The Slytherin common room had been almost transformed entirely from its old appearance, as many of the Death Eaters were Slytherin; they'd brought several of their home comforts to their old house gathering place. The room was now draped in sumptuous fabric that stank of old pureblood money. The chairs were upholstered in rich satins, forest green leathers, and real silver snakes now found themselves as legs for a few of the chairs. The wizarding chess sets now had marble and onyx squares, with pieces of enchanted quartz. Everything that could have been upgraded to what was 'more suitable for a pureblood' had been. The green haze that overpowered the lights the candles gave out remained oppressive, but somehow even colder than before, as though the poisonous ideals of those who had so often strolled into the common room had now deposited their venom into the very walls. The tapestries of famous Slytherins failed to entertain Draco in the way they had the first time he'd been in his houses common room; his disappointment with his father not being on the walls recorded in a letter he'd sent home, only to be told in a harsh reply that a 'Malfoy had a different kind of power, a useful power, that didn't require ridiculous feats to earn respect.' Draco hadn't fully understood what his father had meant at the time, until he'd begun complaining of things to his parents, and soon found those simple complaints vanishing.

Draco was laid out over one of the leather sofas, gazing at a tapestry that for some reason depicted a man on a hippogriff waving his wand at a giant. The sound of the water of the lake running as the creatures disturbed it was the only noise in the room other than the sound of his breathing. Moments ago, he'd been shouting and screaming again, throwing the intricately carved figurines from the chess sets against the stone walls; flinging the newspapers about, and smashing a stool to pieces without the use of his wand. The physical exertion had been surprisingly therapeutic, and he didn't mean to destroy so much, yet the satisfying tinkle of smashed glass, the ear splitting shatter of wood splintering and the rip of leather was doing much for his mental state. He'd torn up most of the overly decadent room that reminded him just a little too much of his manor, until he'd lost his balance and stumbled over the back of the sofa, it was how he had come to find himself panting and suddenly feeling rather drained. The couch was now unbearably comfortable, and he had no desire to move any part of him ever again. Unfortunately, his thoughts were more than happy with the decision to stop moving; the agonised screams of Hermione Granger now sliced through his consciousness like molten lava, scorching any other stream of thought that dared to pass through his mind.

He let out an angry grunt as he thought of Hermione, her face wide eyed and pale staring at him as his aunt pawed over her, repeating an unforgivable as if it were a compliment. Now she swanned about the school, over hearing his apology plans and offering him help like everything was her business. The thought of her help sent a strange thrill up his spine. If anything was going to help him look sincere it was that Hermione had made him think about what he needed to say in his apology.

She'd told him to think. And think he'd done. His father was waiting to stand trial and faced a life sentence in Azkaban, and his mother was locked up with a woman he had no knowledge of and under a trace for two years. His own situation was grim. He'd be in a cell in due time in Azkaban, but not before publically humiliating himself. A quick spark of irritation flared to life before dying as he remembered the note he'd received earlier, telling him it would be an incredibly public apology. His thoughts quickly turned back to the other parts of his punishment however, dwelling on it would do him no good. He'd already given up what could be called half a thimbles amount of money to the three institutions as requested. That however was nothing given the vast wealth of his family. With a grunt he noted he could be in a worse place, such as actually going to Azkaban for life. Then he'd lose the entire Malfoy inheritance to the Ministry, centuries worth of investments, galleons and lands acquired gone in one fell swoop. His mother at least had her share of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, the rest of it had all been divided up and gone. She was of course, the lone surviving daughter that hadn't been blasted off the family tree. If his mother hadn't managed to escape Azkaban, then all of that could be lost to the Ministry too.

Draco rolled over slightly, pressing his back to the sofa, and changing his gaze to the window hoping to see a glimpse of the Giant Squid, and groaned. Here he was, debating how his inheritances could end up when his own home was in need of rebuilding, his money best not touched for the time being in case the Ministry thought he was being frivolous and used it against him, and his parents gone from him with no good-byes. The only person he'd actually managed to interact with genuinely was Granger.

His hands moved up to his face, covering it from the outside world, as if there were people around to view the humiliation that had carved its way forward. He had made a right fool out of himself with Granger, attacking her in the way he had. It had made far more sense at the time, that she'd be eaves dropping for something to use against him in the future, but what, and why. She'd certainly made him re-think his actions however.

He'd never hated Granger; he'd been jealous, spiteful, and most certainly disliked her, but not hatred. He'd never had enough of a cause to hate her. Her consistently beating him to first of the class had been a mild irritant, but never enough to actually despise her. Then she'd so openly offered him help after his physical assault and she'd instantly proven everything he'd ever thought about her. At her core, she was a decent person.

It had hurt him to the centre of his being, the very fibres of his self-pulled apart and made to ring like a harp at her behaviour. She'd rightfully fought back, screamed at him, but then offered help. A grudging amount of respect had nestled itself in the back of his mind, after everything that he'd done towards her she was still willing to see past that and help keep him out of a hell on earth. She was most certainly a better person than he was. Then she had said she pitied him, and said he obviously hadn't a friend who was a real friend; his brain racked his memories thinking of actions that proved he had people who loved him for 'him' as she had said and had come up null.

Crabbe and Goyle had followed him because they were too thick to do otherwise, they were easy to push around and put Draco in the metaphorical place he'd been brought up to believe he belonged in; first. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini had been smarter, and not so easy to push around. They were easier to talk to about things with weight behind them than Crabbe and Goyle had been, but the ever present reminder that things revealed were bargaining chips and blackmail toys was all too clear. His flings with Pansy were vapid, and only because she were a good possible marriage prospect, a good looking woman from one of the sacred twenty eight families, rich, and not intelligent enough to ever cause much of an issue, but clever enough to not say anything that may cause one. In fact, Pansy was his contracted wife-to-be, all that his parents were waiting for him to do was to put a ring on her claw. No, he had no real friends.

His parents love was complex, if he'd ever doubted their love for him in the past, the last couple of years had proven they did love him, and each other. Only they were too appearance based for anything affectionate to really be displayed in public, no tender proud words had ever been said to him. Only reminders on how a Malfoy should act. It hadn't even occurred to Draco that there might have been another way of life that was out there. He'd believed fully that that was the only way social interactions were supposed to happen. With blackmail and distrust. It had been why the other houses were so awful, all their public displays of affection, the inability to properly get what they needed out of someone, so much public drama. It had, now Draco realised, gone hand in hand with the belief that pure-blooded was the best way to be. The behaviours of the other houses, that were so mixed blooded with the occasional pure-blooded scion appearing, that it had re-enforced everything his parents had raised him to believe, with such different behaviours on show, how could they have been wrong. Then Granger comes in, and says something so honestly it had nagged at him for the hours after the event. Surely, his way of life was the only way of life, how could there be others?

The clock upon the mantel piece chimed that it was half eight, and he sighed, pulling himself up off the sofa and checking himself over. It was time for him to go say sorry. He turned towards the exit, ready to go meet the two aurors who would escort him to Hogsmeade and his humiliation.

:: :: ::

The news at dinner in the warm, welcoming kitchen of the Burrow had not been particularly pleasant. They were all to watch Draco Malfoy apologise to Madam Rosmerta in the morning. First thing, roughly nine am. Arthur had explained that Shacklebolt wanted Malfoy to have to speak in front of as many people as possible to hammer home just how much damage his side of the war had caused, to take in the furious faces, the ones wanting to watch him fall as hard as he could, to have to humble himself as much as possible.

Ron had scoffed, as Bill's eyebrows had risen; Percy had puffed himself up, and begun agreeing with Shacklebolts decision immediately. Harry had looked at her, his expression conflicted, and despite her own emotions she discovered her own features had pulled themselves into a pointed look. The conversation she'd had with Harry whilst shopping coming to the fore front of her thoughts.

It was how it came to be that at eight in the morning, she found herself walking around the entrance hall of Hogwarts, waiting for Malfoy to appear.

Footsteps noisily made their way up from the dungeon moments after she thought of leaving to claim her place next to Harry and Ginny in Hogsmeade. She turned, expectantly, as the lean figure of Malfoy strode into the hall, his appearance impeccable. He'd clearly made an effort. He had combed his platinum blonde mop so that not a hair was out of place, his suit didn't hold a single crease, nor did it look as though it would even if he were to be in the middle of a hurricane, even his shoes were polished.

"What are you doing here?" He greeted, coming to a stop as he viewed Hermione.

"I think I'm going insane, but it's because I want to know how your speech is." She replied as Malfoy arched a lone brow, irritation sparking to life.

"It's enough to let them know they can't ruin me." He scoffed in reply as Hermione spluttered in surprise.

"Ruin you?"

"What else do they want? I found out this morning that I'm going to apologise in front of most of wizarding Britain, I know what they're going for. They want to see me humiliated." He snarled at her, fury once again starting a blizzard with in him.

"Malfoy." Hermione said sternly, "You were hardly were innocent of being a perfect student for the six years before the war. Tell me you didn't cause trouble, chaos, and sheer agony for all around you. You abused power when you were given it, your prefects position, and then with your "inquisitorial squad". You used your father to make life hell for teachers here at Hogwarts, and even abused the media when it suited you. You're being made to apologise for perhaps the worst thing you did out of all of that. Of course they're going to want to watch you be humiliated."

"But why?" He hissed at her, taking a step forward his gait easy, as if he were simply able to pounce upon her and take her away to his lair with one easy swipe of his hand, "why do they want this?"

"Because they want vengeance, they want to see one of the biggest bullies get what's coming to them. Your father made life a living nightmare for so many people, and it's common knowledge that his son was following in his footsteps, have you not even thought for one moment that this is the best way to calm the masses so there aren't riots, and to perhaps humble you so you might have a chance at life after you come out of Azkaban?" Hermione breathed, intimidated by Malfoy's sharp eyes boring into hers, his expression desperate.

He looked as if he'd been slapped by her words, and he paused, his eyes flicking to a clock Hermione wasn't even sure was working anymore.

"I need to go. I'll be late. I'll see you in the audience." He told her, prowling out the doors of Hogwarts like a lion on a hunt. She released a breath she wasn't even aware she'd been holding, and followed him out, thinking of apparating to Harry and Ginny the moment she was able.

:: :: ::

"Hey, saved you a seat," Ginny smiled, patting a chair next to her in the warm may sun. Hogsmeade was jammed full of people, Hermione had never seen it so busy. A low hum of noise surrounded them, as wizarding Britain discussed what was to happen in a few moments time, chairs had been placed as close to a make shift podium as possible, tauntingly, Hermione thought, right in front of the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta was sitting directly in front of the shabby stage, her arms crossed, and pointedly looking at no one but the sign of her tavern. To her right, sat Shacklebolt, who was speaking to a rather tubby man in a stern voice, pointing to a group of people each holding cameras and quills just to the side of the Three Broomsticks.

With a jolt, Hermione realised that herself, Harry, Ginny and the entire Weasley family had been given pride of place seats to view Malfoy say sorry. Front row. She sat in her chair, and smiled shakily at Ginny whose expression changed instantly. She slipped her hand into Hermione's and watched her carefully.

"What's wrong?" She asked, quietly, and leaning in towards her to make it appear like they were simply exchanging gossip the way teenage girls were expected to.

"Ginny, I don't think I can explain right now. Not because of where we are or who we're with or anything like that but because-"

"You're not sure what it is that's actually wrong?" She interrupted, as Hermione nodded gratefully.

"Well you know I'm here for you when you figure it out," Ginny said gently, squeezing her hand, but not releasing it. Hermione smiled in appreciation as a quiet dropped over them like a frozen rain. She shivered suddenly, noting the atmosphere of the crowd had changed dramatically. Where before the small square had been packed full of anticipation, an excitement not unlike that of a quidditch match, now it felt hungry, expectant, jeering.

The sparkling sun now felt cold, and the breeze, blowing the smell of bread and coffee from within the Three Broomsticks over her did nothing to soothe her unexplained nerves. She felt sick, and she gripped Ginny's hand tightly, who instantly began to rub her thumb over the back of it unthinkingly.

"On the box boy." A random man said gruffly, shoving Malfoy forward to the completely silent crowds' glee. Malfoy didn't react, instead carefully stepped onto the stack of wood provided, and placed a piece of parchment onto the stand he'd been given. He stood, watching the crowd for a moment, as the press began to take their pictures, the flashbulbs causing his hair to flash like lightning.

"Minister," Malfoy spoke carefully, to the surprise of the crowd who had clearly not been expecting his first word to be an address to the man who had ordered the apology. "May I perform a charm?" He asked, sincerely.

"I think I can guess which one, here, sonorous," Shacklebolt said, casting the charm for him and gesturing with a curl of his wrist for Malfoy to continue. Draco dipped his head in thanks, his expression still neutral, but it managed to hold just the smallest hint of respect.

"I was reminded not fifteen minutes ago, that I have lived a somewhat charmed life." Malfoy began, his voice even, but now heard by all. Those who had started to complain at the back fell quiet once more, and Madam Rosmerta stiffened in her seat, her green eyes narrowing. "I was raised in one of the oldest estates in England, never had to think about money, never had to think about what I was going to do with my life, in fact, I never had to think about anything. I was told, by my parents, frequently, that I was lucky to be a pureblood, and that status alone, meant I was right."

A murderous hiss began to shimmer through those gathered, and the flashes of the cameras exploded like fireworks as Malfoy paused.

"This caused me to grow up to 'abuse power' as I was told. Of course, I did not realise it at the time, although I was certainly aware of it. I thought it was normal to be surrounded by those who did anything to achieve their ends. Even if what I was doing was wrong, I believed that I was right. It was not until my sixth year at Hogwarts that I came to understand; rather late I am sure, that everything I had believed in the world was not quite as black and white as I had assumed. You see, I had never developed a need to critically think about anything that wasn't academic. Not when I had a life planned out for me, a life I was very happy to accept. I was very lucky to have parents able to provide for me in such a way.

Only, at the end of my fifth year of Hogwarts, my father failed You-Know-Who, and being a sixteen year old I took the brunt of my parents' punishment. I was forced to become a Death Eater, and take on a task that was practically impossible. I was given the task to kill Albus Dumbleore." He paused for a moment, as a horrified gasp came from the crowd, and Madam Rosmerta looked at Malfoy, tears streaming down her face, her expression unreadable. The press were beside themselves, and Shacklebolt was watching Malfoy warily.

"Well yeh managed it, didn't yeh!" Someone called, clearly upset, as Malfoy opened his mouth to speak again. He ignored the cry, and continued.

"The plan that my parents had set out for me had quite obviously changed drastically, and I did not know how to handle this. You see, the price for my failing, would be the death of my parents. I tell you all this, not for your sympathy. That, I have learned I most definitely do not deserve, but so you may understand my actions, Madam Rosmerta in particular." He looked at her, briefly, before looking away into the depths of the crowd again, his ice eyes determined.

"I discovered something I had never thought about before. Something that I am sure many of you will relate to, even if you have no wish to understand any part of me, but I learned I was not comfortable with the idea of killing another person. I did not want to, but I thought I had no choice. I did. I always did. I could have simply gone to Albus Dumbledore, and told him, asked him for help, something. Only, I was sixteen, and I had never had to think. So I set about attempting to kill a man I did not want to harm." He took another pause, as the crowd gathered remained quiet, the hunger for his humiliation had simmered away, but the sickness still lingered in Hermione's stomach.

"So here; here is where I apologise to you truly, Madam Rosmerta. In order to harm a man I had no desire to hurt, I placed you under an unforgivable, I took away all choice you had in your life, and forced you to smuggle in objects that could have seriously harmed you. I jeopardised your health, your safety. I violated the grounds that should always be safe to you, your house, your inn, by cursing you with the imperious. I behaved exactly like a stupid, spoiled teenager. One who instead of admitting there were other ways out, did not, and instead I blindly charged forward, placing you in incredible danger for my own, selfish reasons. I did not think of anyone else save my parents, and for all of this; I am sorry. From the very depths of my being, I am sorry." Malfoy had looked directly at a sobbing Madam Rosmerta as Ginny loosed a low whistle, clearly impressed. The gathered members of the wizarding world sensed he had come to a close as Shacklebolt lifted the charm upon his voice, and a stunned chatter drowned out Hermione's thoughts.

"Alright, that'll do you little shit." Someone was saying in a gruff authoritative voice, gesturing for Malfoy to step off his wooden platform. Madam Rosmerta was frozen in place, as Shacklebolt was gesturing to a group of Aurors to start to disband the press, one hand on Rosmerta's shoulder in a comforting manner.

Draco was stood to the side of his platform, looking for the entire world as if he wished for the ground to part and swallow him up, yet his mask of being cool and collected remained. Madam Rosmerta stood, brushing her pristine robes off nervously, before making her way to him, her face impassive.

"I forgive you," she said quietly, her face puffy from the tears she'd spilt, "you're just a teenager, and I've been serving drinks here long enough to know you kids make stupid decisions all the time. You just happened to be the biggest dumbass of all of them. I'm not going to ban you from the pub; I don't think that'll do much good, but for Merlin's sake, learn some common sense. Maybe get a girlfriend who'll slap you senseless when you act like such a dick. You're not sixteen anymore. No one is going to kill your parents. No one is forcing you to do anything but you. I'm forgiving you for your actions a year ago. Your future ones remain to be judged." She finished, looking at him pointedly. Malfoy nodded, his head low, respectful.

"I will do my best." He said earnestly, looking in her tearful green eyes.

"For now, don't come to the tavern today, get out of my sight. Tomorrow is a new day." She replied, turning away from him, and out of the summer sun into her tavern, followed by a stream of eager people who had overheard her forgiveness.

Swiftly, Malfoy turned on his heel and strode towards the school, immediately flanked by two Aurors making sure he didn't go anywhere else. Hermione's eyes burning holes into his back.

:: :: ::

The garden of the Burrow was filled with people. The entire Weasley family had gathered, with Harry and Hermione as was the norm. Molly had prepared a lunch in the style of a picnic, and in the heat of the midday sun it was perfect. Blankets had been placed on the grass, as plates stacked high with food had covered every inch of the table, including the seats, large pitchers of water and juices to accompany their meal took pride of place in the middle of the tables.

"So, what do we all think about the apology?" George asked his eyes dull, his voice hollow. His hand reached out to take a large scotch egg from a pile, as his family turned to him, ponderous.

"I think the media will be having a field day," Arthur answered first, his lips drawn in a thin line of concern as he loaded his own plate with sandwiches.

"Why?" Harry asked, turning to Arthur confused, "I mean, he did what was asked, he said sorry."

"He did, but he also revealed that life as a Death Eater for the Malfoy family wasn't simply about subscribing to the pureblood ideology. It may have been in the start, but no one really knew that Albus Dumbledore died because it had been ordered by Voldemort as a means to punish a child. That particular revelation will change the way Lucius Malfoy's trial will go, as all Draco has done is manage to raise sympathy for his father. The Malfoy family, and their actions at the final battle – switching sides, suddenly makes a lot more sense when you think about. They appear more family orientated, willing to do whatever it took to stay together, which is something many families can relate to now." Arthur spoke seriously, as Hermione listened carefully, and Harry's face twisted in to a pained expression.

"Do you think it was wise of him to reveal what he did?" Hermione asked Arthur, as Molly poured several glasses of strawberry juice for them all.

"In one way, yes. In another, no. He was right that he could not have given an apology without explaining why he did it. What he did, with no context, was truly terrible. He almost killed a student if I recall correctly, however, explaining why shows he wasn't just a spiteful, stupid boy on a quest to cause as much harm as possible. I say no because other families will now be turning to their own children, wondering if they were forced to do anything they didn't want to in the war, as many families were split, on the run, in hiding. When a family as powerful as the Malfoy's were unable to stick together and help one another, how could other, lesser known and far less influencial families have fared?"

A silence, loud and uncomfortable settled over them all, and tightness developed once more in Hermione's centre. It was like her organs were tying knots with one another, completely unwilling to let go of one another. Ginny sighed noisily, and what appeared to be deliberately, as she raised her wand in the air.

"Enough of this, Quidditch anyone? We won't have a chance to be too silly tomorrow." She asked as a low hum came ever louder, a rickety old broom flew towards her with the speed of a disorientated slug.

"Why, what's tomorrow?" Asked Ron, clearly dumbfounded. George promptly pelted him with the remains of his scotch egg, and left for indoors, taking food with him as he went. Molly began to sob loudly, as Ginny's jaw dropped.

"Ron, for fuck sake." She said, alarmed. "We're burying Fred. We spoke about this as a family, not even two days ago."

"Merlin." Ron answered, as the sounds of Molly's tears made the ball in Hermione's stomach ever tighter.