TW: detailed discussions of a DV situation. There is one line that hints at dub-con during the interview. No details and it's the only time we'll mention it.

All future chapters are written!

Thanks to my lovely beta. Betawork done by etoiledelune. Another shoutout to the WIPtember crew for their constant support.

As always, thanks for being here!

peace and love,

sam

Today was her interview. Hermione had been dreading the day since the moment she sent the owl off.

Hermione had decided on Penelope Clearwater to do her response interview. It seemed fitting that she would choose a witch whose identity had saved her once before. Or at least bought her some time.

Penelope had made a name for herself at Witch Weekly magazine as a true journalist. Witch Weekly had been transformed into a respectable new publication after a new editor had condemned The Daily Prophet for their fear mongering and gossip based journalism. Penelope Clearwater had become well-respected in wizarding society for asking tough questions and getting to the truth of many issues.

She'd interviewed Kinglsey and other Ministry officials regarding how it was so easy for Death Eaters to infiltrate the government. And, more importantly, what measures they'd be putting in place to ensure it didn't happen again.

It had been hard-hitting, critical, and well researched. Everything The Daily Prophet and Rita Skeeter were not.

So if she was opting to combat Skeeter and Ron's story, Penelope was her best bet. A member of the press the public trusted—and read—as much as Skeeter.

But Hermione was struggling with the fact that she'd told Penelope multiple times that nothing was off-limits. She'd answer all the questions asked of her, even if she had to take a break for a panic attack before doing so. Penelope had been kind enough to say that if she saw Hermione was getting too agitated that she would back off immediately.

This isn't an interrogation, Hermione. It's a conversation. An honest one, but I'm not here to pass judgement, she'd written in her most recent letter confirming the time and place of the interview.

With all the press buzz surrounding her since Ron's story had come out, they decided to meet somewhere private where they could both arrive by Floo. Draco had very kindly offered the Malfoy property he'd been staying in prior to term. It would be warded, isolated, and spacious enough for them to conduct the interview in comfort.

With Hermione's posse accompanying her as well, space was a consideration.

But now the day was here and she was trying to force herself to see the positives of doing this. She was sitting alone in her dorm, a place she'd spent very little time as she was often staying with Draco at night. Pansy, Daphne, and Ginny had helped her get ready and chattered aimlessly to distract her.

Hermione could get ready on her own, but she liked the routine they'd established for all the big moments this semester. It was oddly soothing to have Pansy fix her hair, even if there was an occasional sharp tug when she happened to find a knot. Throughout the morning, Hermione sat and voiced opinions about an outfit or hairstyle that were promptly ignored in favour of the "better" option. Ginny's opinion had been considered much to both witches' amusement.

Pansy had been the last to leave the room and gave her a sharp, approving nod. "You'll knock 'em dead before they even get to the first word."

It had been nice. A show of support. A confirmation that, outwardly, she looked like the Hermione Granger the wizarding world expected to see. She looked strong, competent, and believable. That ritual had helped assuage some of her insecurity. No one would say she looked frumpy or dishevelled, but rather assured and polished.

As much as she hated it, the world was sexist. And she would be judged first by the picture then the words written in the article.

It was complete and utter bullshit because Ron had likely done his interview in frumpy sweaters and his usual bedhead. For fuck's sake, Harry had often been photographed in various stages of dishevelment. And their credibility had never been questioned. Hermione had been photographed one time with a missing earring and people had said she wasn't coping well after the war if her appearance was suffering like this.

Hermione sat in front of the mirror and examined her reflection, cataloguing all that had changed in a few months. She wasn't so gaunt anymore thanks to Draco's diligent methods of ensuring she ate a proper meal. Her skin was a healthy colour, flush with life and nerves. The deep circles under her eyes were gone now that she was sleeping soundly next to Draco.

She was not only healthy. She was alive. And after so many years wondering how long she would be in this world, it was quite the accomplishment.

She met her reflection's eyes, "You've survived worse," she repeated her old mantra. But it suddenly felt incomplete. Yes, she has survived worse, but did she want to solely focus on her past? No. She had a future. She had a present.

Hermione rose from the stool and pointed a determined finger at herself in the mirror. "You will continue to survive. You will thrive."

Hermione nodded once to herself and strode from the room with determination and confidence.

"Hi, Hermione," Penelope began. Her tone was very professional, as was the dicto-quill—a more accurate, ethical version of the quick notes quill—floating around her. Penelope had been calm and professional from the minute she'd walked out of the Floo.

She'd greeted everyone with equal politeness and courtesy. Then, she'd efficiently set-up the sitting room they'd be using for the interview with her photographer. The configuration of the furniture was comfortable and they would be seated close enough that this felt like an intimate chat, but not so close that Penelope would appear too friendly.

It was perfect and well thought out. Very Ravenclaw of Penelope to consider all the angles before she started the interview.

"Can I call you Hermione or would you prefer Miss Granger?" Penelope asked.

"Hermione's fine," she answered, trying not to let her nerves show. "Considering we're going to discuss my personal life, we might as well drop that formality."

Penelope gave a small and conciliatory nod. "Smart move, actually. The public already feels connected to you, so maintaining that familiarity is a good idea to keep them on side. Do you want to just dive right in or should we start with some easy questions?"

"Easy questions?"

"Sure. Things like how did you and Ron transition from friendship to a romantic relationship? How long were you together?" Penelope suggested.

"Ah, I see" Hermione considered the options. "We might as well start at the beginning I suppose. It wasn't all bad with Ron and I don't want to come off like I'm just talking about the negative. I've been portrayed as the bitter shrew once before and it wasn't fun the first time around."

"Whatever you're comfortable with. This is your story, Hermione," Penelope stated calmly, settling into her chair, legs crossed and hands clasped.

"Well, he was a judgmental child from the day we met. Called me a know-it-all swot fairly often. Always found a way to call me mental or scary when I outdid him. Little things that slowly but surely pecked away at my self-esteem. We weren't even really friends for most of our first year. Harry had always been our…connection. Harry was so kind, even then, that once we became friends, Ron came along, too. I think once Ron noticed that Harry cared about me and wanted me around, he felt he had to make an effort." Hermione took a sip of her tea and continued to reminisce on her former years.

She spoke about Ron standing up for her when she was called a Mudblood. She laughed about the small feud between the boys in fourth year that she'd had to mediate. She, feeling very embarrassed, told the story of her jealousy when Ron had dated Lavender throughout their sixth year. Then, she got to the war. To all the times where Ron had both scared her and saved her during that Horcrux hunt.

"I don't know whether Harry or I have ever commented on the rumours that Ron left. But he did. He abandoned us when it got too hard, but I don't think I'll ever forget how… angry he was in that confrontation before he walked away. He was so cruel. To Harry mainly, but he was vicious."

"But that could've just been the stress of the war, right? Fear for his family? For himself? We all said and did a lot of things in desperation during those times," Penelope challenged.

"Of course. And I chalked it up to the same thing. Stress. Difficult circumstances. But I think that shocked me into seeing that, as much as I cared for him, there was a darkness that we'd all skirted around. He'd always had a temper, especially if he felt jealous or left out," Hermione said, voice shaking slightly. It was so difficult to look back at it all with a new perspective. The signs had always been there and she'd ignored them or explained them away.

"When I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, Ron was outraged. I could never tell if it was because I didn't go with him or because Viktor liked spending time with me and not him. He'd actually said I was 'fraternising with the enemy' at the end of the night. It seemed…trivial at the time, but it was a pattern. I was always taking the wrong side according to him."

"So if there was a darkness that prevailed throughout your friendship, why get into an intimate relationship with him?" Penelope was being critical, Hermione had to remember that. She was simply voicing the thoughts that her readers would have. Allowing Hermione a chance to get ahead of those very questions with a sympathetic journalist.

But it still annoyed her to have to explain herself. To have to justify her choices.

"Perhaps that was my act of desperation after the war. I was alone," Hermione's voice broke slightly. "My parents didn't remember me. We were all grieving the losses of so many incredible, good people. I lost my mentor and friend when Remus and Tonks Lupin died. I lost my very good friend when Fred Weasley died. Perhaps, in the aftermath when everything looked so dark and broken, Ron's darkness didn't look so bad. At least it was familiar."

Penelope gave no outward reaction, but her eyes prompted her to continue.

"And for a while before the war ended, he was everything I'd been hoping he'd be. He asked me to dance at Bill's wedding to make up for not asking me to the Yule Ball. He would hold my hand when we were on the run and I was scared. When I saved us or pulled some set of supplies out of nowhere, he told me I was brilliant. It was like a siren becoming the object of your desire to lure you in, only for you to crash on the rocks and drown. He lured me in with all the words and actions I'd been hoping for, only to drown me in pain and misery." Hermione wiped a stray tear from her eye.

"A beautiful analogy," Penelope commented quietly, likely to fill the silence and give Hermione a moment to compose herself.

"I did love him, you know? In the way teenagers fall in love and think it'll be forever. But we'd also survived so much together. We'd both sacrificed so much and we both knew there was a good chance we'd die to save Harry," Hermione stated calmly. "That bonds you. That makes your relationship feel inevitable. So it made sense."

"Until it didn't?"

"Until it didn't. Until it felt less like fate and more like a trap. Like a prison sentence." Hermione's hands shook when she reached for her cup again. She flexed her fingers to try to get them to still but it only made it worse. This would be the worst part.

Describing the first offence. Describing how she went back.

Penelope noticed the tremor. "Do you need a break, Hermione?"

"No. No. I can do this," she assured Penelope.

"Alright. So could you tell us about the first moment it shifted? Was he immediately physical or was it something…more subtle?" Penelope asked gently.

"Looking back, I suppose there had been moments. He'd shout at me or insinuate certain things about my time alone with Harry. But, as I said, he had a temper when he was jealous. And he was also grieving. The shift started to become more obvious when he started living with me in the flat I'd gotten shortly after the war ended." Hermione started picking at the skin around her nails.

"I'd had nowhere else to go, you see? I knew the Weasleys would be taking in a lot of folks and I didn't want to impose, so I got my own place. Ron was feeling…overwhelmed, I suppose. So he started coming over once or twice a week. Then he was just there all the time. We hadn't discussed it, but it just happened." Hermione paused.

"And this is when the physical violence began?"

Hermione nodded. "At first, it was just him breaking things. A cup hurled across the room in a rage. A hole in the wall near my head. It was terrifying, sure, but he hadn't hurt me. And he always broke down right afterward."

"A hole in the wall near your head? With his wand or his fist?" Penelope asked.

"His fist. He never used magic to hurt me. I don't know why, but he didn't."

Penelope tilted her head, considering that fact. "I would imagine that you felt threatened though? Being in the path of all this anger and destruction? Why did you allow him to stay?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "He was all I had. Everyone in my life was connected to him in some way. His family had become such a big part of my life and—Harry. There was always Harry to consider. The Weasleys were Harry's family. If I cut Ron out of my life, I thought I'd lose them all, too. Plus…"

"Plus what, Hermione?"

"Plus, I think I felt like it was my fault. He'd lost a brother. One he would never see again. I should've been more considerate. I should've supported him. So, at the time, I felt like I'd done something to deserve that anger."

"You said 'at the time.' You no longer feel that way?"

"No. I—I'm trying to remind myself that nothing I did warranted what happened. That I wasn't responsible for his choices," Hermione insisted.

"So how did it escalate from the threat of violence to actual violence?"

Hermione closed her eyes. She could picture it so clearly, it was like she was back in that apartment. It was like watching a scene in a movie, where she was screaming at the actress to run. To fight back. To leave.

But that version of her couldn't hear her protests. Nothing would change no matter how loud she screamed.

"Hermione?" Penelope brought her back and placed a hand on her forearm. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, sorry. Just…lost in thought," she said weakly. "He—Ron was drunk. He'd been out at the pubs telling war stories and he'd stumbled in pretty late."

"Please, take your time," Penelope reminded her.

"I had fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for him to come home. My book was still open on my stomach where it had fallen. Ron came over, hovering over me, wreaking of alcohol. He picked up the book and just threw it over his shoulder. It was so careless and unnecessary. I'd started to get up to go retrieve it and put it away properly and he—" she stopped. People had assumed, of course, that her intimate moments with Ron may not have always been entirely consensual.

But they hadn't known that the first time he'd struck her had been because she said no to him.

"He put his hand on my neck and pushed me back down. He started to crawl on top of me and I was pushing him off. I wasn't in the mood and he certainly wasn't very attractive at that moment." Hermione moved from picking at her nails to tracing the scar on her left forearm. It was a habit she hadn't indulged in for a while. Not since Draco had noticed and would either hold her right hand or cover her left arm when she was distressed.

"Ron thought it was just…a game, I guess. He laughed and kept going. When I finally told him no, I saw that darkness in his eyes. I saw the way they…changed. He looked nothing like the boy who'd been my friend. Nothing like the boy I loved," Hermione said, tears starting to fill her eyes. She looked up to try to keep them from falling.

"He held me down, screaming into my face that I never wanted to please him anymore. That I was probably shagging someone else and that's why I never wanted to shag him." She closed her eyes and took a big breath, exhaling loudly. "Then he smacked me across the face. Not just once. Three times. I remember tasting blood from where I'd bitten my cheek."

Hermione looked at Penelope expecting to see pity or shock. But she had a careful, indifferent mask in place. A reporter had to be distant if she was going to tell this story accurately.

"I finally pushed him off me and just ran to the bedroom. I'd left my wand in there at some point in the evening so I slammed the door shut and put up every locking charm and magical ward I could. I heard him come down the hall shortly after and he was crying. Apologising to me for what happened. He said he was so drunk and so sad. That he needed me and I was pushing him away so he got frustrated." A tear had fallen and Hermione quickly brushed it away.

"I left anyway. I Apparated and went to Harry's and said that Ron and I had had a fight but he was drunk so I didn't want to kick him out. Harry didn't ask a lot of questions about our relationship then. He was dealing with so much that I think taking on anything else would've been…too much for him," Hermione asserted. She wanted to make sure no one blamed Harry or anyone else for this. They had all been struggling and sometimes it was easier to bury your head in the sand to avoid hearing any more bad news.

"But you went back." Penelope said, knowing that the abuse had gone on for the entire summer after the final battle. "What made you return?"

"Naïveté. Ron turned up to Harry's the next morning, hungover but sober. He apologised some more and said it wouldn't happen again. That he felt sick about what he'd done. I wanted to believe him and the words sounded so good. Just what I wanted to hear. So I went back," Hermione admitted, a sense of shame settling in her gut.

"And I'm assuming that it did happen again?"

"Yes. It happened again two nights later. And then it kept happening for months," Hermione responded clinically.

"I don't want to ask you to recount every encounter as I don't think that's fair to you or necessary for the article," Penelope stated.

"Plus we'd be here a while and I assume you have other plans for your week. And deadlines to meet." Hermione was trying to break the tension in the room. It was heavy and oppressive around them.

Penelope permitted Hermione a genuine smile. "Yes. Those pesky deadlines are something. But I do have a few rather specific questions."

Hermione stiffened. She knew this wouldn't just be a treacherous, unpleasant walk down memory lane. There would be specific moments she was questioned about. Her wearing long sleeves at a Ministry event in July…was it to cover her wartime scars or to hide bruises?

What had Ron's reaction been after she'd fought for the child Death Eaters she now called friends?

When had enough finally been enough?

Who now knew everything about her relationship?

"Please remember that you have every right to not answer any of these questions." Penelope paused and consulted her notes as if weighing which question to begin with. "Did Ron ever force himself on you?" Penelope asked hesitantly.

"I'm not commenting on that. I won't…" Hermione trailed off. Again, people had assumed. And she supposed that despite the fact he'd respected when she said no, she'd also sometimes said yes just to appease him. Just to avoid something else. It was too complicated to explain.

Her breaths were coming far too quickly. She was shaking and she could see spots around the edge of her vision.

She was having a panic attack. It shouldn't have shocked her, but for some reason it did. Hermione had felt so safe recently that she'd been able to work herself down from spirals before they got this bad.

But now, alone in a room with a reporter who was no more than an acquaintance, discussing all her past trauma…it was too much.

Her breathing techniques weren't working. She couldn't distract herself.

"Hermione?" Penelope's voice sounded like it was coming from a distance. Or like Hermione was under water.

"I—I can't—" Hermione stood quickly and stumbled from the room. She pushed through the doors and collapsed onto the cold marble floor. Hermione scooted until her back was against the wall and she curled in on herself, knees to chest, forehead on knees, arms banded around her legs to keep them there.

She really should've expected Draco to be right outside the whole time, but she was still startled when she felt a warm body slide in next to her and took in his sandalwood scent. He was whispering something to her but she couldn't focus, couldn't make it out over the sound of her own laboured breathing.

Draco wrapped an arm around and lifted her slightly so that she was on his lap. His arms enveloped her and his chest replaced the wall she'd been leaning on. He rested his chin on her shoulder and just kept whispering to her.

Pieces of it were breaking through her panic.

"...Safe…here…," his deep voice was calm, soothing. She felt his fingers rubbing small circles on her arms and she focused on the sound of his voice. On his smell. On the sensation of his hands.

It was reminding her of the present she was in. Hermione was reminded that, with him, she felt safe and cherished. She wasn't scared, not when he was with her.

"You're safe. I'm here. I've got you." The full phrase that Draco had been repeating finally reached her brain.

"I'm back," Hermione croaked, voice hoarse from the panic. Her face was wet so she knew she'd been crying. Pansy was going to have to fix her make-up before she went back in.

Draco nodded without moving his head from her shoulder. He didn't say anything else. He didn't ask if she was alright. He just held her in that rather undignified heap on the floor.

When Hermione felt calmer, she lifted her head from her knees and fully leaned back into him. Draco finally lifted his head and looked at her. One hand reached up to wipe some tears away with his thumb while he cradled her face.

He met her gaze and she saw all of the concern swirling in his grey eyes. But he didn't voice it. Draco knew that asking her questions would likely set her off again. What she needed in this moment was to just be held by him. To be reminded that he was here.

Her heart rate was slowing to a normal pace, but the adrenaline crash was hitting and she was shaking. Draco tightened his hold around her, letting her soak in his warmth and strength.

"Do you want a blanket? Would that help with the crash?" Draco murmured, resting his cheek against her temple.

Hermione nodded slightly and just gripped his shirt tightly to keep him there. She watched one of his hands move in her peripheral and a thick, green quilt was summoned.

Draco wrapped it around Hermione and settled his arms around her to keep it from slipping and falling. They sat in silence while Hermione's body regulated and adjusted to the lack of present danger.

"Thank you," she whispered when she finally felt normal again.

"No need to thank me. I'm always going to be here when you need me," Draco assured her while playing with a loose curl.

"Still, I want you to know I appreciate it. I know it's not always fun or easy, but you do it anyway. It means a lot." Hermione turned her head to look up at him. "I love you."

Draco leaned a bit to place a lingering kiss on her forehead. "I love you, too. And you're right. It's not easy because anytime I see you like that it makes my heart ache. I feel like my chest is splitting open. But I also know that it's worse for you. So I'm happy to just hold you until you come back to me."

Hermione closed her eyes and a single tear tracked down her face. "I hate it."

"It's not forever. One day, it'll be a little bit easier. And then, even if it's years from now, this will be a distant memory of another thing you survived," Draco promised. "Because you are stronger than anyone I know. This isn't weakness, Hermione. It's healing."

"Healing sucks," she snarked.

Draco snorted. "Yeah, love. Healing sucks."

Hermione sat there a little longer. In the space where nothing could touch her. There was still an interview to complete and she needed to get her arse off this floor. She sighed and pulled away from Draco slowly.

"How bad is my face?" she asked.

"Stunning as ever," he answered quickly.

"Yes, yes. You are not superficial and even when I'm blotchy and puffy, I'm a vision to you. But I have to go be photographed so if my make-up is all over my face, I need you to tell me," she insisted.

"How about I just go get Pans and she can be the one to give you an accurate assessment?" he countered.

"Fine. You coward," she teased.

"Yep," he agreed with a laugh and quick kiss to her cheek. He gracefully rose and then helped her up before walking off to get Pansy.

Twenty minutes later, Pansy had performed miracles to return her to her pre-panic glory. Draco had also ruined the hairstyle Pansy created that morning by playing with her curls to help calm her down.

Or calm himself. Who really knew anymore.

Hermione lifted her chin and took a deep breath before walking back in. "Sorry, Penelope. I just…needed a moment."

"No apology necessary. That question was pushing it, I knew that when I asked," Penelope conceded. "Are you ready to continue?"

"I think so, yes," Hermione said while retaking her seat. She noticed Penelope had refilled their tea and cast a stasis charm on it to keep it from cooling.

For the next forty-five minutes, Penelope asked Hermione all the questions she'd anticipated. They talked about when she left, when she finally told other people, and how living with Ron at Hogwarts has been.

Hermione told Penelope that Ron had dated someone else, but she wouldn't disclose Lavender's name without her express permission. Penelope agreed to those terms.

"I think that's everything, Hermione," Penelope said after they finished a few staged photos that would be interspersed with the candids.

"Well, this was relatively painless," Hermione joked.

Penelope laughed. "No, it wasn't. But thanks for all your honesty today. I do have one more request of you. Again, you are entirely within your right to say no and it won't change how I write the story."

Hermione tilted her head to cue her to continue.

"I'd like to perform Legilimency. Just to get some more visceral details that might help me frame the narrative. Or just…add to your credibility," Penelope explained. "My sources tell me that Ron refused to show Rita any memories of your time together so this could help to sway the public if you're willing."

Legilimency? Hermione hadn't considered this possibility, and she really should have. It was an obvious way for anyone to verify her story. Of course, memories could be altered and hidden by a powerful Occlumens, but Hermione had only basic skills to keep people from poking around in her head without her consent. Closing herself off completely from emotion was something she'd never been able to master.

It was a good idea. A great idea and she was disappointed that she hadn't thought to suggest it herself.

"I think it's a good idea," Hermione agreed. "But I have to ask, are you very good at it?"

Penelope smirked. "I'm very talented. It was a pet project of mine back at Hogwarts to learn it so I've been practising for years."

"Will you…add details to my quotes based on what you see?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Not without your consent. If I feel that it adds something to the words, then I'll suggest it. But it really is just for my own frame of reference. I can focus on your words and write the surrounding pieces based on the emotions I get from your memories," Penelope explained.

"That's fair." Hermione made to sit back down. Legilimency wasn't always pleasant to be released from and the memories they would be looking at would be difficult. Sitting was better.

"Okay, so I'm going to ask you to bring forward only memories we discussed today. And only memories of Ron. I don't want to delve into your mind too much so if they are ready when I begin, this will be over with quickly," Penelope stated calmly. "I'll try to go through them efficiently and not linger as I know you'll be remembering everything I see."

"Okay," she responded quietly.

Hermione felt the wand press against her temple. She dropped her mental shields and called forward every memory she'd been trying to bury.

"Legilimens. " Hermione had heard about the different feelings associated with someone entering your mind. Depending on the witch or wizard, it could be painful or uncomfortable. Penelope's magic felt a bit like a strong breeze. Strong enough to sway tree branches and ruffle your hair, but not unpleasant.

Penelope kept to her word and moved through the memories without lingering. Hermione experienced a blur of shattered glass, yelling, pain, and blurs of red hair. It wasn't quick enough as she could feel herself flinch in anticipation of a blow.

Finally, Penelope pulled out of her mind and Hermione was left with the lingering sense of anxiety from the last memory. "We're done, Hermione. Thank you for being so open."

Hermione sighed with relief and let herself sag into the couch. "Thank you for being so clinical about this. I really couldn't have done this interview with anyone else, you know?"

"I appreciate that. I'll send you a copy of the interview in the next few days. Look it over to make sure I haven't misquoted you or misrepresented the situation," Penelope said while gathering her things. Her photographer was also packing up and it seemed this was really over.

"You did well, Hermione. Don't second-guess anything," Penelope said as she left the room.

For a while, Hermione sat alone sipping her tea. She processed everything she'd just done, how she'd finally taken a rather public stand. Then, after acknowledging how difficult it had been and still would be…she let it go.

Hermione decided to be content with her choices. To forgive herself for any missteps and delays. She packed up her memories of Ron into boxes and shoved them to the back of her mind. Hermione knew that she still had some healing to do, and she had her first appointment with her mind healer next week.

This was the true start of her moving forward. She'd shed the burden of secrets now. She'd finally been able to look at everything with the benefit of distance and realise that she had done the best she could.

Hermione finished her tea and waved her wand to send all the dishes back to the kitchen. Then she left the room and decided she wouldn't look back anymore. She was done being defined by her past, but she also wouldn't ignore that it had shaped the witch she was now.

Surviving and thriving. Her new mantra had never sounded better.

Draco had herded everyone into the library because he could feel Hermione itching to roam the stacks. They were currently sitting around the fire, most of them pleasantly sloshed on all of the good Malfoy alcohol.

Draco himself was sober, as was the witch currently sprawled across his lap. After about an hour of salivating over his more rare books, she'd finally succumbed to exhaustion and led them over to the only empty sofa.

After her interview, she'd disappeared to go change and emerged in one of his t-shirts and those leggings he loved. At the moment, that t-shirt was bunched around her waist since his hand had very slowly snuck under it to trace circles on her ribs.

Hermione had barely made it five minutes after they sat down before she laid down in his lap, her hair spilling over his thigh. He'd let his other hand run through her curls, being careful to not let his rings get tangled.

As he looked down at her now, he felt his heart swell with contentment. Her eyes were closed even though she was still technically awake based on the occasional comment she interjected. Her hands were pillowed under her cheek, legs curled up.

Anytime he stopped his ministrations, she'd wiggle around and make a little sound he took as protest. So he would smile down at her and continue. An idea suddenly came to mind of a very similar night on a different sofa.

Draco gently removed his hand from her curls and began to stroke a pattern along her eyebrows and down her nose. His fingers were a light, barely-there touch on her soft skin. He sometimes let himself drift to touch the bow of her lips or dance along her cheekbones where her dusting of freckles lived. He'd go up along her hairline and trace her face.

Hermione sighed after the first pass and settled on her back, turning her face up toward him to give him more room to work with.

"You remembered?" she whispered.

"Of course," he replied. He reached for her hand and kissed her palm. "I thought you could use a reminder of something good today."

"I've missed that feeling," Hermione said, closing her eyes and taking their interlocked hands to her lap. "Even before I—before they were gone, it had been years since I had let her do this. I was a teenager who thought I was too old for such things."

"Ah, yes. The wisdom of fourteen-year-olds," he agreed solemnly.

Draco resumed his pattern with his free hand, feeling Hermione drift further and further from consciousness. When he was sure she was asleep, he turned his attention to the rest of the room to find everyone else had nodded off except Potter, who was cuddled up with his own witch.

"She seems happy," Potter said, not looking at Draco but rather the sleeping Hermione.

"I like to think she is, most of the time." Draco brushed her hair away from her face.

"It is strange, you know?" Potter met his eyes. "Seeing you be so…caring."

"Thank you for not saying soft. I know it was a challenge."

They both chuckled. "Just, take care of her. I'm clearly not the best judge of character for who's right for her, but I like the way you look at her."

"And how do I look at her?"

"Like she not only hung the moon but all the stars, too. Like she is everything and you would rather cut off your own arm than hurt her again," Potter stated. "Like you would protect her with everything you had."

Draco nodded and looked back at Hermione. "You got all that from a look?"

Harry laughed quietly, "Yeah. And just…watching you with her. She'd slap me for saying it but I approve. I'm happy she's happy. That she feels safe."

"Me, too." They sat in silence

"I should've protected her," Harry's voice was watery when he broke the silence. "All she did was protect me. Make sure I wasn't a complete idiot. And then I just…I didn't protect her."

"You didn't know."

"But I should've. She came to me after she left the first time. I should've seen it. I should've asked her about it. Instead I just let her come in and hide. And then I let him in and take her back."

"Potter…"

"And I was at all those same family dinners with them. Something was off but I just…I thought it was her parents or PTSD or…"

"What is PTSD?"

"Ginny saw it, too," Harry rambled on. "She thought they were fighting a lot and just didn't want to break up because everyone was pushing them to be together. We'd talked about it and I told her they were fine. And all those times after they broke up when I kept trying to invite them both over. She always declined. I thought it was stubbornness or maybe she was really that heartbroken. I kept trying to put her in a room with her abuser. With her nightmare."

"Potter," Draco said sternly. "You. Didn't. Know. It's very easy to look back at it now with all the information and wish you'd done something different. But at the time, you had such a small fraction of the information."

"This is definitely weird," Harry said, tilting his head up at the ceiling to get his emotions under control. "You, Draco Malfoy, are telling me I did something right. "

"Well, you are Saint Potter. I think it violates my parole to speak negatively of you in any way," Draco joked. "Plus, if I start blaming everyone who saw her during that time and didn't help her…eventually my name is on that list. And she yelled at me when I tried to do this whole thing with her so I'm saving you the trouble."

"Well if that's the case…thanks, Draco."

"Oh for the love of Slytherin, I'm going to have to call you Harry eventually aren't I?" Draco groaned, looking up at the ceiling.

"Yep. Why do you think I said it? I have to be the bigger person and extend the olive branch first? It's part of my responsibilities as the Chosen One," Harry said smugly.

"You are insufferable. Can we please go back to hating each other?" Draco asked hopefully

"Nope. You're stuck with me as a new best friend so long as you are dating my best friend," Harry declared.

"Any chance I could get her to cut you from her friendship roster?"

"Not likely."

"Fuck," Draco hissed. "Well let's just get this over with…Harry."

"How was that?"

"Terrible. Let's never do it again."

"Like drinking Skele-gro right?"

"And getting hit in the dick with a Bludger."

Harry inhaled sharply. "Oof, ouch."

"One more thing before I take this one upstairs," Harry said, gesturing at Ginny. "Did you want to kill him after that Quidditch game?"

Draco pondered it. "Eventually. I wanted to draw it out slowly, though. A quick death wouldn't be enough."

"Did she talk you out of it?"

Draco nodded. "We all had ideas for how to get back at him. Very violent ones and very public ones. But she told us all no. She didn't want to make him a victim."

Harry stared at him for a long time. "It shocks me a little. Hermione has a vicious streak when it comes to revenge. But I guess it doesn't shock me that she's a better person than I am."

"Pot—Harry, fuck that really is not easy. Harry, you used a first year disarming charm against the darkest wizard of all time. How in the hell were you going to muster the strength for something violent against the Weasel when he'd been at your side for years?" Draco asked seriously.

Harry's face darkened. "I don't take kindly to people I love being hurt. Being abused. I suffered enough for everyone. When Bellatrix killed Sirius, I tried to Crucio her. I did Crucio Carrow when he spat on McGonagall. I can be violent when I need to be. Voldemort could be defeated without that violence. And I liked it better that way. Him crumbling simply because his ego told him that he would definitely win. That Expeliarmus wouldn't beat the killing curse."

Draco stared blankly.

"Ron, for all he's done to help me, crossed a line with her. She is the closest thing I have to a sister. I love her with everything I have and he took a bold, brilliant person and reduced her to his punching bag. Trust me when I say I could muster up some violence for his sake. All she has to do is ask," Harry stated.

"On that we can agree."

Both wizards then scooped up their sleeping witches to take them to bed.

On his way out, Draco lightly kicked Blaise in the ribs to wake him up so that he didn't have to hear about sore necks and backs the following morning.

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