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A/N: Hello all! Firstly, I want to apologise for the late update. I'm now back at work and out of lockdown, so expect more delays between updates. I do not intend to abandon this story though! It just might take me a little longer.

Secondly, I just wanted to address a couple of messages and reviews I've had, questioning Draco's remorse and stating that they couldn't understand how Draco could be in any way reformed or feeling guilty and still act like an arse, and they don't see how Hermione and Draco will get together.

In answer to this, I don't think I ever stated that Draco felt remorse in any way. The story title should give it away that I intend for his remorse to be learned with his reform. Furthermore, this is not intended to be short story. I'm not going to rush the development of their relationship because it's simply not realistic. This is meant to be a slow burner, so rest assured, they will get along.

But not yet.

Anyway, rant over. Sorry for all that enjoyed it and I hope those of you this applied to will continue now to enjoy it also.

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She was extremely irritable right now. Hermione had been so close to having a good day, but the combination of cleaning and arguing this morning had ruined that. She was over an hour late for work, so she had to resort to taking the bus– something which she detested— she had to skip breakfast again, and when she finally did show up for work, she had been incorrectly delivered a shipment of books that were now taking up the majority of floor space in her very small shop.

Her assistant, Mari, was frantically manoeuvring the heavy boxes and trying to stack them into neat piles to make some space. Not that she needed to bother. It wasn't as though the store ever saw hordes of customers that might trip over them. There was only Mari, herself, and batty old Mrs. Higgs, the quiet regular who liked to peruse the romance novels all day without ever making an actual purchase.

"Morning 'Mione," Mari puffed as she shuffled past hurriedly with two overweight boxes. "I've already called shipping HQ. This isn't even our bloody order!"

"Good morning Mari." she replied, taking off her coat and hanging it up behind the counter. "Yes I know, our deliveries are meant for Tuesdays and Fridays. Plus, I gathered by the sheer size of the order that this wasn't ours. Do we know who it was meant for?"

Mari plonked the boxes and stood slowly, clutching her obviously sore back, and wiped the sweat from her neck, huffing out a staggered breath. "Ya, it was for the Waterstones in Covent Garden. Not sure how they could've confused the two of us, but here we are." Mari wandered over to the counter and leant across it, sweeping her messy brown hair from her face. "So, how come you're so late today?" she questioned with a smirk. "Out on the lash were we?"

Hermione half-smiled, eyeing her with playful exasperation. "No. Lets just say I ran into a bit of trouble with my morning shower." she replied.

"Ah, sure." Mari winked. "Trouble. I get it. I can't say that can empathise with your woes if I'm honest. My fella usually keeps me out of trouble." her grinned widened from ear to ear as Hermione caught her meaning.

"Nothing like that, Mari. Honestly, get your mind out of the gutter." she rolled her eyes.

"Hey, if you didn't want me to believe otherwise, you should've specified." Mari held up her hands defensively. "Anyway, what am I supposed to think? I haven't seen you with anyone since that Ray bloke you were seeing. And that ended when, August?"

Hermione cringed slightly at her question. Honestly, Mari was a fantastic Assistant Manager, but she could be rather frank sometimes.

"His name is Ron. And yes, it was around August we broke up." she quietly said, turning and pretending to busy herself with paperwork. She didn't fancy having to relive that debacle again. Thankfully, Mari seemed to take a hint and veered slightly from the subject of Ron.

"I'm just saying 'Mione, you need to get back on the horse... Then maybe your shower can have a break."

Hermione whipped around and swatted her arm with her paperwork, trying to will her cheeks not to redden as Mari openly laughed at her. Mrs. Higgs - who had clearly been listening - widened her eyes at the two of them.

"Okay! Okay, truce!" Mari laughed, shielding herself from Hermione's blows.

"Get back to work, Mari." Hermione smiled.

"Yes, boss." she saluted Hermione with two fingers and turned back to her boxes. "Hey, while we're at it, you should definitely take me up on that offer of coming to a gig. There's always loads of great guys there." she heaved another box into her arms and disappeared into the back office, still smirking.

"I'll think about it!" Hermione called after her, rolling her eyes. She caught the gaze of old Mrs. Higgs who was trying to nonchalantly peer at her over a copy of Sense And Sensibility, and she wiggled her fingers at her in acknowledment. Realising she'd been spotted, the old lady, smiled half-heartedly at her and averted her eyes back to her book.

Shaking her head, Hermione picked up her order forms, plucked a pen out of her shirt pocket and set to work on catching up with the bookkeeping for the day.

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Draco had found the light switch. It looked just as Granger had described, on his wall by the door. He spent around twenty minutes flicking it on and off before he finally heard the front door shut with Grangers departure. Turning his attention away from the Muggle light switch, he decided to leave the confines of his room, reasoning that if he were to live here for a year, he may as well make himself acquainted with his lodgings.

Only while Granger was at work, of course. He had no plans to be around her unless absolutely necessary.

He also reasoned that he ought to find some food soon, because he was positively gut-foundered. He realised that he hadn't eaten anything since the day he had received his letter from The Ministry, and, as of this afternoon, that was fourty-eight hours ago. Of course, yesterday he was nursing a hangover and spent the vast majority of the day unconscious in one form or another, so eating hadn't really been on the agenda.

Draco paused briefly in his doorway to really observe the flat. He'd never looked much beyond Granger's flapping mouth when he was out here.

It was an open-plan living and kitchen area; neutral, plain, boring decor and almost everything in an unappealing shade of brown. There were four floor-to-ceiling windows to his right that sequenced legnth of the wall and four doors in the flat; two bedrooms, a bathroom, and the front door. The dust-coloured carpet stretched two thirds of the room, the other third covered by terracotta kitchen tiles.

The living room contained a shabby collection of furniture. A worn, fabric sofa and leather armchair faced him. Betwixt them was a battered wooden end table holding an array of knick knacks. An oak coffee table positioned in front of the sofa rested atop a shaggy cream rug, and in the corner, next to Granger's bedroom door, was a sizeable black box.

The kitchen, located at the back of the room, was home to darkly varnished wooden cabinets and a few large, white objects. The countertops were black and home to a plethora of shiny, metal devices.

The flat was a lot less Granger-esque than he had expected. For starters, it wasn't exactly tidy. He expected someone as boring as her to think of a clean home as the epitome of importance —next to her books, of course.

And that was the other thing; no books. Or, very little. There were two or three at the foot of the sofa, but not the libraries worth he anticipated the little dork to possess.

Very weird.

Draco didn't have time to think too long on these notions. His stomach growled ferociously in protest of his lingering. He crossed the room, eagerly opening the cupboards. The first few only held cutlery and plates, but finally he found a huge abundance of goodies in another. He really didn't have much idea of what half of it was, however, and he was very reluctant to blindly choose from the strange selections he was presented with. Merlin knows what Muggles considered decent food.

Draco closed the cupboard in a huff. He tried a few more, but to no avail. Taking a step back, hands on his hips, he scrutinised the more foreign items in the room for a moment. He approached the big white cube with some large circles on its top and dials on the front. He pulled the handle down and looked inside.

Nothing.

He tried twisting the dials on its front, wondering if the food would appear with the right combination.

Still nothing.

He slammed the door, and the glass lining it rattled violently, startling him.

Fucking Muggle shit, is there any actual food in this place?

He approached the taller of the white objects next. Pulling it open, he was met with a sudden bright light and a cold chill sliding across his front.

His eyes doubled in size as he absorbed the heavenly sight before him. There was such a wondrous amount of food that Draco had no idea what to choose.

Then reality hit Draco. He really had no idea how to cook — with or without magic. Hell, he'd never so much as made himself a sandwich. His mouth watered at the sight of the thick cuts of meat and the assortment of vegetables. He imagined sinking himself into a cottage pie. Or a roast dinner, dripping in gravy... or a huge helping of steak and potatoes... But he shook himself from his reverie and settled on a green apple and a handful of grapes. Really not much of a meal.

He supposed he'd better figure out some Muggle cooking skills if he expected anything hot here. Obviously he couldn't ask the Mudblood.

Even if she did make anything for him, he wouldn't trust her not to poison it. Or spit in it at the very least.

Draco wandered the small flat aimlessly, crunching on his apple. Every now and then, he picked up a random thing and examined it. Some of them he recognised, some he did not.

He grew disenchanted with his exploring and glanced at the clock again. It had only been an hour since Granger left and he had intended to enjoy his solitude. The trouble was that he had no idea how to entertain himself. He didn't know what the majority of the stuff around him was, and anything he did recognise wasn't something to be used for entertainment purposes.

He sighed audibly. He needed something to do besides peruse Grangers distinctly magicless abode, for he was quickly becoming bored. He knew that confinement could do damaging things to one's mentality, and boredom could well be the gateway to insanity. He couldn't bare to let his mind wander too far, lest he succumb to any repressed memories.

The walls seemed to shrink around him then, and he shuddered. Mentally shaking himself, Draco scooped up one of the books from the floor, crashed into the sofa, and flipped the text open in an attempt to deviate his troubling thoughts. He focused hard on the words in front of him, feigning ignorance toward the mocking tick of the clock.

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When closing time finally rolled around, Hermione left work feeling a little tired but, overall, better than when she had left her flat this morning. She took a slow walk home, stopping off at her usual café and grabbing a takeaway dinner. She began walking more cautiously as she rounded the corner in view of her home.

She just wanted to sit down in front of her TV and eat. But he was there.

She had slowed to almost a full stop now. Hermione tamped down her anxiety, held her head high and picked up her pace, walking the last few steps to her building, up the stairs and to her front door where she stopped and took a deep breath.

God, she was doing that a lot lately.

She pulled her keys from her bag, turned them in the lock and opened the door. She wasn't prepared for the sight that met her, and she exhaled her breath loudly that she didn't know she was holding. This was enough to startle Malfoy who snapped his head up at her offending noise.

He was sitting... no, laying across the legnth of her sofa with one of her books perched precariously in his long fingertips. His eyes met hers for a beat, then he was jumping up from the sofa, slinging the book across the room.

"Hey, don't throw my books around!" Hermione yelled. She put her things down on the kitchen counter and dashed for the book, picking it up and examining it for damage.

"Don't fucking shout at me." he snapped. "It's just a book, Granger."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Books are important, Malfoy. They ought to be treated with respect." She admonished, scuffing the cover with her sleeve.

He snorted, his signature smirk forming on his lips and he folded his arms. "Whatever you say, bookworm."

She scoffed. If it hadn't come from Malfoy, it would have almost sounded like playful teasing.

Perish the thought!

"They're still my belongings, Malfoy," she replied, "and I asked you nicely to respect them. That includes not flinging them across the room." She caught sight of the book cover then and raised her eyes back at him questioningly. "The Librarian of Auschwitz?"

He quirked a brow right back at her. "What?"

"The book, Malfoy? You were just reading it?" she questioned him. "The Librarian of Auschwitz by Antonio Iturbe?" she turned the book around, showing him.

He shrugged, eyeing the book with a bored flicker. "I didn't look at the title."

Hermione paused for a moment as she mulled over his words, frowning in confusion. "How on Earth do you choose a book without looking at the title first?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "I don't know Granger, I was just bored and grabbed the first thing I could see. Merlin knows, there isn't much else that could entertain me here."

"Well, you could try the TV." she pointed across the room. He half-turned to look at her television set in the corner, then back to her with a furrowed crease in his forehead.

"I'll show you how it works later," she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, what did you think of the book?"

If possible, the crease on Malfoy's forehead deepened. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth for a silent moment, then he scoffed. "Not much really."

"Care to elaborate?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Not particularly," he grumbled. "I don't actually enjoy conversing with you, in case you didn't realise." he turned to walk toward his room.

She couldn't help it. She had to know what his problem was. It was a bloody good book and he dismissed it like it was some sort of awful junk mail! "What's wrong with the book, Malfoy?" she asked quickly before he could reach his door.

He stopped and huffed loudly, whipping around and giving her a look of derision. "I didn't finish reading it Granger, you interrupted me upon your return. However, what I did read was very Muggle in every sense. It doesn't hold a candle to decent wizarding literature. In fact, I wouldn't call it decent at all. It was absolute drivel." he replied haughtily.

She clenched her muscles, using every ounce of her strength to stop herself from lunging across the room to slap him. "And why is that then?" she asked with a forced calmness.

"Well, for starters, the storyline was ludicrous. A little girl hiding books from authority? People sent to death camps posing as holiday retreats?" he puffed a derogatory breath. "Doesn't exactly make for decent fiction is all I'm saying. And another-"

"Hold on, wait a minute," she cut him off, shaking her head and waving her hand in the air. "Fiction? Malfoy... is your problem with this book that you don't think the story is believable?"

"Was that not clear? I thought I was speaking English. No, it is not believable," he mocked. "Nor is it particularly relatable. I assume you are meant to feel a sort of empathy for the protagonist and the prisoners. How many people do you know that have been in that situation, really? And how on Earth is it realistic in any way?" his voiced had raised an octave, his lip curled and his hands were gesturing wildly at her. "I mean, no one noticed that the camps weren't really camps? And nobody bothered to speak out about the mistreatment of the prisoners? What, people just take children and-"

"Malfoy," she interrupted, louder this time. "Malfoy, it's not fiction!"

He stopped mid-rant, his Mercurial eyes wide and mouth agape. It was clear on his pale face that her words had jarred him to the core. "What?" his face hardened.

"It's not fiction." Hermione confirmed solemnly. "The little girl in the story, Dita... is a real person. The camps were real. The prisoners were real. The guards, the war, everything. Have you never heard of the second world war? Of Adolf Hitler?" she was struck by his obvious shock, but she couldn't tame the sound of utter disbelief she portrayed with her line of questioning. How could he not know about such an integral part of human history? It was unbelievable really.

Malfoy didn't answer. He just continued to stare at her, evidently disturbed.

She chose to use his silence as an opportunity to explain. "It was a war fought by almost every country in the world between 1939 and 1945, hence why it is know as 'The Second World War'." she said softly. "It was instigated by an Austrian man named Adolf Hitler, who lead Germany and many others to war through political agenda." she paused, watching him closely. His snowy features remained traumatised, though he now seemed somewhat intrigued by her words, listening intently. She continued when he remained quiet.

"Hitler had devised a plan, known back then as 'The Final Solution', now better known as 'The Holocaust'. His army, The Nazi's, rounded up people of the Jewish faith and sent them away to work in camps under the guise of them being holiday retreats. But really they were built for mass genocide of the Jewish people."

Draco grew paler and paler the more she spoke, but Hermione still went on.

"There were several of these camps, the most well known being Auschwitz. The Nazi's exterminated millions of Jewish people, most simply for their difference in religious beliefs. Also some from other parts of the world, mind. Basically anyone that didn't fit the profile that Hitler deemed worthy. Men, women and children alike were killed for years and years. This book simply explores the story of one girl who lived through the war in the Auschwitz concentration camp. She really did conceal banned literature from the guards to give herself and the prisoners a sense of normality. A reprieve from the horrors within the walls of camp. It's terrible really... But it is real." she finished with a deep inhale.

Malfoy's features remained locked in disbelief for several minutes and as a heavy silence permeated the living room. She watched a range of emotions cross his features until they contorted angrily.

"That... is disgusting." the venom in his conviction could have taken down a heard of elephants and Hermione had to suppress a violent shudder at his sudden outburst.

"That's real? It's... it's fucking real?" he gestured madly at the book she clasped, which she had now tightened her fingers around, futilely seeking protection from his volatile rage.

"Yes, Malfoy, it's-"

"Terrible really. Yes you said. Terrible? Bit of a fucking understatement, don't you think?" he spat, rhetorically.

"It's well documented throughout history, Malfoy, how have you never heard of this?" she asked again, still curious as to how one of the most famous wars in history could have slipped past him.

"I would imagine it's something to do with those barbaric Muggle bastards that you and the rest of the Ministry insist I must have empathy for." He curled his lip as he watched her, looking like he'd just tasted something inedible. "Seriously, how in the fuck do you people expect me to empathise with a species of backward, cold-hearted morons such as these?" he asked her seriously.

His comments about Muggles struck a chord in her and she had to bite her tongue. Keeping her cool, she replied "As I said it was a terrible period of time. I'm not going to pretend that history would paint Muggles as perfect, but-"

"Are you really going to stand there and defend these assholes?" he shouted. "This kind of depraved shit shouldn't be glorified-"

"I'm not glorifying anything!" She yelled defensively, feeling herself going red. "I'm not defending what was done either, I'm saying that it's a part of history and-"

"Well it bloody sounds like it! What kind of person are you, Mudblood? That you can stand with a race that would kill innocent people because of their own selfish doctrine?"

She stopped, feeling an anxious sweat form on her neck. She hardened her gaze and met his with unwavering intensity as she squared her shoulders. "Yes," she replied. "Imagine standing with someone who would kill children purely because they don't fit your idea of purity."

"Exactly, you-" he stopped abruptly, his face collapsing.

The penny had dropped. She had successfully flipped his own words around on him, challenging his own beliefs. He narrowed his eyes menacingly at her.

"You conniving little bitch." he seethed. "Don't think that you can turn this around on me, you-"

"I didn't turn anything around on you, Malfoy." she replied prissily. "I didn't force that book under your nose, and I didn't plant those opinions in your head. You came to your own conclusions."

"It's not the same, Granger! It's a completely different world with completely different circumstances!" he shouted, his ice-white face turning fuschia. From embarrassment or anger though, she did not know.

"Of course they are." she conceded sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Look, I'm quite tired and my dinner is going cold, so if you wouldn't mind, I'm going to warm it up and sit down in front of the telly now." she opened the bag containing her food and moved to put it in the microwave. "You are welcome to join me if you wish."

Malfoy stood rooted to the spot, seemingly unable to counter her words as he watched her move around the kitchen as a predator watches its prey. As she popped her food in the microwave, she heard him faintly murmur something behind her.

"Sorry?" she turned to face him.

"I said, 'it is different', Granger." His fists were clenched and his head was lowered. He was shaking with anger, but his words conveyed a different emotion. Doubt, perhaps? Revulsion? Confusion?... Regret?

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," she sighed, removing her dinner from the microwave. "Would you like to join me? There's plenty enough for two people."

He tore his gaze away from the floor as he shook more eratically. He fixed her with a stare that could have turned her to stone and she fought hard not to wither under his scrutiny.

Then he flipped her off, spitting a "fuck you, Granger," and stalking off to his room slamming the door in his wake.

She had beaten him. Somehow... she had won! She hadn't needed her wand and she had won the argument. She had also somehow managed to shake his faith in Pureblood supremacy at the same time!

Not bad Hermione, she congratulated herself as she sat down on the sofa with her dinner and flicked on the TV. Not bad at all.

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Inside his room, Draco was pacing a hole in his floor. He was positively livid, but he couldn't find a flaw in the Muggle-Lovers argument. He wasn't stupid. He knew she had bested him.

This time.

But it wasn't that he'd lost the argument. It was that what she said had made sense. And that she had made sense because of something he had said. With a strong conviction, no less.

But it was different. He was adamant about that. Muggle were savages. And sure, Voldemort was a nutter, but he was definitely the exception to the rule when it came to Wizard-kind, who were far above the reaches of the likes of those idiotic Muggles Granger was defending.

Merlin, he could smell the food she was heating up. He was so damned hungry and she had offered him some of that food...

As enticing as it was, his pride wouldn't allow him out there to face her smugness and her irritating questions. Deep down, Draco knew he had no integrity in this fight... But, he was starving...

He growled lowly to himself, collapsing backward on the bed, flinging an arm over his face.

It was different... It was.

Now he just needed to force himself to believe that notion.

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A/N: The book mentioned in this chapter, The Librarian of Auschwitz by Antonio Iturbe is a real book. It wasn't written as early as this story is set but I needed it to make a point. Don't shoot me. I'm trying to be as accurate as possible!

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