Hermione couldn't quite understand what had made her offer her handshake to Draco. It was something in his voice: not quite anger, not at her anyway. Anger at himself, maybe, or at the world around him. It was also something in his gray eyes: the hesitation to accept her offer of a fresh start. And Hermione knew then that Draco was far more afraid of her than she was of him.

"So did the handshake help or was he still acting odd?"

Hermione and Ginny volunteered themselves to grab extra cutlery from the kitchen so Hermione could fill in her friend without being overheard.

"No, it honestly seemed to clear the air. The rest of the week was more or less perfectly normal. Though he did speak rather rudely about my proposed centaur legislation."

"Does this mean you two are… friends now?"

Before Hermione could answer, another voice cut through the kitchen. "Gin, your mum sent me back here to help, or rather, 'see what in Merlin's name is taking those girls so long, it's just silverware!'"

Hermione and Ginny giggled at Harry's rather accurate impression of Molly Weasley. As they finally set about gathering the cutlery they promised, Harry let Hermione walk ahead and fell back in step with Ginny.

"Anything I should be concerned about?" he whispered to Ginny. His wife merely grinned up at him, giving nothing away. "No, and don't you dare pester her, nosy. Hermione's a grown witch, her business is her own."

April 2007

"Oh come on, that is an absolutely ridiculous portion of the budget."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Granger, you're smart and all, but I'll never understand your blind spot when it comes to quidditch."

Hermione huffed and sat back in her seat. "Are you telling me you're not the least bit perturbed at the percent of the Ministry's budget that is allocated for supporting the Department of Magical Games and Sports?"

Draco grinned. "Well Granger, since my livelihood depends on that poor, struggling sport known as quidditch, I think you'll find I'm rather encouraged by it."

Hermione let out an indignant snort, then seemed to catch herself and averted her gaze from Draco, looking slightly ashamed.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I just… nothing."

"Oh spit it out, Granger."

Hermione sighed, but still wouldn't meet his gaze. Draco noticed a light pink beginning of a blush working its way up her face.

"I was going to make a rather snarky quip about your wealth but… well we'd been getting along so well these past few weeks and I didn't want to ruin that by being childish and insulting."

This was true. Every day before work this month had been rather pleasant for the two of them. Draco was still having the occasional nightmare, and if the bags under Hermione's eyes on certain days were any indication, she too suffered from her share of sleepless nights. But despite the night terrors, Draco knew if he could just survive until he arrived at the cafe, then his day seemed to turn right around. During an office-wide meeting last week, Draco had even responded with "good" when a colleague asked how he was doing. It caused the man's eyebrow to raise, which made Draco retreat back to more neutral responses. But he couldn't stop thinking about how the word "good" had rolled right off his tongue.

"You'd hardly wound me Granger, I could live ten lifetimes and barely scratch the surface of gold in my family's vault. I don't need to work to make ends meet."

"Then why do you?"

This line of questioning had been cropping up more and more as of late. Conversations that began innocently enough (quidditch, Ministry budgets, chocolate frog cards, etc.) somehow veered into more serious territory before either could stop.

Too personal, Granger. I work because I'd go fucking crazy with nothing to do all day but mope around my enormous country home and probably drink myself to death. If I don't occupy my time constantly my thoughts drift to horrible memories I'd rather not visit, and a lot of those memories just happen to revolve around you and your friends. I work because quidditch is one of the only things in my life that doesn't trigger that awful constricting feeling in my chest and after years of healing appointments I still don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to be doing in this world.

Draco decided on a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. "I like staying busy and I enjoy quidditch. I'm not good enough to play professionally, but I've a good eye for skilled players, so scouting seemed like a logical fit."

Hermione nodded and seemed relieved to not have ruined this morning's conversation. "Yes, Ginny told me you're basically responsible for the recent success of the Wimbourne Wasps, because of the roster you recommended."

"Weasley said that?"

"Potter."

"Huh?"

"It's Ginny Potter now. She's been married to Harry several years now."

"And you and Ginny Potter have been discussing me, have you?" Draco didn't mean for it to come out like an accusation, but based on Hermione's hardened expression, he could see that it had.

"Relax Malfoy, she knows that I've been seeing you—I mean, not seeing you—but that we… that we're…" She was growing more flustered by the second and Draco opted to sit back and watch her impassively as she struggled with her words. "That we see each other—I mean meet each other—for coffee… in the mornings before work…"

Draco smirked at her and even though she was blushing furiously now, she still managed an eye roll at him. "All right, I've got to be off, see you tomorrow."

"See you Granger. I look forward to hearing more about your friends complimenting me tomorrow."

This earned him another eye roll and Draco tried to ignore the thought that had floated into his brain: Granger's quite pretty when she's flustered.

"Did you like being an only child?"

Draco traced his index finger around the rim of his mug as he considered Hermione's question. It was a question he'd already had to answer for Healer Browning years ago, but the circumstances of that line of questioning could not have been more different. Granger was simply curious.

"Of course. No need to compete for attention or inheritance," Draco replied practically. Most of his pureblood contemporaries were only children: Pansy, Blaise, Goyle, Theo, Flint, Montague, Pucey…

"I go back and forth on it myself."

Draco blinked in surprise. Somewhere in his brain he'd already known this about Granger but her constant proximity to the Weasley horde had obscured this fact.

"I mean, to your point on attention I'd agree with you," she continued. "It was rather nice growing up to have my parents focused on just me. When you're little, you feel kind of… special."

Oh, yes, Draco had been told just how special he was many times growing up. You're a pureblood. You're a Malfoy. You're the sole heir. This makes you special. This makes you better.

"As I got older… well I think it would have been nice to have a brother or sister to help with—to ease some burdens…" she trailed off quietly and Draco noticed a tightness around her mouth and a dimness to her usually bright eyes.

"You and Potter must have bonded over that," he replied with a smirk, trying to steer the morning back to safer waters.

Hermione let out a hollow laugh. "Harry and I could not have had more different childhoods."

"Wasn't Potter raised by Muggles too?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, as if to see if he were kidding. "You think Harry and I had similar upbringings because we were both raised by Muggles?"

"Well hell Granger, it's not like I'd know anything about that!"

"Because learning anything about Muggles is beneath your notice, right?"

Yes? Maybe? Fuck, I don't know.

He had paused too long. She was looking at him with the same expression she long ago reserved just for him at Hogwarts: hurt, disappointed, and slightly perturbed.

She stood suddenly and crammed several books into her bag without bothering to properly clasp it. "I think I'll head to work now, see you Malfoy," Hermione said briskly and swept away without a backward glance.

Fuck. It was Friday, so he wouldn't see her again until Monday morning. What a way to kick off the weekend. I am in control of this.

Hermione took a long sip from the hot mug of mulled cider in front of her. It had been a cooler spring evening to begin with, and as the night wound down and the temperature dropped further, Hermione was thankful to enjoy this specialty brew of Molly Weasley.

Her stomach was pleasantly full, though that could be said after any meal at The Burrow. Little Teddy Lupin had his head of aqua hair pressed against her side as he succumbed to sleepiness after quite the meal. "Little" may start to be inaccurate at the rate he was growing. Hermione couldn't believe he was 9-years-old already. It felt like just yesterday that Remus had barged excitedly into Shell Cottage to announce the birth of his son and name Harry godfather.

Said godfather was sitting on Teddy's other side, gazing fondly down at the snoozing child. "Looks like someone had too much of a good birthday dinner. I'd better get him back to Andromeda's."

Harry grinned at Hermione before gently shaking Teddy awake and planting a goodbye kiss on Hermione's cheek. Hermione smiled sadly at the retreating pair. Harry had more than fulfilled the duty of godfather in the way he looked after Teddy, though Hermione's heart ached that it was necessary at all for Harry to step in as a father figure. Teddy had Tonks' heart-shaped face, but his eyes and the seriousness of his brow were all Remus.

Hermione was pulled from her thoughts as Ron slid into the seat next to her. He wordlessly grabbed her mug from her hands to steal a sip. Hermione giggled and shifted closer to lay her head on Ron's shoulder. Even though they were strictly friends now, it was still so easy to be this comfortable and affectionate with him, and Padma was never the jealous type. Hermione felt her own eyelids growing heavy as she leaned against Ron and watched moths flutter low over the candles on the table.

Absently she wondered if Malfoy had anyone in his life like this. He didn't mention any friends and had only made a few occasional references to his own mother. Hermione began turning over her memories of their recent conversations and if he mentioned any person of importance to him. Perhaps her initial assessment of Malfoy had been correct and he truly was utterly isolated in this world. Unbidden, their conversation Friday morning reared its head and Hermione chewed her lower lip. Why had his comments on Muggle upbringing bothered her so much? He hadn't said anything nasty, but she had felt unnerved all the same. Perhaps it had been a low blow on Hermione's part. They were sitting in a Muggle café together after all.

"Anything new with you Hermione?"

Ron's voice brought her out of her ruminations on Malfoy. "Hmm? No, not really. Still trying to get some political clout behind that centaur legislation."

Ron chuckled softly. "That's work, Hermione, I meant what's new with you."

Not this again. "I'm good Ron, promise." It didn't sound like a lie, and Hermione wondered when this type of speaking in stock phrases of reassurances to her friends had become so natural.

"You can talk to me, you know," came his gruff reply. "Or anyone here, really. You've got family here, you know that right?"

Sometimes Ron was so caring it made her heart constrict. After the war was over and the dust settled and the horrible work of grieving began, Hermione couldn't believe how Ron had stepped up. He became chief caretaker of everyone in his family, putting a hold on his own healing as he tried to mend the emotional scars of his parents, his brothers, his sister, and even Harry.

"I know, Ron. Unfortunately I'm just busy at work right now, no time for much else." She reluctantly pulled away and stood to leave. Ron gave her a small frown, but didn't push her.

"Ok, but let's grab lunch this week."

Hermione nodded and then waved down the table to Padma, Luna, and the rest of the assembled Weasleys as she made her way to the apparition point just beyond the yard. Though her heart was full of love for those around her, and her belly full of good food, she couldn't help but feel empty when she arrived back in her bedroom.

As she drifted to sleep that night, her thoughts became consumed by what she would say tomorrow morning when she faced a certain blond wizard.

"Hi."

Draco tried to tame the surge of hope that coursed through him as Hermione tentatively approached his table Monday morning.

"Granger." He released her name on a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Hermione dropped her bag and went to retrieve her tea. When she returned, she held out a plate to him. "Blueberry scone? I know they're your favorite here."

A peace offering.

Draco accepted the plate. "Er… thanks," came his gruff reply. Hermione gave a small smile and settled in her chair across from him.

"How was your weekend?" she began and Draco knew they were in silent agreement of forgetting about Friday's minor argument.

And Draco tried to control the strange feeling of triumph at the fact that Hermione knew his favorite morning treat.

"Why do you think she reacted that way?"

Draco sighed and picked at his nails. Why did he have to mention to Browning that he had a tiny dust-up with Granger over Muggles? This is why you pay him, moron.

"I don't know." Liar.

Scratch, scratch, went Browning's quill.

"Would you say this type of reaction is typical of her?"

Draco snorted. It was unusual in that she didn't slap me right across the face or call me a ferret, so I guess we can call it an improvement.

"I should have expected for her to assume the worst of me."

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

"Why is that?"

Draco shrugged and stared at the opposite wall. It was decorated with a handsome bookcase filled with many leather-bound tomes and Draco concentrated on reading some of the titles on the spines while he mulled over a response.

"Probably because I used to be rather rude to her. About her blood status." Liar. Liar. Liar. You were so much worse than that.

Scratch, scratch.

"I see. And have you apologized to her for your past behavior?"

Draco snapped his head back to the healer in front of him. "I can't… I can't do that!"

Suddenly the air seemed to be sucked right out of the room and Draco felt like each lungful was a struggle. Browning looked away from the floating parchment and quill to survey Draco over his glasses. Draco tried to focus on the man in his eye-line, but felt a darkness creeping into the edge of his vision and a cold sweat settling on his brow. The pressure in the air was circling in on him, choking the breath from him.

"Draco." Healer Browning's calm voice floated toward him. "Draco. Do you remember your mantra?"

"Yes!" gasped Draco as he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt collar.

"Good, recite it for me. Three breaths in between."

"I…am in…control…of… this." One breath. Another breath. And one more. "I am…in control…of…this." Three short breaths. "I am… in…control of this." And three more. "I am in control… of this." Three breaths, a bit steadier. "I am in control of… this." In and out. In and out. In and out. "I am in control of this."

When Draco opened his eyes again, a glass of water was floating in front of him. He gulped it down eagerly and glared at the floor.

"Draco," came the gentle prodding of his healer's voice. "I think this is a good time to remind you of how far you've come in your journey. Not only have you been clean of Dreamless Sleep Potion for six years, but you've already brought yourself to offer a sincere apology to a former rival you had wronged. Do you remember that?"

How could he ever fucking forget?

It was June 2000, and Draco stood in the rain in an overgrown residential square. Though the rain had broken the humidity somewhat, it was still a rather warm evening, not that it mattered to Draco. The downpour had likely soaked through his skin, but he could barely feel anything. He removed a vial from his inside pocket and downed the remaining Calming Draught within. He'd lost track of how many he'd taken today.

He'd also taken a pain potion, because he liked the numb feeling that particular brew gave his body. He couldn't remember any nights this week that had gone without Dreamless Sleep, pain potion, or a dangerous combination of both with a dash of Draught of Peace.

Even with all the potions coursing through his bloodstream, Draco was patient. Draco was prepared. He gripped his wand tightly, waiting for the opportunity to strike. He'd been stationed here every other night for hours, waiting for the right moment. Pansy always whined and sometimes screamed when he returned home at night, offering no explanation of where he'd gone for hours at a time. She probably assumed he had another woman, and Draco felt it might be easier if she believed that story. It was certainly less embarrassing than the actual reason he was staking out 12 Grimmauld Place.

A shimmer. A movement. The opportunity had arrived, and this was Draco's chance. Ron Weasley emerged from the wards, looked around, and Draco knew he had his wand gripped in his pocket, then walked swiftly down the block. This was it. He had to go now.

Draco approached the derelict looking block of buildings, holding his breath for a moment before walking right up to the space between numbers 11 and 13. He took out a small pocket knife, sliced a thin cut into his palm, and held it to the subtle shimmer of wards. He held it in place for a second, tapped his wand against his bleeding palm and recited a greeting, his name, and a brief declaration of peace in French.

It was an obscure bit of ancient blood magic and he had come across it quite accidentally. Poring over old Malfoy and Black documents (trying to weed out which ones were necessary for financial obligations and which were merely anti-Muggle bullshit or instructions for dark artefacts) when he noticed an old deed for 12 Grimmauld Place.

While yes, Harry Potter was the rightful legal and magical owner of the noble and ancient house of Black, Draco was the last living male Black direct descendant. And as long as Draco wished no harm upon the legal owner of the home (which presumably, when this document had been created, would have meant an actual member of the Black family) then Draco had a blood right to at least be granted entry up to the front door. A tricky little bit of pureblood magic that Draco was briefly grateful for to his paranoid ancestors.

Draco tentatively approached the handsome brass knocker on the newly appeared front door. He took several deep breaths and performed a drying charm on his entire body. He raised a shaking hand and rapped the knocker three times. He almost sprinted away when he heard the sound of footsteps on the other side.

"Did you seriously forget your wallet again—Malfoy!?"

Draco was worried for a brief second that Potter would have to update his title to The Boy Who Died of Shock. Draco clocked the way his eyes widened, then in a second narrowed and one of his hands disappeared behind the door, presumably clutched around his wand.

As he'd practiced in his head, Draco raised both his empty hands in front of his chest, showing he had no intention of holding a wand to Potter's throat.

The hand of Potter's Draco could see tightened its grip on the door and Draco wondered if he thought about slamming it shut.

"What are you doing here? How did you even get here?"

Draco slowly lowered his hands and shoved them in his pockets. Deep breath. And one more.

"I came to talk to you… about a couple things. I thought this might be the best way." His voice was hoarse.

Potter's green eyes looked Draco up and down. He knew he looked a right mess and that his robes were practically hanging off him these days. Potter frowned and opened the door wider. "Better come in out of the rain then."

He'd already started down a dark, narrow hall, leaving the door open for Draco to come through. Draco willed his feet to move and followed Potter inside. The door snapping shut behind him echoed off the walls as he hustled to follow his host.

So this was the house that Bellatrix had been so incensed over? Draco remembered how his insane aunt had gone off in a rage after the death of Sirius Black revealed that her "blood traitor of a cousin" had left her extended family home to Harry Potter.

Draco felt it was depressing and foreboding, much like his great aunt and uncle on his mother's side had been purported to be in life. Potter had led him up one flight of stairs into the first sitting room off a landing.

It was apparent that Potter and Weasley had done their best to remodel the large and once formal sitting room into something resembling the Gryffindor common room. A roaring fire was already blazing at one end surrounded by four handsome high-backed chairs. Draco surmised these were usually occupied by Potter, the She-Weasel, Weasley, and Granger. How cozy.

Potter was already sitting and gestured for Draco to take a chair. Draco settled into the chair furthest from his former school foe and sat up rigidly. Straight-backed and proud. Even if what he was about to do might go down as one of the most humiliating moments in his entire life. Even worse than being turned into a ferret in front of all of Hogwarts.

Draco took another deep breath and looked into the face of the infuriatingly patient-looking Potter.

"How long will Weasley be gone?"

Potter shrugged but then surprised Draco by grinning. "I think you can bank on about 30 minutes. He's on the hunt for a particular Muggle brand of bourbon and he likes to flirt with the girl behind the counter at the liquor store."

Draco sneered but bit back the insult he longed to throw out about Weasley. He had a very important task tonight and schoolboy taunts weren't going to help. Deep breath. I am in control of this.

"Potter. I have a few things that I would like to… that I need to say to you." He gulped some air then shifted his gaze to somewhere around Potter's kneecap.

"I want to thank you. For how you intervened on my mother's behalf at her sentencing. I know that because of your testimony, she was kept out of Azkaban. You were more gracious than you needed to be, and for my mother's life, I thank you."

"She saved mine."

Draco's head snapped up to meet Potter's gaze. "She saved my life Malfoy. I meant what I said at her trial. Without your mother, who knows how that battle would have ended."

Draco nodded solemnly, then resumed staring at Potter's knee. Eye contact with the savior of the wizarding world was a little too intense for his liking. He ran a shaking hand through his platinum hair. So much for that Calming Draught being effective.

"And thank you for saving me as well, and not leaving me to burn to death by Fiendfyre." A few more deep breaths. "I also need to… to… look, about that night at the Manor…"

"Do you want something to drink?" Potter interrupted him and stood.

"Pardon?"

"A drink, Malfoy. Can I offer you something to drink? Firewhisky? Butterbeer? You look like you need one."

"Can't," he muttered. "On too many potions." Merlin this situation was absurd. Potter shrugged and summoned himself a glass of amber liquid. When his host had settled back with his drink, Draco knew it was time for the hard part. Thanking Potter for Mother's life and his was easy; Draco had meant what he said. But reliving that night at the Manor… well there was a reason it had taken him almost two years to approach Potter.

"That night… at my family's home. I know that… I should have done something more. Helped you or Granger or—"

"He would have killed you. Or Bellatrix would have. You and your parents."

"But I didn't do anything and I read the letter you submitted to my sentencing—"

"Malfoy there's no shame in protecting your loved ones—"

"Do you always interrupt people when they are trying to apologize to you?" he angrily spat.

Potter held up a placating hand. "All I'm saying is, you did what you could, and I wanted the Wizengamot to know that. You knew it was us and you said nothing definitive. Just that little bit of uncertainty bought us some precious time. You could have easily identified us, handed us over to Voldemort, and had your family's place restored in his eyes. I know he made you do… awful things…"

Draco shivered despite the warmth of the fire. "Doesn't matter now anyway, Potter." He said shortly. "Your side won and people like me deserve what's coming to them. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for my part in your suffering."

There, he'd done it. He'd given an apology to Potter. His healer would be ever so proud. Did he feel any better? A weight lifted? Hard to tell with all the medicinal liquid in his veins. Maybe that part came later.

Potter fixed Draco with a hard stare. "Look Malfoy. I've never liked you, I've never liked your family. That doesn't mean I think you need to pay for the crime of protecting those you love. One of Voldemort's greatest strengths was manipulation. He knew you'd do anything to protect your parents. And I can't fault you for that."

Potter heaved a sigh and stood. Setting his glass down on a side table, he approached Malfoy's chair until he was standing over him. "But he always, always, underestimated the power of love. Your mother loved you so much she defied Voldemort when it mattered most. We're really not so different from one another."

Draco snorted. "Oh yes, we're twins you and me. The Boy Who Lived to Save Us All Again and the disgraced former Death Eater."

"The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters."

Draco blinked in surprise at his words. "Shit, Potter. That was sort of profound."

Potter smirked and ruffled his always unruly black hair. "It was something my godfather told me and I never forgot. Thinking the world is black and white tends to lead to problems."

Draco looked away and stared into the fireplace. His mother's cousin seemed like a fascinating wizard and Draco found himself growing curious about the type of person he was in life. Sirius and Regulus Black apparently had more to them than being names his mother avoided speaking and whom Bellatrix had branded as family traitors.

A movement in front of him caught his eye. Potter was holding his hand out. Draco briefly flashed back to being 11-years-old on the train to Hogwarts, trying to form an alliance with a young Harry Potter. Potter had spurned his offer of friendship then, but here he was, offering a sort of penance to Draco.

Draco's eyes flicked between the hand outstretched and those bright green eyes. "Before you offer that, I should probably also say sorry for being such a little shite to you at school for so many years," he said warily.

Potter shrugged. "Forgiven, Malfoy. It was… really big of you to come here."

Draco shook his hand. "Thanks Potter," he mumbled.

Potter retreated a bit back as their hands dropped and cleared his throat. "How did you find the house through the wards anyway?"

"Ah well, that was a tricky little bit of blood magic. Purebloods are notoriously protective of their property. As a direct descendant of the Blacks, I'm allowed through, provided I swore an oath not to harm the legal owner. I found it in a very old French deed outlining the house's protection plans and succession rules."

Potter was starting to look a little uncomfortable and Draco took that as his cue to leave. "Don't worry, I'm the only Black descendant left besides my mother."

"You're not." Potter replied quietly.

"Sorry?"

Potter cleared his throat again. "You're not the last of the Blacks. Your mother's sister Andromeda is still alive and her grandson, Teddy Lupin. They come round often."

Draco was dumbstruck. He'd completely forgotten about his mother's other sister. How fucked up was it that Harry Potter of all people was a better authority on his own kin?

Unbidden, a horrifying memory floated to the surface. "Draco, will you babysit the cubs?" Draco pushed away the thought of a sneering pale face and gleaming red eyes with difficulty. About time for some more potions…

"Oh. Right. Well, I should go I think."

Potter looked like he wanted to say something else about his estranged family, but thought better of it. "I'll walk you out. Ron should be back any minute."

Draco followed him silently, neither man speaking until they reached the front door. "Potter… I'd be very… grateful if you didn't tell anyone about my visit." Fuck, how many times today had he had to swallow his pride in front of Potter?

And while Potter did smirk at him, his reply to Draco was most unexpected. "What is it about you Slytherins never wanting people to discover the best of you?"

Draco had no idea how to respond, having no clue what that was supposed to mean, but Potter saved him from trying. "I promise, Malfoy. And… and if you ever did feel the need to come back for another chat… well you know how to find me now."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following, etc., I truly appreciate it.