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 Twenty-Three

Sunday, January 3rd, 1999

Waking before Harry was rare, but it did happen. Ginny usually slipped from their bed carefully, hoping not to wake him, but today she just watched him, lost in her own thoughts. McGonagall had written her back with words of congratulations, but insurances of the important role N.E.W.T.s could one day have in her life. The woman was ever a contradiction, pulled in two directions by her deep love for Quidditch and knowledge. Her reaction had been precisely as Ginny had predicted.

Harry, on the hand, remained unreadable. He seemed pleased for her, but he was still wrapped so tight, so closed away from her. He and Hermione had been arguing about something important. She knew it, but he refused to tell her what it was, brushing it off as a triviality when it clearly wasn't. He was back at work this week, his efforts completely entrenched in overworking his mind again. She wanted to scream at him, to demand he stay home, to hit his chest until he said something, anything of actual value to her. It had been half a year and nothing.

Since Christmas, she had started to wonder how long she would wait, what the limit on her patience truly was. She could get own flat now if she wanted. Her salary from the Harpies would more than cover it, but she wasn't ready. She loved him. Despite knowing that he was incapable of giving her what she needed, she was dedicated to trying, to proving to herself that she had done everything first.

He sighed in his sleep, a deep breath exhaled through those lips she knew so well, and she licked her own, wondering what he was thinking about. She wished she had a lens that would allow her into his dreams. Perhaps they would tell her what it was he battled with inside that thick head of his.

Ginny moved closer her hand resting on his cotton t-shirt a moment before she claimed his lips. He didn't react at first, but she persisted moving over his body. She needed to feel closer to him, to close the endless gap for just a few moments, to make the distance seem breachable. Within a few moments, his hands were moving sleepily up her thighs as he began to kiss her back.

She rocked against his boxers, and he breathed heavily into her kiss. Fingers dug into her thighs, and she relished in the small bit of pain. He wanted her. He needed her. She could see it in his eyes. She could feel it in the way he gripped her during sex. She could hear it in the unsaid words. He needed her, and she wasn't ready to give up on him yet.

"Harry," she whispered, "fuck me." She wasn't interested in making love this morning as the first rays of sun touched their curtains. She wanted to feel his need, to assure herself that it existed, that she wasn't a crazy woman holding out for the impossible.

Harry groaned and pulled her down against his body. "Gin," he mumbled, and he tossed her to the side onto her back. She waited for him to move over her, his eyes still bleary from sleep. He placed a knee on either side of her body and looked down at her. She wore his old jersey. She had her own of course, but his jersey fell long enough to be a nightgown, and he'd told her that he loved it when she wore it. His number stared back up at him, and he grinned. "You're fucking gorgeous."

"I know," she told him, shrugging as she smiled up at him. "Now, fuck me."

"I think those Harpies are a bad influence on you." Harry's fingers moved under the jersey and pushed it up just enough to reveal her knickers.

"They just teach me to take what I want." She licked her lips again and pushed her hips up the slightest bit.

Harry pulled the black cloth down her legs as she helped him to do it quickly. "You know what the Aurors teach me?" he asked, gazing down beneath her legs.

"How to aim?" she teased.

Harry's fingers touched the inside of her knee and moved down slowly. She would kill him. She didn't want this. She didn't need this. She needed him hard and fast.

"Patience." Harry grinned and two of his fingers moved inside of her. She rocked against them on instinct, her body needing something, anything.

"I'm going to curse you," she promised.

Harry ignored her, dipping his head down to lick her clit as his fingers moved in and out of her. She grabbed his hair and urged him closer as his tongue flicked across the nub. It wasn't enough. None of this was enough. "You seem to like it," he told her, and the vibrations of his words made her moan.

"You know what I want," she demanded. Harry sighed dramatically, the air tickling her thighs as he moved away. His hand pulled back too, moving to his own trousers. He pushed them down to his knees, and his cock bounced as it sprang free. Her need pulsed at the sight. She just wanted him inside of her, part of her, needing her.

Harry stroked his cock slowly as one of his fingers moved into his mouth to taste her. She moaned again, angry at him for being capable of being such as ass when he had just been asleep.

Finally, he moved down over her, his tip at her slit, and she bit his lip hard as he leaned in to kiss her. He shoved into her then, his cock entering her in one fluid motion which made her grip the sheets and cry out. "Yes," she told him. "Fuck, yes." It was good, so fucking good to have him inside of her, to have him thrusting into her without abandon. He was done teasing her, done playing his games, and now he gave her what she wanted. She looked into his eyes and saw his hunger, saw his love, saw his desperation, and she got everything she needed. Moments like this were why she wasn't ready to let go, to give up on him. When they were like this, when he allowed himself to be vulnerable and open and burying himself inside of her, it was almost as if she didn't need the words, as if she could almost read them in his eyes.

XXX

Wednesday, January 6th, 1999

Ron poured over the inventory, his hair beyond ruffled, his sweater tossed over a nearby chair. His tea was beyond cold, abandoned on the edge of one of the work tables. He felt as if he was always doing inventory as if his life revolved around the count of Skiving Snackboxes and Nosebleed Nougat these days, but it was only because he was still getting a sense for production, for what the supply and demand of the place really was. The shop had closed hours ago. George had the day off, and Verity had been up front working on new displays the last time Ron had seen her. That had been a good while ago though, so she could be gone now.

He could go home, he probably should go home, but he plugged away at the inventory instead, counting each section by hand when his wand would do the trick. It just seemed like the way it should be done. This place still felt reverent to him. He found himself pulling his keys from his pocket several times a day to make sure that Fred's key remained there, resting on the ring next to the keys to Grimmauld and the Burrow. He wasn't crazy. He had really given up being an Auror, a dream he had realized he hadn't really cared much for after all, to do this.

As he moved over to the WonderWitch products, Ron grinned at the thought. He wished Fred were alive. He would give this up in a second without even thinking about it to have Fred back. Knowing that wasn't an option, being here, taking part in his legacy was the best next thing. He snorted at the Love Potions, remembering how upset they had all been at Ginny about her love life when she had first seen them. He didn't know what to think about her. He felt proud of her, glad that she had followed her dreams, but he couldn't help but wonder if she was really happy with Harry being the way he was. He wanted her to be happy. He wished that it would be with Harry. He loved and trusted Harry, but not at the expense of her being miserable. He sighed rubbing the back of his neck as he finished jotting down the Love Potions numbers on the parchment.

"Mr. Weasley?" Verity asked, pulling his attention from the inventory.

"Yes?" Ron asked, still not quite used to having someone refer to him so formally. She had just started that after Christmas, and he wasn't sure he cared for it.

"I finished the display. I'm going to head home," she said. "Unless you need anything else?"

"No," Ron assured her, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I should be heading out, too. Thank you for taking care of that."

"Of course." She reached behind her, pulling at the strings of the apron she had been wearing before hanging it on the hook. Ron turned back to his work, ignoring his own advice to head home. After several minutes, he realized that Verity hadn't actually left. He looked up to find her standing with her coat draped over her arms. She stared at him oddly, biting her lip.

"Yes?" he asked again, surprised.

"I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but I … well … if you needed someone to talk to … I just mean, you're always here, and I guess … it can't have been easy, this past year, and I just … it seems like you could use a friend, not that you don't have friends, but maybe a new friend, a friend that didn't go through it all with you." The words rushed out of her in such quick succession that Ron had to think about them for a full minute before he had really comprehended what she had said.

"Yeah, okay," he said, nodding. "Thanks."

"No problem," she told him, flushed. She began to leave, but turned back once more, giving him an embarrassed smile. "You should really go home. This will still be here in the morning."

"Yeah." Ron put the quill down. It was his turn to give her a guilty smile. He hadn't really intended to leave at all. He would have stayed here for another hour at least. "Okay."

He grabbed his wand from the table and his sweater to follow her out of the store. They turned the lights off as they walked towards the front of the store. She waited as he turned the lock in the door, and they stood there in front of the shop together, both feeling a bit awkward. "You know," Ron said, finally, "I'm okay if you just want to keep calling me Ron. It seems weird to change it now."

She nodded, smiling at him. "Okay. Good night, Ron."

"Good night," he told her.

XXX

Saturday, January 9th, 1999

Hermione watched the Headmistress closely as she finished up the letter she had been writing to Kingsley. Hermione had tried to excuse herself when she realized that the Headmistress was busy, but she had insisted that Hermione and Draco remain. Apparently, she wanted to hear how their lessons were going.

Now that they were here, seated before the Headmistress, Hermione was altogether uncertain that this was a good idea. Perhaps she should have come alone. Maybe that would have gone over better, but Draco had a right to be part of this. His life was affected even more than hers by them being together at this point if Hermione was really being honest.

"Sorry," McGonagall told them as she placed her quill to the side. "Had to get that down, or I would never have remembered everything I needed to say."

"Of course," Hermione told her, glancing over at Draco. He rubbed his temple with his fingers, clearly just as uneasy as she was.

"So, how are your lessons going? Are you feeling like it's coming together at all Mr. Malfoy?" the Professor asked, hopefully.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Granger is a great teacher."

The Headmistress seemed pleased by his response. "I'm extremely proud of you both for putting the past behind you and working together on this."

"We've ... " Hermione glanced over again, but Draco avoided her eyes by staring straight ahead at the Professor. "We've been enjoying it."

"Really?" McGonagall herself seemed surprised by her reaction, but Hermione couldn't really blame her. "Is that … well … how is it going for you Mr. Malfoy?" she asked.

Hermione openly turned to look at Draco as he finally met her eyes briefly. "It's been … really good," he said, but he didn't look away. Hermione smiled at him, hoping that her nerves weren't too obvious.

"That's excellent. I will admit, I hoped that the two of you would come to a truce of sorts, but it seems that you are starting to …"

"I love her." Draco interrupted suddenly.

It took Hermione a very long moment to realize that he had actually said the three words out loud, that they hadn't been some phantom ghosting of his voice inside of her head. Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and she looked over at Headmistress McGonagall who seemed to reflect her own surprise.

"It just sort of happened," Hermione added, not really sure that she helped with her addition.

"We're concerned about how it may be perceived if it gets out," Draco concluded, getting straight to the point. They had debated what to do, and finally settled on speaking to the Headmistress to get some guidance. They knew that she wanted Draco to be successful in his rehabilitation, so they considered her a safe person to share their relationship with. However, blurting it at her while she was talking had not been part of the plan.

Before them, Minerva McGonagall covered her mouth with her hand as she attempted to pull herself together. "I'm … Hermione, you feel the same way for Draco?" she asked finally.

"Yes," Hermione said softly. Her lips slipped up into a stupid grin that she couldn't really control.

McGonagall pushed up from her desk, spinning to stare at the apparently asleep Dumbledore. "You knew about this, didn't you?" she asked. Dumbledore shrugged, a small smile gracing his lips as he continued to feign sleep. "You miserable …" She trailed off as her hand rose to her forehead.

"Headmistress…" Hermione began, but the other woman waved her hand at her.

"You're perfectly in your right to fall in love with whomever you like, Hermione," she said, but her voice sounded tired as she took her seat again. "Who knows about this?"

"Theodore Nott and Harry Potter," Draco told her. "My …" Draco glanced at Hermione. "My mother may suspect something. Hermione went to visit her over the break."

"You visited Narcissa Malfoy?"

Hermione nodded. "Harry went with me."

"Are you planning to share this publicly?" the Headmistress asked, looking between her two students, clearly still attempting to find her footing.

"We, well, Harry was worried that it might hurt Draco's chance of completing his probation process. We hoped that you might have some advice about how to navigate the next several months until he completes it." Hermione looked uneasily across the desk at the Headmistress, hoping that she would have some sort of answer for them. As she bit her lip nervously, she felt Draco's fingers wrap around hers.

"Yes. He isn't wrong. Let me think about this for a few days. I would appreciate it if you would continue to keep this quiet until we can talk again."

"Of course," Hermione told her, nodding.

McGonagall turned to look directly at Draco. "The Minister is very invested in your rehabilitation, assuming that it is genuine. He wants you to be successful, and he would be an ally in this situation, I believe. Would either of you mind if I discuss this with him?"

Draco met her eyes questioningly, and Hermione nodded. "I trust Kingsley," he told him.

"Then, so do I."


Yes. I'm a monster who hasn't updated in forever. On a positive note, I will get my Master's Degree in a week, so you win some, you lose some. Haha. Summer break is here people. Writing will happen.

XOXO

Meg