Yes, this took me long - too long, probably. Life and work caught up with me.

Either way. I'm making a bit of a jump in time because of reasons, and I'm sorry if I made it a bit rushed. Also, I haven't looked this over because I'm really tired and I have to work tomorrow again, so please forgive me if there seem to be any mistakes.

Done with making excuses. On with my shot at a chapter.

(Also, did I mention I really appreciate the follows/reviews? Thank you!)

She was tired. She had a headache. And she wanted to be left alone. Rubbing her temples, she entered her flat, dropped her bag, and let herself fall down onto the couch.

Things had been horrible these last two weeks, in that sense that nothing at all had changed. No interactions with Malfoy. No big secrets revealed (or confirmed, for that matter).

It was frustrating.

As much as she wanted to close her eyes and sleep, however, she was also looking forward to tonight's dinner. Ron had invited them—Ginny, Harry, and her—to come over to his place and have him cook for them. (Despite common expectations, Ronald Weasley was actually quite a decent cook, if only he had the time for it.) With Ron's job as an Auror and Ginny's Quidditch training, meeting up with the four of them didn't happen all too often. Funnily enough, it were only she and Harry who had set working hours.

Against all expectations, even those of himself, Harry hadn't gone through with his ambitions to become an Auror. He'd told them he'd had enough action for a lifetime, and although Ron had been disappointed, no one had failed to understand his reasons. Harry had always yearned for a quiet life, and after everything that had happened, he'd finally been given the chance to lead one.

He claimed he didn't miss the action, but Hermione could read faces better than anyone, and he had been her best friend for so long. Yet for some reason, she'd never asked.

She yawned and pushed herself up from the couch to take a good long shower and change into a more appropriate outfit before she had to leave.

She entered the apartment through the floo—as much as she hated the feeling of imposing herself on someone, they had agreed that between the four of them, it wouldn't be too much of a problem. (That is, of course, if it was a planned meeting or an emergency, for who knew what one would be barging into.)

"Hello?"

"Hermione!" Ron stuck his head around the corner and grinned at her. "Good to see you."

Someone said something from the kitchen, in a girl's voice. Hermione wondered if it were Ginny, but then there was a whoosh behind her and Ginny stepped into the room, followed by Harry. "Ron, who's that?"

His ears went a fiery red when he stepped out of the doorframe and into the living room. "Erm… Hermione, Ginny, Harry… I'd like you to meet someone."

Hermione knew who the girl was who came out of the kitchen. She'd seen her last not three years before, in Azkaban. Pansy Parkinson had served two months before she got out on parole. She hadn't been particularly active in the war, nor after it; all Hermione could really remember of the girl was her being a snarky bitch in school.

She didn't look too snarky now. She mostly looked nervous. Hermione couldn't blame her.

"Erm… Hi."

Everyone just stared. It just came as such a surprise, they'd never seen this coming. But then Hermione remember who she was, and who Pansy was, and how much worse she'd seen in Azkaban, and she smiled. "Hi, Pansy. You look great."

She smiled tentatively. "Thanks. You too."

"So," Ron said, looking torn between relief and nervousness. "You could all just… you know, sit down… I'll get us all something to drink."

They did, and Harry and Ginny were still quiet and seemingly in shock. Hermione remembered a time in which Pansy had been caught up in the middle of the war and ready to hand Harry over to Voldemort and wondered if her friends could forgive her for that.

"I'm sorry, you know," the girl suddenly said to Harry. "I never meant to—I mean, looking back at it…" She shook her head. "I was scared, I'd seen what—what would happen… It didn't even come up to me that if he won, it would always be like that, not until later…" She was staring intently at her shoes, but looked up again when she told him again that she was sorry.

Hermione believed her. Harry nodded. It probably wouldn't get any better than that right then.

Ron entered the room with five butterbeer soaring in front of him and smiled weakly. "I'm sorry to impose this news on you like this, but I didn't know how to—" He cut himself off by shaking his head and shrugging, set the butterbeer on the table, and went to sit next to Pansy.

"So, Pansy," Hermione began when she realised no one was going to start talking. "How've you been since—you know. What have you been doing the past years?"

"I started with helping my mum out with her new boutique, you know, in Hogsmeade." She shrugged. "No one really wants to employ someone who's been convicted to Azkaban, even for the short time I was in, and I reckoned I had to do something. Turned out I actually quite liked doing it." She smiled. "I now help designing robes and dresses. It's quite fun."

"I can imagine you doing that."

She looked up to see Ron smiling at her and smiled back at him. She'd always imagined moving on would hurt, but funnily enough, it didn't. She moved her vision towards Harry and Ginny and noticed them talking quietly to each other, yet she couldn't quite figure out their expressions. Probably still figuring out what they thought of Pansy being there.

It was one of the side-effects of working in the worst section of Azkaban that Hermione could be so forgiving. She wondered how long it would take Harry to come around. He hadn't fought Voldemort to keep up with all the hate, but it would be a shock, especially to him. All in all, it was mostly her who spoke to Pansy that evening, in the hope she wouldn't feel too left out. Pansy had once more tried to explain what little she had had to do with the war. Apparently she was afraid she wouldn't be accepted by Ron's friends because she'd stood on the wrong side, and the one thing she regretted most of all. Hermione told her not to worry about it, least of all with her. It didn't really seem to matter anymore.

Dinner wasn't the lively affair it usually was, but it couldn't be called even near disastrous either. At least there were no arguments and Ron's face sunk more and more into relaxation.

"How did you meet, anyway?"

Maybe she shouldn't have said that—for some reason, her friend went bright red like only he could. "I…"

"…was shopping," Pansy finished for him, as if that explained it all. "We bumped into each other and he asked if I wanted to grab a drink, stumbling over his own words and all. Turned out he didn't even recognise me."

"You do look a lot better than you did at school."

"Yes, well, you too, or I would've never said yes."

He scowled. She grinned. They fit.

"Hermione! Before you go—could I have a word with you? In private?"

She raised her eyebrows, but nodded. "Sure," she said, following Pansy into the kitchen.

"You still work in… in Azkaban, right?" Pansy shot another look at the doorframe, as if to make sure there was really no one lurking outside.

Hermione nodded again, her gut tying knots. She had a feeling she knew what direction this was going, and she wasn't quite sure if she liked it.

"I want to ask you something… It'd be okay if you declined, I mean you barely know me and—I don't know if you'd even bother but… I know Draco—Malfoy—is still in there. You have to get him out of there, Hermione."

"What?" She blinked a few times. "He's in for the Kiss, Pansy; I'll never manage to get him out even if there's proof he's been a saint."

"But you can change his sentence," she whispered. "He doesn't deserve this, you know. I'm not saying he has been a saint, but… Just look into it, please? I've heard so many things these last years and it just… it doesn't…. He's not a monster."

::

"Ah, good day, Granger."

It wasn't the first time she wondered whether he had footprints dyed on the floor so he could stand on the exact same place every time.

"I've spoken to Pansy, you know." You know, your friend from Hogwarts, she wanted to add, but there was no reason to and therefore she didn't. Godric knew how long it had been since all of those petty arguments had taken place, and better (or worse) yet; how he'd respond to her reminding him of it. Maybe he would actually respond at all.

"Did you, now?" His voice held no emotion whatsoever. She asked herself for the billionth time why she was even trying. (After all, she didn't really have to. There was no reason for her not to leave him there to await his fate—except the equity she'd been striving so hard to achieve in the world.)

"She says you're not a monster." Hermione crossed her arms even though she knew he couldn't see this, and waited for him to break the deafening silence that followed. When he didn't, she coughed. "I find this hard to believe with all the stories going round."

"Hmm." She was quite boring him. He was quite sure nothing she said to him could shock, bother, or even interest him in the slightest. But then… of course, it could happen the other way round. She wasn't afraid of the act he was pulling, and if he were to get his soul sucked out in a while—well, he could allow himself some last-minute fun, right?

Granger ploughed on, unaware of his change of thoughts. "You can tell me, you know. No one else is around to hear you… No one who will remember it later, anyway." She wondered briefly where this came from, but couldn't dwell on it too long. At least not now. "So tell me, Malfoy. How aren't you?"

"Yes, don't you wonder?" He smirked, she could hear it in his voice. "But I'm afraid I cannot tell, Granger. Haven't you heard? I am a monster."

She had already opened her mouth to retort when he started moving. For a moment, she thought she could hear his bones creaking as if he were made of metal that had started rusting. That moment, however, soon ended when she was staring into the face of a man who was rumoured to be faceless and it was all she could do not to let the words that were stuck in her throat turn into a scream.