I Love(d) You (Once)

Chapter Fourteen: On Forgiveness

Granger "Surveying the Grounds: Assessing the Efficacy of Key Administrative Changes" (2003, Unpublished Paper, Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry) 184 at 186.

Famed for revolutionising the Ministry, and for making amendments to pro-pureblood wizarding laws, Kingsley Shacklebolt's push to discontinue Azkaban prison and the transferral of its offenders into Nurmengard marked the turn of the millennium …

introduced an unprecedented era of rights to prisoners to ensure a minimum standard of living to all offenders…

Her investigation efforts – something ingenious she'd thought of when she had given up on using Melinda as a lead – had come through… albeit a few hours' late.

Timing in life was important. Catch the crest of a wave, and you ride smoothly to shore. Meet the wave as it crashes on you, and there will be trouble.

With Artie, she'd done some digging, and had come up with the marvellous idea of looking up Corwin Acklery's prison-visitor records. Though that investigation turned out mostly unfruitful, neither Jon nor Ben ever visited the late Ackerly in incarceration, Jon had sent a letter along with a care-package to his father just before the elderly man died. When Corwin Acklery passed away, the prison had kept his possessions in a box to return to his next of kin. Finally, under Hermione's persistent requests, she had the box.

The letter was now in her gloved hand.

It read:

Though I have never visited you, please know that I am living well in the world.

Jon

Upon first glance, the contents proved nothing at best. However, it seemed clear to her – as a Muggle-born – that she could use this letter as an integral piece of evidence to solve the Acklery twin mystery. Here's to realising all her childhood fantasies she read in detective books! She searched the office floor, browsing through her own desk, and when she came up empty-handed, prowled through her colleagues' desks. Unfortunately, P&P used pens and quills, so no one had pencil lead lying around. Hermione needed something as a substitute.

This required a bit of creativity, she mused. What's powdery and fine, like crushed graphite?

Floo Powder.

Hermione rushed down the flight of emergency stairs, whistling a happy tune as the soles of her flats hit each step. When she reached the fireplace, she leaned forward, and grabbed some green powder from the fireplace. In her haste, small particles ran through the narrow spaces between her fingers and clung to her clothes. Cursing, but otherwise undeterred, Hermione bounded up the steps, and back to her work station, almost crashing into Draco, who'd just arrived with the stack of files pertaining to the Acklery case.

"What are you doing?" he asked her after he'd dropped the pile of folders onto his desk with a loud thud. As he did so, he sent Hermione an exasperated look, and pointed to the green powder that had stained her hands and clothes.

"Getting a secondary source of evidence… and real proof. How can we be sure Melinda's telling the truth; how do you know she can actually tell the difference between the twins?" she asked as she sprinkled the powder onto the letter with her left hand. She waved her wand with her right hand, in a swirling motion. Her magic created a small whirlwind, and the Floo powder turned into a mini-tornado, about an inch tall on the parchment. It ran across the entire page from side to side before it dissipated and the green powder settled once again on the sheet.

Draco's confusion intensified. "Right…" he said, trying to school his expression into one of curiosity sated, and he turned his back to Hermione and carried on his own work, trying not to peek over his shoulder. "I wrote up a magically binding contract then charmed then onto the briefcases: worded it very specifically too. I wrote "Melinda Tippings has to be able to actually tell the difference between the twins on the night of the Founders' Party, and give Draco Malfoy a name before she can touch the briefcases". Seeing as she did this no problem, I can trust that she knows how to tell them apart."

Trust him to be an expert in drawing up no-lie contracts, she thought. Though… They were only useful to a limited extent – the parties had to agree beforehand, limits to what could be done with them, correct wording was important; various charms needed to be cast in place… but would be effective in situations such as these.

After a moment's silence, Draco finally gave into his mounting curiosity. "Do I even want to know what you're doing?"

"Nothing much," she said, remembering that she and Draco were professionally cool, and weren't supposed to be chattering like colleagues. But… Fingerprints. That's what she was looking for. A collection of green prints showed up on the letter after she had dusted the letter with Floo powder, and she pointed to a fingerprint on the corner of the paper."If you use fine powder, you can lift fingerprints off a paper surface. Though of course, I augmented and enhanced the results with charms…"

"Huh." He couldn't help but be impressed, though he made sure to modify his tone so he came off as sarcastic. Saint she was not, Draco readily admitted. But creative she is.

"Huh indeed," she said rather pointedly. "Your whole gambling expedition didn't need to go ahead at all. All I had to do was to confirm the twin's identity with the document here, signed Jon."

"If anything, it'll just serve as confirmation. I got the results first."

"Or it might not!" Hermione compared the fingerprints on the letter with the sample fingerprints of the twins. She held the two sheets up against the light, and the whiff of smoke, wooden logs and charcoal from the fireplace caught in her throat. She studied the sample, comparing the narrow ridges and shapes of the prints. There.

She wished the results changed and Melinda was a lying wretch, but to her disappointment, the prints matched with Neat-Jon (or as she begrudgingly admitted, Jon). "The fingerprints confirm Melinda's identification," she said. "I guess the case's over then."

Half an hour later, they met the twins in the meeting room. From the look of Hermione's face, Ben knew she had not been able to procure evidence in favour of his side of the dispute. Despite the lack of evidence towards Ben's version of truth – and this inferred to Hermione, he was a liar and most likely had a deep-rooted psychologically problem as he had chosen to live as his twin for these number of years – she sat beside Ben, because it was not in her nature to abandon someone to their misery. On the other side of the table, however, Draco did not offer the same feelings, and he, along with Jon, wore matching smirks.

When Draco began giving the Acklery twins a run-down of their findings, and how they came to their conclusions – along with the official hard-copy P&P opinion, just printed, on which twin they deemed to be Jon, Hermione grimaced at the undesirable conclusion and lowered her head self-consciously, her eyes down-cast.

"You've got to be kidding me! I'm Jon!" Ben roared when he heard the verdict. He clenched his fists, looking like he'd pull out his wand at any moment. "Melinda lied! She's helping Jon for some reason, she's lying! A damn liar! This must be Ben's elaborate scheme to take all my money!"

"We investigated, and these are our results," Hermione said slowly, trying to be truthful. Even if she had been 'representing' Jon, she would have sympathised with Ben. There was never a good way to break the news to a person that they had lost.

"Well the truth's the truth," said Draco. He handed out the bag with one set of identification documents which had casted a spell on it, so a slash on each document rendered it unusable. "This is yours."

Ben swore at Draco. Draco kept his expression neutral, but to Hermione who knew him better, his discomfort was easily discernible. He was afraid Ben would turn violent, as some claimants did when they heard something disagreeable to their ears. To be frank, Hermione had already drawn her wand under the table to stun Ben and alert security if the need arose.

"Now there's only one set of identification for Jon Ackerly. Which is here," said Draco, and he gestured to the file that he placed in front of the man beside him. "Ben Ackerly, here are the new identification forms for you. We have attached to each of the requests, our opinion of your true identity, so please don't even think about pulling something like this again."

"Nice doing business with you," said Jon loudly, and looked directly at his brother as he shook Draco's hand. He then gave Ben a dismissive wave.

"I am not Ben!"

"Look," Hermione said, "I'm sorry, but the evidence we gathered points to this."

"Aren't you supposed to be on my side?" Ben asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I was representing you," she said, "and believe me, I wanted you to be the real Jon… but the evidence before us tells us a different story."

"And we've ended this competition, so she stopped 'representing' you," Draco chimed in unhelpfully. "We need to make an unbiased judgement and all."

Jon sneered at his brother. "That's what you get when you try taking what's mine."

"You can still live your life the way it was," reasoned Draco, as he tried to placate the man, for he knew there was no advantage in angering Ben. "I don't think anything would change much… only you'll just sign your name as Ben instead of Jon."

"You know nothing!" spat Ben.

"Please," Hermione said in a hushed tone, feeling sorry for Ben. How desperate he must've been to take his brother's identity! What has he got to hide? But those questions would never be answered. He was client, and relationships with the Ackerly brothers would go this far and no further. In the folds of her robes, her fingers had started to become slick with sweat, for she'd been gripping her wand tightly, and with each passing moment it seemed like she would have to use it after all.

"If you sign here and here," Draco said, pointing to empty spaces for Jon to sign a few documents, stating he was satisfied with their care and considered cased closed by "Jon Acklery", the person who hired them. Draco shook hands with Jon again as per decorum to conclude the case. Jon extended his hand to Hermione, and she shook it half-heartedly, still worried about Ben's predicament.

"Thank you for your help. I guess the truth always reveals itself in the end," he said. Hermione gave him a better smile – now that Draco was no longer representing him, he didn't seem all that bad, (though still a bit sleazy in her honest opinion) and traded pleasantries with him.

Seeing there were no supporters in the room, and there was nothing he could do prove his version of events true, Ben stormed past the two of them by the door, down the multiple flight of stairs – for he was not as interested, well adapted, nor versed in Muggle technology as his brother – yelling profanities all the way out of the building. As he exited the lobby, a woman with blonde corkscrew curls smashed into him accidentally on purpose on the way out.

Upstairs, Draco read the will to Jon Ackerly. Upon the identification with formal papers, the parchment glowed and the combination to the late Acklery's vault and vast fortune for Jon to see. He wept a tear form his eyes and kissed his fingers before looking up to the ceiling. "Thanks, dad."

Hermione and Draco looked at each other, and with a queer form of comradery, both resisted the urge to roll their eyes at his theatrics.

Jon shook hands with everyone once again, after he gained his rightful name and fortune for the last time. He thanked them for believing his story, signed more papers confirming Draco and Hermione had successfully safely read him his father's will. In spite of Draco and Hermione's insistence, he convinced there was no need to show him out, he could do that himself perfectly well, thank you very much.

Jon, whistling and in a jovial mood, alighted the elevator at the ground level. Martha at the reception, looked up when she hear a high-pitched squeal and grimaced when a woman in daisy-duke shorts and a well-suited man started snogging as they made their way out of the building. She recognised the two of them from the party and only grinned to herself, thinking they had met each other at the party and decided to date.

"Good riddance!" she yelled after them good-naturedly when they Apparated away. Jon and Melinda's next stop was Gringotts. Then to a tropical island, never to be heard from by the wider wizarding community again.

Upstairs, with the meeting over, Draco stretched in his desk chair and couldn't resist bragging to Hermione and Artie. "I guess I win then, huh?"

But instead of the deflated look on Hermione's face, she grinned, for was sure she was the winner in the end. "You know," she said, "I actually won this competition."

Draco snorted. "Dream on, Granger. I got the results first. Fair and square. You were too slow."

Hermione shook her head, and it wasn't a bluff or anything – she truly meant it. "Your little contract with Melinda doesn't guarantee that she was telling the truth."

A beat. Concern flicked over Draco's face and he swallowed. "What? Melinda can tell the difference between the twins. We can be sure of that, because of the contract. She pointed out who was who on the night. You saw her do it."

"Yes, but her word is only as good as her contract," she answered, pleased Draco had been caught by surprise. "The contract was worded terribly. Far below your usual standards, I must say."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. In your contract, Melinda had to be able to tell the two of them apart…"

"Yes, yes," Draco said impatiently.

"And she had to "give a name" to you. That doesn't guarantee she'll tell you the right name," she said. When Draco's eyes grew in surprise, she poked out her tongue in impertinence, and continued, "For all you know she could be lying. So I win."

"No," Draco said, quieter this time. "You don't win either, because something's wrong with how you identified Jon Ackerly, too."

A beat.

She shook her head. It couldn't be possible. "No, no. I got it right. Science is accurate. The letter Jon sent with his care-package to his dad confirms Melinda's identification."

"The test is only as good as the source of evidence," said Draco delicately, and he looked pained. "What kind of letter did you use?"

"There was a letter written just before the father passed away. A note from Jon sent to his father's prison."

"Which any of the two could have sent, with their fingerprints all over it!" Draco said. "That could have been a set up!"

"That's rather unlikely!" Hermione snapped, and Draco's expression tightened further. "It's not like whoever wrote the letter sent it on purpose, months in advance, to make sure we would find it. A far cry, don't you think?"

"It does seem like a lot of planning involved," Artie nodded.

"Like how conveniently the Ackerly twin's old belongings were all destroyed by a fire?" Draco asked, scowling.

"This is starting to sound like one of those conspiracy theories, where people don't actually believe we went to the moon," Artie quipped.

Hermione scoffed. "How's that supposed to prove your point? That's years in the making! Sounds far-fetched to me."

"Yeah," Artie said, pondering. "On the strength of the evidence, it's more probable than not the real Jon, the one we identified, sent the letter. I mean, what are the chances, Melinda lied, who we know bears a grudge against both Jon and Ben, and Ben sent a letter, pretending to Jon just before his father died? When you start to assume too many things, you can't trust any evidence."

Draco begrudgingly agreed, and Hermione nodded. She grabbed the water pitcher in front of her, her hands shaking slightly, poured herself a glass, and raised the cup to her lips, swallowing copious draughts of water.

"But Draco, why didn't you tell Hermione what you saw?" asked Artie.

He shrugged. "Remember, we weren't working together?"

"And Hermione…" he said, turning to the witch, "why didn't you say anything about the contract?"

"By that time it was too late. It's not like changing the wording of it would do anything," she said defensively.

"And lording over the fact that his evidence was flawed wasn't part of it?"

She frowned. "I admit that was some of it."

Artie gave them a look.

She put on a scowl and did a decent impersonation of Draco on a rainy day without coffee. "We didn't talk for days. So after that, I decided out of professional courtesy, I wouldn't speak to him either!"

"Oh, so you're saying this is my fault you forgot to impart critical infor—"

"Enough!" Artie jumped out of chair and blocked the door. Then he did something the two never expected: he out his wand and levelled it at the two of them.

"What are you doing?"

He paid no attention to Hermione. "This happened because you two wouldn't work together! When you're working against each other, you're just a dysfunctional mess! I am sick and tired of you two acting like kids!" he shouted, and flecks of spit flew from his mouth. "I tried to put up with it. But this is the final straw. You two screwed up big time." He waved his wand. Sharp metallic clinking sounds throughout the room like rapid gunfire.

Hermione and Draco ducked under table for cover by instinct. Blood rushed into Hermione's veins and she could feel her heartrate sky-rocket. "We just said, the case is solved. We're more certain than not we got the right twin!"

"Shut it," Artie said to her. "You both know if you knew your evidence was this shoddy you would have re-investigated the whole thing, or you wouldn't have written an opinion for Jon!"

"He's cracked," Draco said, his eyes wide with fright. "From the pressure most likely."

"It's because you always insult him! Now you've pushed him off the edge and—"

"I have locked every window of this place and I am going to stand guard outside this door. Until you have sorted things out, you will not be coming out."

"Artie—"

"No arguments! It might've worked out this time, though barely!"

"But the evidence is good enough—" protested Draco.

"Hermione, you better apologise to Draco for everything."

"Huh?" Draco stammered. But he bobbed his head up and down in agreement.

His wand still trained at the two crouching under the table, Artie continued: "Draco, you're being an ungrateful and selfish prick for not forgiving her."

Chagrined, Draco snapped. "She doesn't deserve forgiveness."

"Doesn't she?" countered Artie. "And why not?"

"Maybe because she stuck an inexperienced intern to shadow me or that she made me lose my job?"

"That's not even the reason you're angry, and you know it." Artie slammed the door in front of their face and heard the resounding click of the door lock.

"Well," she said with her eyebrows raised. In her shock she forgotten she wasn't supposed to be talking to Draco. "I did not expect that."

"So he does have a backbone after all."

Hermione promptly stood up from underneath the desk and shot a spell at the door. She gave a scoff of surprise, and started banging the door. "Artie, let me out!"

There was no reply from the other side.

Draco groaned as he sat on one of the meeting chairs, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the situation. Sighing, Hermione pulled a chair out from the other side of the table. She sat cross-legged and with nothing better to do, stared at Draco. Discomfort turned to annoyance. No, he looked worse than someone inconvenienced. He looked furious.

"I'm not playing this game," he said simply, and he closed his eyes and folded his arms, unwilling to do anything close to reconciliation.

"Neither am I", Hermione had snapped snippily at Draco when he'd declared his intentions, but half an hour into the lock-in, she was beginning to feel a sting – not a sharp pain, but something small, which repeatedly nettled at her conscience.

Utterly used to desperation during the War, Hermione hounded and thrived in faced-paced environments, and her "sink-or-swim" mentality often made it difficult to find time to reflect.

You will never have time for anything, Draco's voice whispered in the back of his head, as she shifted in her chair, leaning forwards to grab another drink of water. You'll have to make time for it. That, she knew full well. Too well. And something else too.

She saw something now, in the lull between finishing the Acklery case, and their next assignment: the one she went to for guidance, whose opinion she valued, was sitting in front of her, his deeply-hooded eyes closed to the world. It was painful, she realised, to lose that sort of friendship, and she absent-mindedly stared at Draco. Her hand, curled loose, against her glass, began its tapping against the surface.

Draco snapped out of his reverie, and when his vision drew back in focus, lifted his head up to look at Hermione. "What is it?" he asked, rather politely, and Hermione had been on enough stake-outs with him to know exactly what had happened. The first time Draco was like this—they had camped in a narrow corridor just outside a woman's door, for she refused to leave her house, and accept the delivery of a deed–he'd closed his eyes and gone silent until Hermione shook him awake. He'd explained long periods of motionlessness transported him to the time when he was under house-arrest.

Hermione watched as Draco played with his cuff links, trying to keep his bad memories at bay, and then he winced as his fiddling undid them. His open sleeve revealed a thin, pallid wrist – though he'd been always pale, it seemed thinner than before – no doubt he'd been affected by the stress at work to a certain extent, too.

She was not arrogant enough to disregard Artie's words. The toxicity of Draco and her relationship were bringing detrimental outcomes, not just on their work, but in their emotional state. For her sake, and Draco's too, she would end this.

Because, despite her ire towards him, and the whole ridiculous situation which brought about their fight, Hermione didn't hate Draco, and she was no longer angry. From the unspeakable Elevator Incident, to everything up and until the Ackerly case. Without the whirlwind of anger, and hate, came the acknowledgement of her inadequacy. Hermione didn't want to fix things because her perfectionist's streak refused to be tempered, she was doing it because she screwed up.

She knew exactly why, too. Hermione had a good memory, and the accusations Draco had yelled at her in the elevator were all quite relevant.

First, they couldn't go on as before. Before he had lashed out at her, his feelings, her wilful blindness to his oblique intentions… it had all been laid bare, like dirty things lost beneath a couch exposed when the furniture was finally moved. The stinging sensation, now lobbed over into a dull throbbing feeling of shame in her gut.

She looked down at the table, and braced both of her hands on its edge as she stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. In the silence, it sounded like a terrible scream.

"Would it make any difference to you if I said sorry?" Hermione asked, her expression full of brave nervousness.

Draco considered this for a while. An airy feeling rose in his chest, and the world stood still. In his eyes were drawn to each detail of Hermione: her face, eyes bright, and full of determination; her posture, back rod-straight with unruly hair spilling over her shoulders; and hands, behind her back as though to expose her lungs, heart, stomach and neck as an attempt to offer her vulnerability to him.

"Maybe it would," said Draco finally, deciding to see where this was going. "Would your being sorry involve me reading in the paper that you've and moved away to Denmark? That might change things."

"Look, I'm sorry," she said, without the air of defensiveness her previous apologies had been laced with. That made Draco break his glare.

However, despite his better than average week and the fact he was tired of being incompetent and efficient—the result of fighting with Hermione, he would not accept that as an apology and just forgive her like that. There was too much between them. "No dice, Granger. When you get fired from this job, you should consider drafting confessionals. I've got the perfect business name for you already: Insincerity At Heart; it reflects your modus operandi."

Hermione sat back on her chair. She wasn't too upset at Draco rejecting her first apology, though her guts still churned inside of her like a washing machine, and she oddly didn't feel so bad in the moment. Maybe it was because she finally decided to do something about it. "I really am sorry," she replied. "I mean it."

He didn't reply. Just pressed his lips in a grim line, and looked at her. "Try again. You haven't made an apology I can accept yet."

"That's true," she conceded, and she took this reply as a good sign.

"Well, are you going to give me an A-grade apology?"

She took a deep breath then, because this was like pulling off a Band-Aid of a wound, and the wound was an old one, full of pus and maggots. "I'm sorry—for not telling you about Melinda. I messed up. I should have said something, and it did compromise the integrity of this case. I'm sorry for pretending certain affections were not there... and dealing with them improperly. Past affections, I meant," she corrected, recognising one of the reasons why their relationship had been only slightly less than amiable in the past week was due to Astoria's presence.

"Your apology was sincere, I'll give you that at least. But after what you did to me, I'm not sure I want to accept your apology," said Draco. When Hermione deflated and gave no reply, he sighed, palpably bothered by her dejection. "Why are you apologising now?"

Because Hermione felt so alone the way she existed now, with no one to support her in the way she needed it. But not just because of that. From the time she began talking to Draco, (out of sheer goodwill—a strange sense of compassion that Harry had later deduced as breaking the cycle of hatred) until now, where in return he had risked his job and his life to assist her stupid plans, she valued their good relationship over never being wrong.

She loved being right, but if it meant losing his friendship in exchange for never being corrected again, she didn't want it. "I… ruined everything, didn't I?" she asked him in a small voice.

Surprised, Draco answered rather truthfully: "No, not everything."

Draco pushed himself off his chair to walk around beside her, before finding himself next to her. "You can't claim credit for all this mess," he said.

To say she ruined everything was to absolve him from all the fault—and he, he of all people knew he was not faultless. The nights he spent in his bed, passing between sleep and wakefulness in the past few weeks pointed to a feeling known so well to him: his good friend, Guilt.

It was the same friend who followed him after his family members (himself included) had wreaked havoc in the wizarding community and tortured, maimed and killed innocents for outdated and stupid reasons, and guilt only parted ways with him when Hermione had forgiven him.

He would forgive her.

The strangest thing about what he was doing now was the complete rationalisation to something so emotional. For Draco, he found and gave forgiveness to Hermione, because he remembered the humanity within her heart, and could no longer dismiss her as a living, breathing person who:

Despite their turbulent relationship:

a) Never brought up the time and the way he treated her at school; or

b) Never spoke about his role in the Death Eater's circle; or

c) Never spoke about the time he stood passively and watched her tortured;

To manoeuvre, exploit or engineer forgiveness for herself.

He'd forgive her as she forgave him. First in the quid pro quo sense (though he'd never, never be able to make it up to her), an act for an act. And secondly, in the way she forgave him, wholly and entirely, to never bring up the wrongdoing again, no matter what wrongs would wreck their friendship – he could say that they had some semblance of the sort now – in the future.

"I forgive you," he said, "but not because of your apologies: those were shoddy. You need to practice at them, even if they sound sincere, they aren't polished, and didn't really explain why you were sorry at all—you need help with that. But nevertheless, a substandard apology will make do." (because I learnt how to dispense forgiveness from the best).

"You forgive me," Hermione said, voice loud in her ears.

Draco nodded his head, and turned his face towards her to see the incredulity in her eyes, and to shock her even further: "I'm sorry about this case too. We handled it badly, and it was because we didn't talk to each other And…"

"Pinch me, I think I'm dreaming."

"Shut up, Granger, I'm trying to say something important here," he protested. Wheels churned in his brain and pieces clicked into place. He'd idolised her. Thought she was divine because she forgave him. The media called her a saint and painted her as a woman who predominated her gender, eclipsed the rest of mankind with her grace.

And how many times had he hated the media for exaggerating things about him?

Hermione too, was only a human. And she was allowed to make mistakes. He had expected of her not to make of an opportunity right in front of her. She wasn't like the media portrayed her to be and Draco should have known this. He shouldn't have felt betrayed when she felt short of her perfect image.

"Yes…?" Uncertainty tinged Hermione's voice, as if she didn't know whether this was all one big joke to goad her or not.

"I'm sorry for the way I treated you, not just starting from the whole Mar debacle, but from we were in Hogwarts and even when we were in Salem and working together," he said with a rush, and out of sheer will power, stopped himself from burying his face into his hands to groan in discomfort.

Meanwhile, Hermione could not believe Draco Malfoy had forgiven her. The heavy burden of their resentment and problems fell off of her shoulders, and it felt as though a flare of magic in the air, within body re-ignited her spirit, because suddenly she was feeling much, much better. "I'll live," she said.

Draco shook his head, for he wasn't done conveying what he really wanted to say yet. "I may have treated you differently after Hogwarts, but I made the same mistake. I took what I heard about you to be true instead of bothering to actually getting to know you. To me, you were The Golden Girl, just like how the papers made you out. I didn't think they were exaggerating. I had this image that you were perfect."

Hermione fidgeted and looked down. Made of flesh and blood, her heart raced and her cheeks reddened by Draco's honest but lavish words.

"When you betrayed that image, I was angry the illusion I created myself had broken and took it out on you," he said. "And I'm sorry for it. And I hope, if it's possible, we could be friends, for real this time."

Hermione's eyes grew hot and she nodded furiously, as if her conviction could hasten the fulfilment of his suggestion. "I was too scared of losing," she confessed, and she gave a shrug, though such an expression of nonchalance only proved her admission to be anything but. "That's how I am, but that's not an excuse. I should have seen the risks and stopped. Nothing should be more important than staying safe. I can see how stupid that was, and even I know better now."

She watched Draco carefully, attempting to see how he'd react, but his poker face told her nothing. He took a long time to say what he wanted to say next. Finally, he replied: "So do I. I was infatuated with you, and I was trying to prove something, I'mnot even sure what it was now. At any rate, I should have known better… though I suppose it won't happen again."

Hermione felt as though someone had punched her in the solar plexus. She felt heat creeping up her cheeks, but merely said. "No I suppose there won't be a next time."

"What I'm trying to say is: I accept your apology, and might I add the last one was much better than your previous attempts… and I hope you accept mine too."

"I do forgive you," she said easily, and smiled down at her hands. "What can I say? I learn fast,"

Neither knew what else to say next, and with nothing to fill the silence, Draco shifted uncomfortably. There was too much sincerity in this conversation for his liking. Gray eyes met brown ones. "We're good?" he interrupted the quiet.

She nodded and smiled at him. "We're good."

Draco extended his hand to Hermione's. "You know what? You were right. Second chances do exist."

Hermione smiled and wrapped her hands around his and said: "I always am right. Haven't you read the Daily Prophet? 'Hermione Granger is godsend, a national treasure, perfect without fault'."

He shook his head with a wry grin. "I'll take that with a grain of salt." They looked at one another for a moment, and Draco looked away. Her gaze from him did not stray until a significantly lengthy time, for her thoughts seemed to have gone stalled... and rather silent.

He rapped on the door twice and Artie opened it, with a suspicious look on his face. The boy was learning: though he'd obviously had been hanging onto their every word, Draco and Hermione were experts at staging things, especially to make things go their way. But when he saw Hermione standing close to Draco and his arm on her shoulder, he beamed at them.

"We can do things properly this time, right?" Hermione asked Draco.

She wasn't talking about the work assignments. "Guess so," he said.

Phew, this was hard for me to write, mainly because I don't do a lot of forgiving myself!

And for those looking for a laugh, please watch Mitchell & Webb - Conspiracy Theories (it's up on youtube). The Acklery arc was semi-influenced by the video.

Thanks for all those who have given me some form of feedback; it is always much appreciated.