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The moments after Granger left were some of the most intense moments of Draco Malfoy's life. His world came crashing down around him as his mind twisted and rocked in the turmoil of her intrusion. For the past year he had been convincing himself day after day that he was making a choice. That he wanted this for his life, to follow in his father's footsteps - to make his family proud.

For years he bragged about how he'd have the opportunity to make the Dark Lord proud before any of his lame lumps for friends would. He had preened in the praise of his fellow housemates when he'd told his friends that his father was going to get him Marked as soon as he was of age, and that it was already approved by the Dark Lord himself.

All the superficial glory and excitement was broken the day these "promises" were fulfilled. When his father was sent to Azkaban at the end of his fifth year, Draco's world had been rocked. His mother was left to wallow in the shame of their family's name.

He thought back to one late night at Malfoy Manor. His father had been taken away in shackles at the Ministry a few weeks prior. A wave of darkness was swallowing the manor, and Draco couldn't help but feel as though something terrible was about to happen.

"Things will be different for you, Draco," she had said to him as she sat beside the parlor fire. "All of this," she gestured around them - at the treasures they owned, the wealth they've acquired, and the world they've built around them, "is not worth the torment of the life we now must live."

Draco couldn't bear to look at his mother's face as tears ran down her cheeks, red and swollen from crying the evening away. "I don't want things to be different," he'd replied monotonously as his eyes bore holes into the wall beside the fire. "Father's imprisonment will not be in vane."

"Look at me Draco." He avoided her eyes. "Please." He couldn't ignore his mother when she pleaded, especially as she hiccoughed. He caught her gaze and his features hardened. "You are not meant for this life," she said. "It will promise you great, wonderful things. You will believe everything they tell you, and they will indoctrinate you. But please, my son, believe me that none of it is worth the price you have to pay."

Draco hadn't known exactly what she'd meant that night, but when it came time for him to take the Mark and accept his fate, he knew right then and there; there should have been no price for which he sold his soul. Oddly, after he had taken the Mark, his mother made a show of pride at social events and assured him every day how happy she was for him - that he was doing the family a great service. It was only now that he knew he never took the time to see the pain and heartbreak in the eyes that mirrored his own.

Now he wondered if his mother resented him for his failure. That his success was the only way his father could have been rescued from Azkaban and he didn't have the gall to follow through. He felt small as the fear of his mother's love for him dying out to resentment overcame him. He was alone.

Draco knew Granger was listening in, but at this point he did not care. What was the point of trying to hide who he was from her? It was tearing him apart day in and day out to hide who he really was, especially at the expense of himself. If he couldn't find solace in his own mind, where would he ever feel safe?

The room suddenly felt very small. Memories of Draco's own childhood came to mind as he compared what he had seen with Granger's. Reading Beedle the Bard with his mother on a misty fall morning by the fire. His father laughing as he caught Draco after falling off of a broom for the first time. The party his parents had held for their friends when Draco first showed signs of magical ability.

Suddenly he felt his ears turn hot with rage. If his father had just said no - if they could have given it all up after the first war. No more bowing down to Voldemort. Maybe then Draco would not be so vitriolic, so hateful - so hated. Who would he be?

He knew where he would be. At home, in the manor with his mother and father. Likely enjoying what was probably a very lovely summer evening. He'd sip a glass of Fire Whiskey with his father, just like they always said they would when he became of age.

Instead, he was here. In this dungeon, locked away in shame. Hated by everyone, loved by no one - maybe not even his own mother. Stuck sharing a mind with a girl who embodied everything he was indoctrinated to hate, unable to do anything about it. And here she was, listening intently as he was going through a crisis.

In anger, Draco growled as he took several intense strides towards the roaring fireplace. He grabbed a furious fistful of Floo powder and threw it into the fire.

"Malfoy Manor!" He shouted at it, watching as the powder burned away in the flames, producing nothing.

He hastily grabbed another handful, the gray soot speckling out onto his trousers. He tossed it forcefully. "Malfoy Manor!"

Nothing. He knew the Floo Network had been closed off to this room ever since Snape had tossed him down here. He didn't realize he was crying until the deafening sounds of sobs ripped through his ears. Tears dripped onto the floor beside the fireplace and evaporated instantaneously in the heat.

With a guttural scream, Draco grabbed the entire pot of powder and threw it all into the mocking flames. "Malfoy Manor - please, please!" He begged as he staggered backwards and crashed onto the sofa, his body convulsing in sobs. "I'm sorry - I'm sorry. I am so sorry," he pleaded to people who would never forgive. To a home he no longer had. To ears who would never hear.

There was, however, one pair of ears that would hear these pleas. And while Draco was preoccupied with the realization of his situation, someone took careful attention to his words. Words this person thought they'd never hear.

For the first time in the history of knowing one another, Hermione Granger felt something for Draco Malfoy she had never felt before.

Sympathy.

It was July 21st, 1997, and it had been two weeks to the day since Malfoy had his "moment of realization", as she'd come to call it, much to Malfoy's dismay. Hermione had continued visiting the castle three times a week for their sessions and the two have made some decent progress, if only when they were together. With the Occlumency lessons, it had become easier for them to keep their thoughts to themselves when they were touching - and they've even made some progress with doing so by just being in the same room.

While Hermione was hesitant to say so, she noticed a shift in Malfoy's thoughts and overall behavior. While he was still outwardly callous and snarky, he had become significantly less cruel. Not that this was something to applaud, but it was notable all the same.

Today, Hermione sat on the small bench beside the cottage front door, her booted heel tapping on the creaky wooden floor beneath her. She bit her lip anxiously as she thought over her plan.

The previous night, when she went to visit Malfoy, he'd pulled her thoughts about today straight from her head.

"So, tomorrow then?" He'd said from his spot by the fire, his elbow leaning on the mantle.

"Hmmm?" She perked up as she pulled her mind away from the book on magical bonds she had been reviewing.

Malfoy turned to look at her with a solemn expression - one she may have confused for sympathy if she hadn't known better. She also couldn't read his thoughts, as he had become more proficient than she was at blocking her out. He had more time to focus on these strategies than she did, so she tried to not let it bother her. Keyword here being "tried".

"Your parents," he said. "You're going to do away with them tomorrow."

She cursed herself for letting the thought slip. She found it more difficult to block him out when she was focused on another task. "I'd rather not discuss that, thank you," she said curtly as she focused on the train in her mind. Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to shake him.

"Fine, then. Not like you need to say what's wrong, your brain won't shut up about it," he griped as he turned back to the fire.

Hermione huffed. She hated that she had to do this, but she really wanted him out of her head. "Sit down," she said as she patted the open spot next to her.

Malfoy looked back and quirked an eyebrow. "I guess that bit is true," he said with a huff. "That Muggles don't teach their kids manners."

"Oh come off it, Malfoy, and sit down." When he didn't budge a bit, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "Please," she conceded.

When he sat down next to her, she grabbed his right forearm with her left hand. It was then that she was able to conduct her train of thought smoothly without him.

So there it was - today was the day that she was going to ensure that her parents survived the war safely, whether she did or not. As she sat by the door, she allowed herself to feel relieved that Malfoy was sleeping at this moment in time, and that she'd be able to do this in peace. Well, in as much peace as one can be in when erasing themselves from their parents' memories.

Once she built up the courage, she peeled her body off of the bench and grabbed two empty vials, a rucksack, and a small envelope. With one last boost of encouragement from her mind, she stepped out of the door and onto the lawn. It was a beautiful day.

Hermione was starting to hate beautiful days - bad things always happened on the prettiest of days. Before she could change her mind, she stepped out of the wards and apparated away from the little cottage.

When Hermione returned, she felt heavy with the weight of the two lives she just ended. The lives of the two people who are responsible for her. The two people who raised her and loved her. Those people no longer existed, and Hermione had never felt so desperately alone.

She had everything set for her parents. Bank accounts transferred to new names. Credit cards, IDs, and Passports set into place. Hermione had sent resumes for her parents out to Australia, and lined up interviews for them. They were all set to be Monica and Wendell Wilkins - the Granger family wiped from their friends and families minds. 'Potentially forever', she thought.

As Hermione entered the cottage, she dropped all of her belongings carelessly on the floor as she made her way over to her bed. She crashed down face first onto the stiff mattress, her hair splaying wildly across the quilted comforter. She stayed there in pained silence for a few moments before it all truly hit her. She was as good as orphaned - no one to guide her, no one to support her. No one to love her unconditionally.

She began to sob as she curled up into a ball on the bed. The pain of losing her parents was incomparable to any pain she'd felt in her entire life. When all went wrong in her life, she knew she had her parents there to love and protect her. She no longer had that comfort, and that broke her.

No one knew where this war would go, where it would take them. Hermione may never see her parents again; she may die, she may never find her parents, and she may not be able to give them their memories back.

Hermione continued to sob as she reached her hand into her pocket and pulled out the two vials that had previously been empty. The blue glow illuminated her face as she sniffled and held the vials in shaky hands. These two vials were all she had left of her parents. All she had left of the legacy she carried. She held them to her heart and cried.

Her mind was so focused on her sorrow and pain that she hadn't realized the presence that had been following her since she stepped foot into her family home.

For the first time in the history of knowing one another, Draco Malfoy felt something for Hermione Granger he had never felt before.

Empathy.

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