He felt a violent punch in his guts and then fell into a state of immobilizing shock, followed by a blackout. Only it wasn't really a blackout, not for his subconsciousness at least, because pictures started playing before him, images of Hermione from the X day.

It was when he had first seen her, almost a decade after his trial and her testimony, that he had decided to catch her attention, though not in the good sense at first. She had been sulking over a cup of tea in a tiny bistro on Diagonally, alone and deep in thoughts. He had seen the perfect opportunity to distract himself from his afternoon weariness and also to have a bit of fun for old time's sake.

At least that was the plan until she had caught him staring from outside the showcase and waved for him to go in. Once he faced her, he was met with a friendly, simple smile that was the first real one he had seen in a very long while. She had sat him down and ordered him a cup of tea of her choice (to which he hadn't objected) and very slowly, the ice that had been growing into an iceberg between them for as long as they knew each other started breaking.

She had talked and asked and listened for what seemed like hours. About his work, about his life and how he had been going about with all that had happened during and after the War. Whatever he had initially wanted to spit at her disappeared down his throat because she had simply shown civility. Of course, it had been obvious even then that she was trying hard to maintain the friendly tone, she was lying nobody about that. But he hadn't minded.

Draco longed for a spiracle, for an air hole to just breathe through without having to grind his teeth and bite his tongue. So he didn't attempt to offend her or to push away her notorious kindness because, frankly, he needed it. His career's successes was based on hard work, at least double as hard as everybody else, endured glares and mockery, threats and distrust. Draco wasn't bothered by imbeciles and their thoughts of him but he had soon realized that it affected his personal life. His so called friends, who were in no better place than him, had started closing up in their own isolated worlds because one thing is to have a difficult friendship, another is to have a famously hated man to be associated with you. It was only occasional owls and visits to check if he was still alive. But Draco couldn't blame them, he'd probably do the same in their shoes. And so he took whatever he could get, his dignity dangling on a straw of well-played nonchalance and famous affluence.

His cup had gone empty and dry before she had looked at her watch and announced she had to go. He had offered to send her out which now, looking back, was the first big mistake to set the begging of his undoing.

People talk and he had forgotten.

So when the infamous Draco Malfoy went out in close proximity to the heroine of the century Hermione Granger things went downhill pretty quickly. Draco's memories of what played out after that were unclear, the details stored in a little vial, on of many hidden inside a trinket box in his bedroom. But he remembered the look of disbelief and the familiar anger, both in her eyes and stirring in his stomach. In a moment of cowardice and fury he had drawn his wand and released her of the memory of him from that day. He thought it would be better that way, easier and safer for her.

Not once had he regretted being right so much. But that didn't stop him from messing up again, did it?

She could feel moisture in her palms and over her brow. The silence was almost deafening, especially when all she could hear were her own thoughts. "I almost killed a man. With a stunning spell! What in Godrick's name was a thinking?"

At this moment she was sitting on her father's wooden chair beside the couch and the half-conscious Malfoy sprawled on it. Her mother had stopped halfway down the staircase, hands wrapped around her peignoir. It seemed like everybody had decided to partake in the quiet choir until Malfoy suddenly sprang upwards with a shout and then quickly fell down on his back, clutching his stomach.

"Sit still!" she scolded and put a hand on his forehead. It was flaming hot. A fever was nothing she couldn't handle.

"Mom. Mother, snap out of it. Can you fetch me an ibuprofen tablet and a glass of water? Now please?"

Her mother nodded sheepishly and climbed the stairs back up again.

Hermione brushed away a few strands of sticky blond locks off his forehead. But then Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her entirely towards him, close enough so he could whisper in her ear.

"I'm sorry. I'll explain everything. Just let me go now."

"Like hell I am! You have an internal hemorrhage, Malfoy. Whatever crap you have in that brain of yours, get it out. You're staying here until I'm convinced you won't splinch yourself in half when you Apparate." she didn't bother keeping her voice down.

He was looking daggers at her now, a strange sort of pride and stubbornness mixed in.

"Will you for once just do as you're told?"

"I'd rather stab myself in the eyeball than do what you tell me. You entirely brought this on yourself!"

"Ahem." a third voice came in between. "As charming as this meeting is, I'll go check if your mother found that tablet. Oh and boy, you will answer to me how and why you got my daughter so worked up in the middle of the night. And it better be a good story, or else…"

"Dad!"

"And if you weren't an adult, you'd be grounded, young lady!" but he gave her a knowing wink before leaving the room.

Hermione sighed. A couple of hours in wizarding London and here they are, stress and blood, her old friends. She looked down at the reason for all this and couldn't help but imagine locking him in her office and using him for uncertified experiments. A ferret he was.

"If you wanted to do something, you should have done it when I was alone at work."

He stared wide-eyed and she noticed a faint redness stain his ears.

"I– not like that, you prick!

He hid his embarrassment with a fake cough and looked away.

"I meant, if you wanted to obliviate me, as you attempted, you should have tried when I was in my cabinet, not in the middle of the street. You could have spared an injury or two but I can't guarantee you wouldn't have been in court by now."

"I never intended to." he said quietly.

"Oh, I'm sure! And what, Voldemort never meant to kill people, right?"

She knew she'd gone too far even before finishing the sentence because he was up on his feet in a heartbeat, tall and broad, looming over her with stormy grey eyes that had nothing to do with the shame-filled pale blue ones that she had seen seconds ago. There was no anger nor hurt to twist his face, it was all in his glare.

"Despite what they fed you in school, Granger, you do not understand everything. In fact, I'd say you understand very little of what the reality truly is. You always think you're on top of every situation but you'd be surprised how far behind you are, especially when you flaunt that big mouth of yours like that."

"You make absolutely no sense!"

"Then don't pretend like you understand."

And with that he grabbed his wand from the coffee table and disappeared.

"Dear, I think I found an old packet– oh," her mom found her alone and perplexed, even more so when tears started pricking down her cheeks.