Reformed

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Goldensnitch18

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Rated M for Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Language, and Violence.

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Summary: Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban and sent to Hogwarts for his eighth year where he has a year to show that he can be reformed. Hermione Granger, and her friends, are struggling to come to terms with what has happened to them and move on, but she has agreed to be Malfoy's Muggle Studies tutor anyway.

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Disclaimer: I am not profiting from this story.

Anything you recognize belongs to the great and mighty JKR.

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Chapter Seven

Saturday, August 22nd, 1998

When Ron walked into Lavender's hospital room on Saturday, she looked up at him brightly from her bed. "Ron!"

"Sorry, I haven't been by. Auror training." He strode over to the small table near the window.

"I understand," she told him. She watched him as he pulled out the old flowers and replaced them with soft blue blooms his mother had given him. He had finally told her where he was going, and who he was visiting, and she insisted that he take the flowers to 'brighten Lavender's day.'

"I would come in the evenings, but your mum and dad usually come by then," he explained as he took his seat next to her.

"I know. Really. I'm just glad you're here." She had her hair pulled back again, the majority of her neck still covered with the bandage, but there was a tinge of pink in her cheeks. Her eyes were bright and alert, and her smile seemed to cause them to sparkle.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Better," she told him. "They think I'll be home in the next week or two. I want to go home now. I can lie in bed there just as well as here, but they are still worried. They weren't expecting me to, well, to last long enough to go home," she admitted, her smile faltering.

Ron's brow crinkled at her words. "You should stay until they tell you that it's safe to go home."

"I will," she reached over and put her hand on his, squeezing softly. He returned the pressure and let her fingers rest there in his. "How was training? Tell me all about it. I'm desperate for anything that doesn't involve bandages and hospital beds."

Ron dove into an explanation of his week, recounting their training and lessons with excitement. Lavender smiled softly as she listened to him. He watched her face carefully as he spoke, memorizing the expressions there with rapt attention. She was different. There wasn't a good word to describe what he was seeing, but something about her was utterly new. He searched for ot in the lines of her smiles, the light in her eyes, and the timid way she pulled a loose strand of hair from her face, but he couldn't quite pinpoint the exact thing.

Monday, August 24th, 1998

"This is ridiculous," Draco mumbled as he stared at Hermione. She was standing with her arms crossed, leaning back against the counter.

"It isn't," she insisted. "Some sort of questions about Muggle methods of cooking will be on your exam, I assure you." He just frowned, looking down at the mess that was supposed to be dough, his expression sullen. Most of the house-elves had made themselves scarce, but a couple were working silently around them, sneaking glances as they did so. Draco was very aware of their eyes on him, as well as Hermione's. "Come on," she urged. "We talked through the recipe, you watched me do it, I know you are capable."

He resisted the urge to snap at her. Instead, he grabbed flour - with his previously clean hands - and spread it across the surfaces of his fingers and palms. He cringed as he did so, but that sensation was nothing compared to the feeling of touching the mixture before him. He immediately felt the desire to go wash his hands, to leave her and go to his room to shower. "This is disgusting," he declared as his palms pressed into the mess.

"It isn't disgusting," she told him, laughing at him. "You can wash your hands when you're done."

"You told me they have machines for this, Granger. Why must I do this?" he continued to work, pulling it back towards him and turning the dough as necessary.

"Because, I seriously doubt they allow you to answer that a machine did the work on your exam."

"Well, maybe they should," he huffed.

"You know, many Muggles enjoy this way of doing things. They prefer doing the work by hand because they enjoy the process and believe it affects the taste," she explained.

Draco glanced over at her and rolled his eyes. "It hardly seems worth the effort."

"My mum and I used to bake by hand. My father bought her a beautiful mixer one year, and we tried it with her vanilla cupcakes, and they weren't nearly as good. Something was off with the sponge."

Draco mumbled, "lunatic," under his breath, but Hermione just smiled, apparently lost in her memories.

"You'll see," she said. "This pizza is going to be delicious." He shook his head, continuing to turn and knead the dough. It wasn't really that bad any more. It was starting to feel less gross, and he'd settled into a rhythm, but he still longed to wash his skin.

"So, they will have a recipe or what?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"I'm not sure, honestly, but I figure if we cover several different methods over the year in addition to the book work, you should be set. I'm going to have you bake something next, I think."

"The regular Muggle Studies students don't cook anything," he told her.

"I know, but doing is really the best way to learn anything," Hermione said.

"Sacrilege! What about all of your books?" he smirked, and she shook her head.

"My books teach me things which I cannot learn through practice or advise on how best to undertake that practice."

"I'm going to tell them you don't love them anymore," he said. He could see her grinning at him. He wasn't really sure what had gotten into him, but they were having an actual enjoyable conversation. He was teasing her, and she wasn't offended or snapping at him. It was strange, new territory, but in a way that he liked. It was refreshing to forget the world enough to be able to tease.

After about ten minutes of kneading, Hermione moved over to take the dough from him, feeling it in her own hands. "I think it's good. Go ahead and spread it on the stone." She walked him through the steps, keeping her face even as she watched him fumble along, which he appreciated, even if he wouldn't tell her. He heated the oven before he added toppings, and finally, they slid both pizzas into the contraption, and he moved over to the sink quickly, washing each finger carefully with scalding water.

They cleaned their dishes by hand as they waited, and he thought longingly of the magical ways of cooking he was familiar with which required none of this mess or patience. When they were done, the cheese bubbling and slightly browned, Hermione let him pull them out, and then placed a stasis charm on the pair. She asked the house-elves kindly if they could take some Pumpkin Juice as well, and to his surprise, they took the meal back to their dorms.

"Would you like to play chess maybe?" she asked once they had arrived. "Or, I might have a deck of exploding snap."

Draco's mouth fell open, and then closed. "Yes, yeah, chess is fine." His surprise did not end there. Hermione moved to her room to get her chess set and then sat on the floor next to the small table. He stared at her as she used her wand to cut the pizza into smaller pieces. She placed one of the pieces on one of the plates that the house-elves had sent up, and then set up her chess board. Somewhere in the middle of this task, she seemed to realize he wasn't moving.

"Are you going to sit?" she asked.

"Are we going to eat on the floor?" he countered.

"Well, I was going to, yeah." She chuckled, and he shook his head. "Have you never eaten on the floor before?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Why would I ever need to eat on the floor?"

"Sometimes it's fun," she said. "And, the food is on a table. Sit down."

Draco shook his head, and moved in front of the perfectly good sofa to sit on the floor. "You're very strange, Granger."

"Try the food," she urged, ignoring him as she finished setting up the board. Draco leaned in to grab one of the pieces of his pizza and a plate. He looked it over hesitantly and then moved it to his mouth to take a bite.

It was gloriously hot and cheesy, with just a bit of spice from the pepperoni she had forced him to put on top. When he looked up at her, she was smiling widely at his expression. He must have looked like an idiot.

"Good?" she asked.

"It's all right." He shrugged, putting the delicious food onto the plate, preparing to destroy her at chess.

Thursday, August 27th, 1998

Even on her third visit, Hermione felt utterly odd in Ben's small quarters. He had three rooms: his main area, which held a desk, bookshelf, seating area, small kitchenette, and dining table, his bedroom, and a bathroom. The door to his bedroom was firmly shut each time they arranged for her to come by, and Hermione was grateful. She felt horrible enough sitting on his couch. That closed door felt like a very firm barrier between a visit and something much more personal.

He made her tea while she sat, and they chatted about how his preparations were going. He had mapped out just over half the year, an amount which he was frustrated with. He had really been aiming to be done with the entire year before the students arrived.

"You received the placement so late," Hermione assured him. "I think you are doing better than can be expected, really." She took her cup from his hands, and he sat at the other end of the small couch.

"I know that, I really do. I just hoped, well, anyway, the students will be here Tuesday whether I'm done or not, so there isn't much I can do at this point." He shrugged, but she could still see the tension in his body.

"Speaking of the students," Hermione began, setting her cup down on the small end table, "what do you think we should do, I mean, with us." She flushed, and he chuckled before following her lead, setting down his cup. He moved closer to her on the couch until their legs were touching. He leaned forward and kissed her softly.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't want to stop seeing you."

"Me either," she agreed. These moments with him were the only moments of true relief she felt. He didn't ask about the war. He didn't have a history with her. He didn't need her to fix him. He wanted to talk about books, and teaching, and their futures. He asked her about her N.E.W.T.s preparations, looked over her lesson plans for Draco, and kissed her until she was butter in his hands. She had no desire to give up these moments of freedom.

"I could speak to McGonagall," he told her.

Hermione bit her lip, and shook her head. "I don't want to add anymore stress on her head. Maybe, for now, it would be best to just try to keep things between the two of us quiet. After I graduate, if we are still … well, then we could start dating more openly."

"Are you okay with that?" His hand moved towards hers, and his fingers laced between hers. "I'm not ashamed of you, Hermione, and I truly don't see anything wrong with our relationship. You're really only a year younger than me, and I'm not your teacher."

"I know that, but I think some people may try to spin it differently," she told him. "Anyone I date will immediately be under close scrutiny anyway. I think it's probably best if we just see where this goes without involving other people."

"Okay. I can live with that." He grinned at her and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers again as his hand rested gently on her side. She let her arms wrap around his back, and he shifted, moving closer. She settled back against the pillows, and they readjusted to be more comfortable. He kissed her softly, and she let her mind get lost in his tender embraces.

After nearly half an hour of gentle kisses, sweet sighs, and whispered admirations, he pulled back reluctantly. "I have to get ready for my meeting," he told her softly. His forehead rested against hers, and she sighed against his lips.

"I know," she told him. They moved apart, both of them unimpressed with the idea. Ben lifted himself from the couch, smoothing his shirt as Hermione ran a hand over her hair. It was surely a mess. He grabbed her hand and walked her to the door. Her back fell against the wood, and she smiled at him. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Me too." He leaned in, kissing the corner of her mouth. "See you in the library tonight, and dinner this weekend, before the kids get here?"

She nodded, and her hand on the doorknob turned. She could feel his eyes on her as she left the room, and it was such a surreal sensation. She had never been pursued so actively by someone she wanted in return. Ron's actions had been tentative, hesitant, and then … well, it was over. Cormac had been a mess, someone she had no desire to pursue with any real intent outside of jealousy. Viktor had been sweet and shy. Those first kisses had been wonderful, but then he was gone and letter were not a very good substitute for having someone real in front of you to talk to, laugh with, and share life. If she had been older, and he closer, perhaps she could have had something with him, but it had never worked out.

Ben was here. He was real and solid, and he wanted her. He found her mind intriguing, and when he kissed her, she could almost forget feeling guilty that he had been hired to teach, and she was technically a student. When he kissed her, she felt wanted, and part of her, a part she would deny even to herself, liked that feeling because she was still feeling utterly lost about what had happened between her and Ron. Why hadn't she been enough? Why had he left her?

Monday, August 31st, 1998

Ginny's trunk lay open on their bed, half filled with clothes. Harry was downstairs, cleaning up from lunch while she got back to work. Each item she placed into the truck filled her with just a little bit more dread. She was leaving him, and she hated it. Things were still not quite right, and Harry still wasn't sleeping more than an hour at a time. He still hadn't opened up to her, and she wasn't sure what that meant for them. She loved him. That was a given, but she was beginning to wonder if love was enough. Was she enough? Harry had experienced pain beyond anything most people were capable of comprehending, but she had been sure that she could do it. She could be his rock, his healer, but she was failing.

She was failing in so many ways, and now she wasn't sure what the next step would be. She was angry with her mother, and exhausted of trying with Harry, and nothing felt right, nothing was whole. She hoped desperately that something would feel right at Hogwarts, that it could be home again, but at the same time, she feared this was the wrong move. She was leaving Harry, knowing that there was something between them, and she feared that they would let it grow until it tore them apart.

"Gin," Harry said softly as he walked up behind her. His hands moved around her waist, and his lips touched the skin between her neck and shoulder.

"If I pack, I have to leave," she whispered back, staring at the trunk.

"We'll still see each other. I will come as often as I can," he assured her.

"You won't sleep."

His breath was heavy against her neck as he sighed. "I'll be fine." Fine. She hated that word. Everyone was fine these days.

"I'm going to miss you," she muttered. Harry turned her until she faced him. The tip of his nose touched hers, and then his lips were on hers, the familiar hunger feeding their movements. Her hands moved into his hair as the back of her knees hit the mattress. She fell back to the bed, Harry sliding over her, his fingers already pushing up the thin cotton of her shirt.

She was sure she should stop him, try to talk about what was going on behind those green eyes, but she couldn't force herself to do it. Talking was hard. Trying to help him through whatever he was going through was nearly impossible, but this, the feel of skin on skin and hot breath against her mouth was easy. This they had mastered quickly, losing their very selves in the sensations of their flesh. They were artists at work, devouring each other with such a perfect rhythm until they were two huddled masses, tangled in one pile, trying desperately to catch their breath.

In the aftermath, Harry leaned even closer, his hand grazing naked skin. His lips found her ear. "I love you," he whispered.

She closed her eyes, closed out the world beyond the heat of his body, and snuggled deeper into him. She forgot about her half empty trunk which they had knocked to the floor. She forgot about his inability to communicate. She forgot about her mother, and her backwards thinking, her insistence that Ginny must live and love precisely the way she had. She forgot about leaving in the morning. She chose to remember this feeling of satisfied contentment as Harry's arms surrounded her, and his lips whispered delicious words in her ear. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she drifted off to sleep.


A/N: Sorry for the delay! I was wrapping up another story and focusing on school. this story will now be my main focus and updates should not be this delayed again.

Hope you enjoyed!

Xoxo

Meg