them. He had taken it for granted, gotten used to his family's acceptance. It never occurred to him that the Grangers would look down on him for his sexuality, not when they had so many other reasons to judge him. His life always seemed to circle back around to this. Mr. Granger realized,

"You must be the ex-boyfriend! Good God, he's told us all about you! He never mentioned your name, but it does make sense. Wow," Mr. Granger sighed, "everything you two went through. He was devastated when you broke up. That boy speaks so highly of you."

"Oh, thank Merlin." Draco used his trousers to wipe the sweat off his hands. "I thought you were upset that I was with him."

"No, that's not surprising," said Mrs. Granger. "We knew you were a bit bent, your hair is too nice."

"Oh my God, mum!" Hermione looked mortified. "You can't just say that about my boyfriend!"

Lucius mumbled, "I told you, it is always the hair."

"I will not apologize for taking care of my hair!"

Mr. Granger said, "I think we have strayed from the course a bit."

Mrs. Granger looked at Draco and asked, "How the hell did you let that man get away?"

"Blaise?"

"Yes."

Draco shrugged.

"The truth is that I couldn't love him the way he deserved. I think everyone can see Dean is better for him, anyway."

"That does not seem like the complete answer. I think you are holding something back."

"With respect, Mrs. Granger, I do not owe you an explanation for anything that happened with Blaise. He is my best friend but I wasn't honest with him because he did not make me feel safe in the way Hermione has. I have never loved anyone the way I love your daughter."

Hermione placed her hand on his knee and smiled up at him. Draco blushed.

"I probably didn't need to say that."

"Hermione, honey?" said Mr. Granger. "I like him."

Mrs. Granger added, "He is different from Ron."

"I should hope so!"

Narcissa looked affronted that anyone could ever think to compare her son to a Weasley. Draco swallowed a laugh.

"We quite liked the Weasley boy," said Mr. Granger. "We particularly liked Molly and Arthur. We were terrified when we got Hermione's Hogwarts letter. How can you prepare your child for a world you know nothing about? Molly and Arthur helped us so much during those years. They taught us about the post, subscribed us to the Daily Prophet, even put us in touch with other non-magical parents."

"And they were still here when we came back from Australia. Unlike most of our friends, our practice, and our house."

There it was, the root of this hostility. It had nothing to do with Draco, his sexuality, or their relationship. Everything could be traced back to one decision Hermione made at seventeen. Draco was the latest in a string of seemingly foolish choices her parents had no hope to understand. Sending them to Australia, marrying Ron Weasley, divorcing Ron Weasley, dating Draco Malfoy ... It all must have seemed so irresponsible to them. He said,

"I am grateful you were here for Hermione when I couldn't be. I know it could not have been easy for you."

"It is not the first time Hermione has cost us a year of our lives."

"Abby!" Mr. Granger hissed.

"No, Jack, if these people intend to welcome Hermione into their family, they deserve to know how our daughter treats the people she calls family. She will do whatever she believes is right, regardless of the opinions of the people impacted by that decision."

"Speaking for myself," said Draco, "I believe Hermione has the strength of her conviction and given the circumstances she did the only thing she could do."

"No, Mr. Malfoy, Hermione did the only thing she could do to win. There is a difference."

"If I may." Lucius placed his glass on the table and said, "Your daughter was one of the most valuable targets in the world. When we failed to find her, we looked for you as a way to draw them out. The final year of the war was not about prejudice, it was about survival. Narcissa and I would have done anything as long as He promised to spare Draco's life. If we found you, perhaps you would have ended up in the cellar, but I fear the He may have had a more creative use for you."

"And you would know," said Mr. Granger. "Because you hunted our daughter, and now you sit across from her as if everything is fine."

"My husband and I made mistakes. We will be the first to admit that prejudice does not die, it lingers below the surface. Our son has managed to overcome that, and we are here because he loves your daughter. He went through hell and no one cared because he was on the losing side of the war. My son had not known peace until he found it with Hermione, and I will not take that for him. I have no care for blood status as long as my son is happy." Narcissa was resolute when she said, "If Hermione wishes to move into the manor, we will do everything possible to make it feel like home. We owe that to our son."

Draco hated that his mother spoke about him like he was absent. Mr. Granger replied,

"I appreciate your reasoning. I also believe Hermione when she says this is what she wants."

Narcissa added, "I see strength in both of them."

"I am not sure I see strength in a young man rekindling a relationship with a woman who has been repeatedly violent toward her partners."

There was a look of resignation on Hermione's face, almost as if she believed her mother was right. Lucius hummed his agreement while Hermione's father and Narcissa made no move to disagree. Draco gently placed his fork on the table and took a deep, slow breath. Anger was no way to make his point; Merlin knew the Grangers had enough reasons to be angry at him. How could they doubt Hermione like this? They made her feel as if she had failed him.

"I believe," Draco said, "you are under the impression I am a weak-willed man, desperate for someone to love me."

Mrs. Granger replied, "Something of that sort."

"When I ran into Hermione two years ago, we didn't meet and think, 'We should fall in love.' I looked at Hermione and saw someone just as troubled as I was. Haunted, really, by two different sides of the same war. We became friends because it is easier to open yourself up to someone as broken as you are." Draco tugged on the cuff of one shirtsleeve then looked at Mrs. Granger to say, "I am a bisexual man recovering from anorexia, and Hermione never judged me for either of those things when everyone else in my life did."

Hermione leaned over and whispered, "You don't need to defend me, I'm fine."

"No," replied Draco, "because it is not you I'm defending." He turned to face Mrs. Granger full-on and insisted, "I used to believe I was weak. I thought I was worthless, hated myself to the point I wanted to die. Hermione was the person who showed me that I have value. She was the only one who managed to shine through all that darkness, so when she hit me my entire world came crashing down."

"Yet, you are here," said Mrs. Granger. "I know my daughter is capable of great things, but Hermione also tends to overlook the wishes of the people she loves if she believes she knows what is best."

"Are we all finished with plates?" asked Hermione. She grabbed for everyone's plates and stacked them. "I'm taking these to the kitchen."

They all watched her go. Moments later the sound of running water could be heard from the kitchen. What could Draco do? Should he go after her, or did she need to be alone? Either way, he supposed this conversation could not be left unfinished.

"With respect, Mrs. Granger, you aren't looking at your daughter with any true sense of the situation. I left Hermione and she respected my decision by keeping her distance. When I came back, it was because I wanted to see my friend. The reason I gave Hermione a second chance was because she asked for my forgiveness in a way that mattered."

"I do not understand why you would do that."

"Hermione did not hit me to punish me. She didn't hit me out of malice or a need for power, she hit me because she lost control. Hermione was angry that I lied to her, she lost control of her magic, and I paid the price for it."

Mr. Granger shifted anxiously in his seat and admitted, "I am not sure that, in this case, intent matters much."

"Perhaps not," Draco agreed, "but Hermione earned my forgiveness because instead of feeling like rubbish and wallowing in it, she went back to therapy and made herself better. Hermione made herself safer. My worth as a person was not contingent upon Hermione, but I wanted her in my life and she made it so we could be together. We have worked for this relationship because we want it. Hermione saw me through those moments when I thought I couldn't move forward, and I am happy to do the same for her."

"I like that answer."

"I do like you," said Mrs. Granger. "The Weasley boy, he never understood that being married to Hermione is a different battle than it is to be her friend. My daughter is strong and powerful and the same qualities that have distanced her from us will serve her well in what she chooses to do. Jack and I know that. She needs someone who is willing to be a foundation for her to stand on. Someone who can help her achieve everything she is meant to."

Draco insisted, "I want nothing more than to be that for her."

"That is what worries me, because we know what she did to Ron Weasley. We know what she did to you, so when you say you trust her not to do it again, I am not sure I can take your word for it. My daughter is one bad day away from breaking apart in a way I am not sure we could ever fix. Living here is no good for her, and I can tell every time she has been around you because she comes home and it is as though the world has, for a moment, been lifted off her shoulders. I want her to be happy, I want to see her smile, I want her to get what she wants. It's all any decent parent wants for their child."

Draco frowned.

"I was incredibly anxious about this dinner because I wanted you to like me. However, I can see that is not the obstacle I needed to overcome. The reason you invited me over is not so you could see me with your daughter, but the opposite. You wanted to see how Hermione acts around me."

The Grangers nodded in confirmation. Draco was furious. How could Hermione possibly move forward when her parents were there every day reminding her of her most difficult choices and her most damning mistakes? God, she had to be suffocating.

"Hermione cares about people. She saw value in me because she cares for people and creatures whom no one else would spare a single thought. It is why she took on one of the most difficult jobs in the Ministry. She is holding the world together and clinging to sanity with her goddamn fingernails!"

"We see that," replied Mr. Granger.

"But you cannot fix it. I want to be there for her every day, helping her through whatever this is. I am damaged goods, but Hermione loves me anyway and I love her with everything I have. When I look at her I see a woman who has dedicated her life to what she knows is right. I am proud of her for that, and I think you should be, too." He stood up and said, "Thank you for having me this evening."

Draco turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen where he found Hermione staring into the sink, water still running. The dishes were still on the countertop, she was just standing there listening to the water run. Draco stood behind Hermione and bent forward to kiss her cheek. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. He asked,

"Are you suffocating here?"

She nodded.

"Would you like to move in with me?"

Another nod. Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close.

"My home is yours."


A/N: Monday marked two years that I've been in recovery, so happy ano-versary to me! I hope y'all are well.