I own nothing but the plot.

November 18th, 1998

"Guy Fawkes Day was two weeks ago so please, please put a stop to fireworks in corridors. Start taking points away if needed, but there's been that many spot fires in the last few days that it's beyond a joke," Hermione stood in front of the fireplace in the Head common room, addressing the gathered prefects currently taking up every available seat. Malfoy stood upon the other side of the room, perched upon his desk, the surface uncharacteristically clean for once, just a stack of parchments next to a pile of books.

"Give detentions if you need. Even the Baron is pissy with the state of things," Malfoy chimed in, his steel gaze meeting the eyes of every Slytherin prefect, each of them wincing at his words. It was a level of fear from the Slytherin prince, but a higher level knowing what their House ghost was like.

"Not to mention, Peeves is starting to get bright ideas," Hermione finished off, shaking her head slightly. Looking over the heads of the gathered prefects, she caught Malfoy's eye. "I think that's about everything for this month?"

"If you have any problems with your schedule, let us know. Have a good night," Malfoy nodded to Hermione, closing the meeting. He didn't make to move away from his perch as the prefects stood, chattering to themselves before leaving the two Heads alone.

"They respect you; you know?" Hermione hadn't moved either, though her head was titled to the side slightly as she raked her gaze over her male counterpart. Once again, he was still dressed as formally as ever, sleeves down, shirt tucked in and tie knotted. She was so used to spending time around the Gryffindor boys that she had honestly never seen anyone stay in proper uniform for the whole day, let alone after dinner, but he managed to do it every single day.

"They're afraid of me," Malfoy scoffed, pushing himself away from the desk, crossing swiftly through the common room until he stood before Hermione, towering over her. "You should be afraid of me."

Hermione swallowed as she looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat as he stepped close. She had never fully appreciated just how tall he was, towering an inch over even Ron's height. Rolling her eyes at his words, she took a half step back, trying to put some distance between them.

"Death Eater, remember?" Malfoy's voice was low, almost predatory. They had been getting closer over the last few weeks, spending more and more time together in the common room. He had to admit, she was starting to grow on him, and he didn't find her nearly as annoying as he once thought. Instead, he found himself admiring her study ethic, but he also found himself admiring her in general more and more.

"You were cleared of all charges," Hermione straightened at his words, almost as if a rod of steel had replaced her spine.

"Was I?" Malfoy took a step closer, his body almost pressing against hers. He was tensed, hands balled into tight fists. Hermione for her part didn't back down, and he was starting to admire that about her, too.

"Why did you do it?" Hermione's voice was soft. She had been at his trial and knew most of the details already, but she hadn't heard it from him without veritaserum forcing the words.

"I had to," was all Malfoy managed to get out, his body tensing further as he leaned towards the smaller witch. Gathering his senses a few heartbeats later, he took a few steps back, his eyes wide as he realised how close they'd been. Turning, he made for the couch by the hearth, falling into the cushions heavily. One of the other things he'd quickly learned about the Gryffindor witch was that she didn't give up on anything once she started, and this conversation was not likely to be different.

"Why?" Hermione prodded again, taking the steps needed to reach the other couch, settling herself on the edge of a cushion as she watched him, trying to calm her racing heart. She'd been wanting to ask him for days, weeks even, needing to know why he had done what he had, why he had played his part in the war. She needed to understand, in order to move forwards.

"When Voldemort comes knocking at your front door, you don't ask how high when he tells you to jump. You do what you have to, so you don't die," Malfoy leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, tie hanging down between his parted legs as he watched Hermione. For her part, she didn't say a word, just letting him speak, letting him explain. "It's not a fucking choice."

"My Father… he believed that stuff. He was really behind it. He would do whatever Voldemort wanted, sell him whatever. All my Father ever wanted was to be the Dark Lord's second. He liked power," Malfoy sighed, his head dropping as he cradled it in his hands, fingers splayed out against his platinum blonde hair. "He craved power. Offering me to Voldemort for that stupid fucking task gave him even more power and stance. No one else had sold their offspring. Blaise, Theo… they scraped by. Crabbe and Goyle joined on their own, but they were idiots. Crabbe paid for it."

"Mother… my Mother is a good person though. She's not like him. She was just doing what she had to, to survive," Malfoy looked up sharply, his gaze locking on Hermione's, steely grey meeting chocolate brown. She was the first to blink, surprised at the conviction in his voice, and desperation. "Mother didn't deserve what he did to her. I tried to protect her, when I was old enough. I'd stand back up to him but it wasn't easy. He knew dark magic that would make an Unspeakable cringe."

"I'm sure she's lovely…" Hermione leaned back slightly, not sure what he was referring to, but she had a strong inkling that it couldn't be good.

"I was raised that way. In that house. It was all I knew. Mother tried when she could, to make sure I had more exposure to the world, but he was always so against it," Malfoy didn't tear his gaze from her, wanting to try and explain the conflict that had always ravaged his soul, and clouded his entire upbringing. The war had uprooted everything he had been raised to believe, whilst exemplifying everything he had ever seen. With his father now in Azkaban, they had finally had the chance to recover, and get help. He knew his mother was seeing a professional in Muggle London to deal with her marriage issues and was back in touch with his aunt Andromeda. "I wish I could claim imperius like so many others… it felt like that, y'know? With Father around… with Voldemort around… you do what you fucking have to."

"I'm sorry…" Hermione whispered, her voice breaking in time with her heart. She hadn't expected this to be his answer, far more intimate than what he had said at the trial. These were the things she didn't think he'd ever told anyone. Reaching out without thinking, she placed her palm gently over his one of his hands.

"Mother deserved more than he ever gave her. I'm glad he's getting the Kiss," Malfoy twisted his hand as Hermione's touched his, strong fingers gripping hers tight, but not enough to hurt. There was a haunted look in his eyes as he leaned forwards, eyes wide and searching her chocolate orbs for an answer she didn't have.

"I didn't know… Draco, I had no idea…" Hermione's voice was cracking, tears welling in her eyes as she understood what he wasn't telling her. She had no idea what it would have been like to grow up in that kind of environment, but she knew enough about family violence in the muggle world to know it would have been bad. Kids at her primary school had shown up occasionally with bruises or broken bones, and social services had gotten involved. As far as she was aware, the wizarding world didn't have anything like that, especially not one that served purebloods or those who knew dark magic. She couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of things that had happened to Malfoy when he was growing up.

The use of his first name on her lips ripped through Malfoy, bringing him back to his senses. It was almost as if a wall had suddenly slammed down, his eyes shuttering as he dropped her hand, rising to his feet abruptly.

"Goodnight, Granger," was all he uttered before quickly striding through the common room, disappearing up the steps to his room, door closing quietly behind him a few seconds later.

Hermione stayed where she was sitting, her hand still outstretched. She could still feel his calloused fingertips against hers, the warmth of his hand and firmness of her grip. Dropping her hand down, she let the tears slowly roll down her cheeks, weeping for a boy she never knew, but the man she was starting to see.