Disclaimer - The world and characters belong to JK Rowling, not me.

Hello friends!

I just wanted to thank everyone who had favourited and is following this story! I appreciate it so much!

I also wanted to apologise to all those who were in the middle of reading my story and then had it disappear all of a sudden. This story is fully posted on Ao3 but I will be posting this story on FFN once or twice a week for those who don't have time to read a full story and prefer reading them in smaller doses! Thank you again to my lovely beta TakingFlight48 for working meticulously on this story, I love you 3

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Enjoy :D

Insomnia was a friend to Hermione in the days following the war. A companion she embraced for a long time. It was her safety net, her safe harbour against the wakeful hours of the night. However, it was also her enemy; it haunted her in the hours of darkness. When she needed to be lucid, her mind would beg for unconsciousness. When the time came to give in and fall into darkness, her mind would keep her awake all night, overrun with ideas or new sources of danger and disaster.

She tried to count sheep—it used to help her when she found herself in this position—but these sheep would talk back. They ended up discussing everything wrong in her life or what could go wrong tomorrow because of her past mistakes and the consequences of her actions. It was useless. The guilt of being alive consumed her.

But she persisted. After a fitful sleep, she would wake up, hopeful that she had slept through the night, but in reality, only a couple of hours had passed. She envied those who fell straight to sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. In the beginning, Hermione would lay on her side for hours until the ache became unbearable and she would need to switch positions. She had hoped staying as still as possible would encourage sleep to embrace her once again. Instead, in her stillness she would hold court with the judgement of the ticking wall clock until she finally took it down.

When her days were living off excessive cups of the strongest tea she could buy and her nights were spent watching her walls shift colours with the setting and rising sun, she knew she needed to seek professional help. She was a work in progress, but that progress meant that her nights had gotten easier, if only just, and her days less exhausting.

She would still be plagued with thoughts, dangers, what-ifs, and past misdeeds when she would set her head on the pillow, but the demons weren't quite so boisterous; their volume reduced a few decibels.

So, when insomnia revisited her that night, it wasn't because she was worried about the dangers of tomorrow or the sterile relationship with her parents after she had returned their memories to them. No, it was solely because of that white envelope sitting on her desk weighing on her mind like a bag full of bricks.

It was as though the unexpected envelope was watching her, whispering to come closer, softly telling her to read the content inside, to not hide.

Hermione had a full hour of sleep before she anxiously woke up, and two whole hours staring at her table since. She tried to remove the letter from her mind, but she was unsuccessful. She didn't know if its contents would make her feel bad or reassure her. The only thing that she was certain about was whatever Malfoy had dragged across the parchment was going to disturb her.

She huffed, the deep rustle of her exhale startling Crookshanks enough for him to slink off the bed and onto the rug to enviably return to sleep.

"I give up," Hermione mumbled, finally deciding to let her curiosity move her to read the sodding letter. Flinging her blanket away from her body, she dragged herself to the corner of her room where her cluttered desk stood innocently and slowly lowered herself onto her chair. She picked the letter off the old, wooden table with shaky hands, the knot in her gut tightening, and her pulse increased as she tore open the seam of the envelope.

Dear Granger,

I hope this correspondence finds you well.

This letter is meant as nothing more than a means for me to reflect on my awareness of the mistreatment I put you through for many years. I never expected to be writing this, and I am sure you never expected to be receiving it. This was something long overdue as I continue to prepare myself for life outside Azkaban.

I'm not the best at apologising, nor does it come naturally to me. What I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry. It's not enough, nor is it the best I can do after so much time has passed, after everything that's happened. I can think of just a few instances where an 'I'm sorry' shouldn't cut it, like supporting an organisation that hurt people you love or not being brave enough to help save you in my ancestral home.

I know I am in here as a direct consequence of my actions, or inactions, and my family's allegiance during the war. But I am apologising for the mistakes and hardships I personally put you through in our adolescence. I hope you can forgive me for not showing you the respect that you deserved.

I was told I can work on improving myself and this is a necessary step in that process. I don't want to be that hateful schoolboy I am certain you so vividly remember.

I want to change many things about myself, and there are several necessary steps I have to take for that to happen. Writing this letter is part of the process. I do not want to be the bad person you remember me as anymore.

Although most of our understanding of one another has stemmed from the bully/victim dynamic, I hope that I pegged you correctly and you are the sort to write back, even to a stranger with such a conflicted past as we have.

I don't expect forgiveness, after all, these are just words, but I do hope for a sort of understanding from someone who has facilitated my ability to grow even within these damp walls. I hope you can read this letter and accept my sincere regret.

D. L. Malfoy

Well... that was unexpected, to say the least. Hermione didn't know what to think about what she'd just read. Malfoy apologising, and to her of all people, was more than just unnatural. It was bizarre and undeniably dubious. She didn't know how to react.

She sat limply for a couple of minutes, blinking slowly at the letter still held firmly in her hands before she took a deep breath and placed the letter back in the envelope. With steadier fingers than she felt, she placed it securely on top of a book she had on the desk and slowly made her way back to her bed. Her limbs felt frozen, her gait heavy as everything around her seemed to move slowly. As if in a daze, Hermione curled back under her covers and as soon as her head hit the pillow, she drifted off to a peaceful and uninterrupted sleep.

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The following week Hermione sat at the Ministry's cafeteria during her lunch break, awaiting her friend. She slumped at the table with her brows creased and her face as tense as it had been all week. She stared sightlessly at the lunch before her—a small egg and cheese sandwich, a packet of crisps and a small cup of lemon tea.

She had felt a little restless, unable to focus on other things in her life since the letter. Her mind would always wander back to the envelope sitting innocently on her desk, untouched. She didn't dare open and reread it. But Malfoy's letter had been such a surprise she felt as though she was knocked into a different dimension.

The entire ordeal confused her, but she told herself she should be happy that she could finally see the fruit of all her hard work into reforming laws in the hopes of positive effects on the inmates. There was significant research that suggested that therapy did, in fact, work. She had backed up her proposal with these details and material to argue her case in front of the deciding panel. At the same time, her mind reminded her, she couldn't jump for joy that her childhood tormentor had reached out to her. It made her feel uneasy that she was his first, or so she had assumed, target. The bigger question that rolled around in her mind was- Did he do it only because he was due to leave soon? She added a mental reminder to check precisely when Malfoys sentence would end.

"Hello, anyone there?" Harry's hand waved in front of her eyes, bringing her drifting thoughts back to reality.

Blinking owlishly at him, she quickly gave him a smile that probably came off as a grimace from Harry's reaction.

"Are you okay? I've been sitting in front of you for an entire minute."

"N-no… I'm fine," Hermione shook her head and picked up her sandwich and took a small bite, more for Harry's benefit than her own.

"Just a small headache, but that's all. Are you alright? How was work?"

Narrowing his eyes, Harry didn't seem convinced but thankfully let it go for now. "It's been a hectic morning, but I'm dealing with it. You?" He said, taking an enthusiastic bite of his burger and inspecting her for any reactions.

"Pretty quiet actually," she shrugged, washing her sandwich down with tea.

"I spoke to Ron today. He floo called this morning at the office."

"Did he? How is he? How's Dublin treating him?" Hermione smiled widely at Harry, genuinely happy to hear from her ex-boyfriend.

It had been a while since she and Ron decided to take separate paths after a courtship that seemed promising—for all of the two months they shared together. They worked so much better as friends, a conclusion they both came to early in their relationship and separated amicably. The fact that neither of them initiated any physical contact beyond snogging only confirmed her feelings towards Ron were strictly platonic. She had blamed it on timing. Back then, they were grieving and stressed after a long war and only needed time to heal. Yet, years later, she never had the urge to be with him in any other capacity other than a friend.

The three friends had each taken different paths following the war. Harry had enrolled in the Auror training program as it was his lifelong dream to become one. She had thrown herself into work at the D.M.L.E. after returning to finish her last year of studies, and Ron stood by his family and partnered up with George to help run Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The business had taken off since, and Ron spent his time now travelling and setting up locations across Europe.

"Fantastic. He took a holiday and is using the time to attend some Quidditch match and some customer's wedding. He's really excited about the wedding, though." They burst into laughter, well aware of the sudden burst of courage alcohol would give Ron to step onto the dancefloor, where everyone would be in awe with his moves.

"It's a pity we'll miss that scene," Hermione said, trying hard to stifle another giggle. "Speaking of weddings, when is Ginny due back in England?"

"Oh! She's back in a few weeks. The Holyhead Harpies are getting ready for the new season, so she'll be able to come home on the weekends more often after it kicks off," Harry finished. But he seemed flustered, "Hermione, don't you go putting anything in her head about weddings yet." Hermione bit her lip as Harry wagged a finger in front of her face.

"Harry, you know where Ginny stands in all this. I don't think she's ready either; you both are probably on the same boat." She grinned at him as she reached for his hand across the table to comfort him.

Harry nodded in agreement and took one last bite from his plate. Suddenly, he seemed to remember something.

Rubbing the back of his neck and looking everywhere but at her, he said, "Er, Hermione, I wanted to tell you that I received a letter from Malfoy the other week."

At the mention of Malfoy's name, she instantly snapped her eyes up to Harry but quickly schooled her emotions and tried to steady her response, "Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, demanding more information.

"It was an apology. It sounded sincere."

"And how would you know if it was sincere. A letter can be apathetic." She crossed her arms. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Why was she so defensive and angry at Malfoy? Perhaps she naively thought she was the only one to receive a letter from him.

"I don't know; an apology from him, well I reckon it wouldn't have been easy to put together."

Hermione scoffed at that, but Harry continued. "He hasn't been a good guy, that much is true. But I'd like to think war and prison changes people a bit. Don't you think he too deserves the benefit of the doubt?" Harry's sad smile didn't reach his eyes, as he once again worked to shift her perspective on their former classmate.

She felt a pang of guilt knowing the reason for Harry's easy forgiveness. After the war, Harry had detailed—in both her and Ron—the contents of Snape's memories. They had a long conversation on how they had shifted his perspective of the world. The wake-up call he had wished he received earlier in his life but that ultimately led him to the realisation that everything was not black and white.

He didn't want to grow up like Snape, holding on to childhood grudges and living in the same poisonous existence that created them. He also didn't want to live his life as if another war, another threat, another life-endangering moment was around each corner. Harry had explained that simply thinking about his life from eleven to seventeen sent his body into fight-or-flight mode.

Hermione experienced it too. When a threat was imminent, this reaction was essential for survival. But living in a world without those same threats and holding onto that stress wreaks havoc on one's body and can have devastating mental consequences over time. Harry didn't want to live his life like that and vowed to shed all the negative emotions he carried over from the war.

Shaking her head, Hermione recognised the irony of this advice as it had been her to gift it to Harry so many years ago. But she had told Harry it would be a process, she just hadn't realised at the time how long it would take her to let go of past grudges and trauma.

"Well, did you respond to him?" She inquired curiously while glancing at her watch.

"Yes, I wrote back accepting his apology; and to be fair, I was kind of a git to him too." He shrugged, getting up and picking up his tray.

"Well, I think you did the right thing, Harry. You're a good person." Hermione rose, mimicking Harry's actions before moving to head back to her office when a sudden thought popped into her mind.

"Harry, when did he send you the letter?"

"Umm, oh, last week, when Harriet visited." His eyes grew wide, and two red dots adorned his cheeks.

Hermione knew exactly why he looked flustered, "Right, the Auror business." She winked at him, a smile curling around her lips at finally figuring that moment out.

"Well…" Harry started. But to put him out of his misery from her taunting, Hermione slung her arm around his shoulder, laughing together as they made their way up to the same floor only parting ways when they reached their respective doors. All the while, Hermione was silently wondering why on earth she had kept the letter she received hidden from Harry.

Nothing could be heard in Draco's cell except for the echoes of his excessive foot tapping on the concrete floor. His skin tingled as he broke out in a sweat and rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension that had been accumulating for the past week. His treacherous eyes locked on Potter's foolish and annoyingly kind response for the thousandth time.

But he couldn't stop his mind from coming back to the letter he had received. Draco hadn't dared to expect a response, but the immediate forgiveness the man extended back to him made him feel…dare he say, hopeful. Fuck, it made Draco feel comforted that it would not be all dark and gloomy when he came out. That perhaps he would be given a second chance at life after serving his sentence. And that was the most dangerous type of hope, the belief that he could be less miserable in the after than right now. He could barely imagine it and Potter's response didn't help his racing thoughts, the light that had begun to shine on his desolation and expectations.

As the days passed, Draco couldn't help but reread his words; the paper crinkled where he gripped it, ink slowly fading where he folded and unfolded it again and again. But the more he read, that sense of annoyance crept over him that maybe the four-eyed imbecile was having a laugh at his expense. But no, he had to remind himself that the tone felt genuine. Words like rising above it, choosing to forgive, and that forgiveness is key to happiness. The idiot also dared to call him brave for taking the first step.

However, the hope that bubbled deep within after receiving Harry's letter was crushed as the days went by without hearing from her.

How dare that swot disregard his letter, his heartfelt apology, the words that kept him awake as he wrote and rewrote the precise words to send. It was unbelievable that Potter had the decency to answer him kindly, but she did not; he had always assumed that was her modus operandi, caring for the underdog and underrepresented and all that S.P.E.W. rot.

It has been two whole weeks since she received the letter, he was sure of it, as he personally delivered the message to her.

He stood abruptly, knocking his chair behind him with a loud clunk on the hard floor. The empty lunch tray rattled against the desk but he paid it no mind as he paced the small room back and forth, fingers dragging through his dirty hair repeatedly. This action reminded him of how filthy he felt. It had been weeks since he'd had a proper shower, and his overheated body was made more desperate in his current state of mind.

"Fuck, I shouldn't have done that," he muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He kicked his foot on the steel leg of the table and a searing pain shot up his leg.

"FUCK!" he bellowed.

He sank down to his knees, massaging his throbbing toe, closing his eyes as tears began to seep through his lids.

It wasn't that he expected a response from Hermione Granger, he had told her that much in his letter. Wasn't she just doing him a favour by not replying back? Maybe she wasn't ready to forgive him yet. He knew that he mistreated her the most, had berated and belittled her every chance he got when they were younger. However, from his observation, he always had assumed Hermione to be kind-hearted, forgiving even. So maybe she reserved and extended the kindness he had heard about in passing to people who mattered to her, people she called friends. And Draco Malfoy was certainly not a friend of hers.

After the pain in his foot subsided, he got up and sulkily strolled to his bed and sunk down, wishing for not the first time to be back home where his bed would embrace him in its softness, sheets that cooled him, and a smell that had life rather than decay. Instead, his body was welcomed with the stiffness of this mattress as he threw his arm under his head to add some additional padding. Staring up at the cracking stone of the ceiling, he wondered if he was more upset with the fact that he spent weeks writing that stupid letter where he couldn't avoid ridiculing himself, or because she had just snubbed it.

With an exaggerated sigh, Draco roughly rubbed his face. It was mentally exhausting thinking about the same thing over and over again. The deed was done, and there was nothing more he could do about it. So instead he'd simply move onto the next person on his list of people he owed an apology to.

He heard the loud familiar footsteps of a guard approaching and turned away from the bars, giving his back to whoever passed by. Before today, and for a good week, Draco had been at the bars of his cell, jumping in anticipation anytime he heard a guard approach in the hopes that they had her response in hand. But he slowly lost interest and came to the bitter conclusion that it would never come and he had to accept the harsh reality.

"Oi, Malfoy." The giddy sound of August's voice rang through Draco's enclosed space.

"What," Draco grunted back.

"Everything alright with you, mate?" August whispered through the bars.

"Fine, what do you want?" Draco clipped, clenching his teeth and not turning back. He wasn't necessarily irritated by the guard; he had just caught him in one of his moods.

"Letter for you." He chimed.

Slowly turning back towards August, he saw him smugly waving a brown envelope through the bars, and Draco hurtled toward the man snatching the envelope from his hands.

"Huh...interesting." August sounded amused.

"Oh, fuck off…thanks." Draco sent the standing man a grateful smile and flopped back on his bed.

He looked down at the delicate handwriting scribbled on the front of the envelope. Finally, he thought, and he felt his lips quirking up into a smile before noticing the shadow of August behind the bar still and immediately schooled his features.

"May I help you?" Draco drawled, raising a single brow at the man.

"Nothing, have a good day, mate." He turned, leaving Draco with a cheeky grin.

Furrowing his brow at the odd encounter, he brought his attention back to the missive at hand. With his heart beating quickly in his chest, he tore the side of the envelope gently. His eyes widened as he glanced down at the short note.

Malfoy,

I accept your apology. I suppose I understand your reasons if that helps you with anything. I forgive you.

Take care

Hermione J. Granger

He repeatedly blinked as he reread the message; his mouth went dry as he flipped the page back and forth several times to make sure he hadn't missed anything else. He picked up the envelope, shaking, shifting, and peering into it, thinking he may have missed another piece of parchment. However, he was sorely disappointed.

"What? That's it?" Draco mumbled to himself.

"Take care?" He grunted and repeated her words back. He stood up fuming, fists clenching around the letter in his palm.

What sort of care is she talking about? This is what having a laugh meant. She thought she had the upper hand while he was stuck in between these four walls. This was simply unacceptable, after all the effort he had put into his first letter, she had the audacity to respond in such a cold manner. He scolded himself, knowing that this was precisely what he deserved. He should be thanking her for taking time out of her precious life to quill him back a response, but for some reason her response grated on his already frayed nerves. He wasn't going to let Granger treat him this way when he at least deserved a better answer, he would allow her to berate him, to send him nasty words, to tell him to go straight to hell even and never contact her again. But this, this was detached, unresponsive, and garbage.

With anger licking up his veins, he grabbed a fresh piece of parchment, inking his quill as he took a seat in the unforgiving wood and got to work.

"Oh Granger, I will send you a letter that will get me the exact reaction I need from you," he whispered, annoyed.

With determination and not much thought, Draco started to write.