"Merlin's balls, Granger, are you supposed to go this fast?!"

Hermione is whipping expertly amongst the other automobiles on the road. Legally of course, turn signal every time, if maybe a wee bit faster than the flow of traffic.

She glances to the seat beside her. Malfoy is gripping what she has heard some of her friend's call the "oh shite bar" with white knuckles. His other hand is holding the side of the seat on which he is perched. His long legs, bent stiffly at the knees, seem to be braced on either side of the floorboard.

"Are you serious? You've flown on a broom with virtually no protection at nearly supersonic speeds and you're afraid of a car?"

"Potter didn't drive this fast," he bites out accusingly.

She rolls her eyes and smirks a little. "Harry's only been driving a couple of years. Drives like a bit of an old lady to be honest."

"And fuck your broom analogy by the way. At least on a broom I'm in total control-"

"I'm in control, Malfoy," she shoots back.

"You are… 'you' being the operative word. Or so you say. I'm certainly not. And on a broom there aren't a hundred other fucking brooms barreling toward me. MIND THAT TREE!"

"The one nowhere near the road? Yes I've got it covered," she responds dryly. "I've been driving since I was eighteen. Younger even if you count the time I was learning with my Dad."

She sees him try to relax into the seat but tense up when she changes lanes again and signals to turn, not seeming to trust she won't just careen off the road entirely.

She can't help but snark, "now you know how I felt at that first flying lesson."

Remembering her assignment she reaches over and awkwardly pats his shoulder. It doesn't seem to do anything for his stress level and she feels him impossibly tense even more under her touch.

XXXXX

Shopping with Draco Malfoy is bit of a fiasco.

In the end they do well and find him most of what he needs. And truthfully the boy is incredibly easy to fit. Lean and tall, he sports a male model physique. She finds he tends toward dark colors. No surprise there. Seeing him in a pair of tight muggle jeans and a fitted button-down shirt was nearly enough to make her short of breath.

But that would be unprofessional of course so she had cleared her head and pretended not to notice the two sales girls ogling him, one of them mumbling "check out Captain Tight-Pants" to the other preceding soft giggles from both.

The true challenge of the day though, lay with keeping him on target. Oh, he was fine in the changing rooms. Even while browsing clothes he mostly managed alright. He has an eye for detail and fine materials. She did not dissuade him when he chose expensive clothing. Truthfully he can afford it and has suffered with absolutely no luxuries for a long time.

But the rest of the day was a barrage of what would be childlike questions, if not peppered with adult language. "What the bloody hell is that?" (escalator), "Where can I get one of those?" (fish and chips plate), "Why the fuck does a clock need to be that big?" (I'll let you guess that one).

He veers off from their path without warning more than once. Often Hermione is ten paces ahead before she even notices and ends up jogging after him in pursuit like he is some errant toddler.

For lunch, she finds him what has become his holy grail of the day: Fish and chips. He devours the plate.

"Are there other things like this? Muggle food I mean."

Hermione snorts. "I almost feel sorry for you, Malfoy. The wizarding world gave us many wonderful things but when it comes to food? Bertie Bott can't hold a candle to the flavours of the muggle world."

He looks thoughtful a moment, staring across the crowd of the pub. "It's… a bit grand, if I'm honest. This world of theirs I mean. Salazar, but it's big."

"Ours, Malfoy. This world of ours. Yours and mine. And all of theirs. I don't pretend to understand your journey so far but this is what Integration is about. This is what I've dedicated my career to. Muggles and Wizards… we're all just humans, Draco. People. With families and children and fears and, well… just life."

"It doesn't feel like ours. Like mine. It feels like it ate mine whole." His tone is soft and a touch bitter.

She pauses. This is a relatively in depth discussion for day one. She starts to speak, to try and move the conversation closer to some irrelevant fluff, then he continues.

"Is this what you do then?" He asks with a stronger voice.

"I'm sorry?"

"This… adopt-a-Death Eater gig. Is this what you do for the muggle government?"

Hermione shakes her head though he's not looking. "I've never done this per se."

Draco starts a little, then turns to her, that trademark smirk in place, "I'm your first then, Granger?"

Rolling her eyes, she allows a smile at his innuendo, happy to see he is attempting for a lighter mood. "My position is to work with wizarding families to help them socialize but also to work for wizarding rights. It took a few years after the war before we were even allowed to do magic openly. This might sound cruel but you may have been better off where you were."

He narrows his eyes. "Yes, that sounds bloody fucking cruel."

Reaching across the table, she places her hand over his, pleading sincerity with her brown eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't mean it like you think." He swipes his hand away but she continues, unfazed. "Many purebloods… some just couldn't make it. When the dust settled, the first few months were hellish for those who had no idea how to assimilate. No job, unable to travel since apparating and portkeys were temporarily illegal, no muggle money… I know you probably feel cheated that your Galleons are only worth the gold of which they're made, but you had such wealth you can still live well even without working. At least for quite a long while."

She sits back but keeps her eye contact on his quickly changing face. His frustration is melting into a sort of horrific understanding. "A lot of good wizards died. Some by their own hand. Some basically starved. Some couldn't take being cut off from their magic and seemed to fall ill, withering away like they had a disease. The wizarding population was decimated within the first year in Britain alone. Death tolls around the world varied country to country but very few lost less than ten percent."

She holds her head up and takes a breath, seeming to shake off the melancholy that follows her down the path when she discusses that awful time.

"So I wanted to help do something about it. Some witches and wizards, I'm ashamed to admit much of The Order, were nearly content to stand by. There was a sentiment that the purebloods were getting what they deserved. Instant karma. But Kingsley Shacklebolt from The Order, and some of us with the loudest voices, helped start this organization. There's no ministry anymore but the Integration created a need for an entire department within the muggle government to handle wizarding issues. We have a division for potion ingredient regulation and distribution, a conservation department for magical flora, a magical creatures specialist group, and then what I do. There are twenty of us in my department."

He snorts, "It's like SPEW all over again. Except this time you're knitting hats for Death Eaters."

She quirks her mouth, pursing her lips in agitation but not able to hide the amusement completely. And just a tiny touch of pride that he remembered her House Elf campaign from their childhood.

"But this," he gestures between them, "this is not something you usually do?"

She smiles a little sadly. "Not many Death Eaters came out the other side. Those who did are mostly our contemporaries. Generally, they had distant family or friends to look after them. When Harry was asked to assign you… well he was coming up short."

"Because I have no family right?" he asks, agitated. "Friends, though. I have friends, Granger. A lot more than you probably. I'm still a Malfoy!" He's becoming heated and muggles are starting to glance their way.

Hermione doesn't think he has much to be so haughty about anymore but is trying to remember he knows no other way to cope. "I'm sure you do. But most of them are still in prison or in their own Integration homes. Goyle? Still in prison. Nott? Staying with the Parkinsons. Zabini vanished after the war. Moved to Italy to avoid the end of it and stayed gone. We could try to find him if you wish. But until then, I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

He scowls and she tries to lighten the foul mood. "At least I make good bacon."

He seems to think a moment before conceding the point with a lift of his brow and shoulder shrug that seems to say "true enough". He asks in what feels like a last ditch effort, "What about the Parkinsons, then? I'm sure they'd have taken me. I can pay my own way. It's not like I'd be a burden."

She shifts in her seat uncomfortably. "They already have Nott. There's a law about Death Eaters…err… congregating in the same home. At least until after their one year evaluation."

"That's ridiculous," he scowls, but continues with less venom. "Anyway, they should have taken me instead then," he grumbles and crosses his arms.

She smiles a little at his pout. "I think Pansy had something to do with that actually. Seems she and Theo have been speaking often via letter while he was away. I believe I heard the word 'betrothal' tossed around."

He snorts. "Poor tosser."

"Which one?"

"Theo obviously. Pansy is such an annoying chit."

"Didn't stop you from hanging all over her at Hogwarts as I recall," she says with arched brow.

"Jealous, Granger?" She laughs a little in response and he just almost smiles. "Besides, we were what? Fourteen? You can hardly hold me responsible for that."

"No, you're right. I don't hold you responsible for that. Other things perhaps. But not adolescent romantic choices."

"The war though. I get full blame for that," he spits out.

Hermione shakes her head a little. "Not entirely. A lot… came to light the last few years. We know how Voldemort kept loyalty. And it wasn't throwing parties and handing out bonus cheques."

"No but he was vastly generous with Unforgivables."

She nods. "So were some of his most loyal." Her eyes betray her and flicker to her covered arm.

His own gaze rakes her arm and he looks away from her. "I couldn't do anything you know. I didn't… they wouldn't have listened to me and I couldn't duel her…."

She thinks this is the closest thing she might get to an apology and gives him an encouraging smile. "I know. That's not one of the things I hold you responsible for either. Bellatrix gets full credit for my torture and the scars it left behind."

He hesitates and she knows what he will ask but lets him ask it in his own time.

Finally, "then what am I responsible for?"

She thinks a moment, a serious expression on her face, and starts to list. "For calling me a mudblood when I was just a little girl. For being the kind of entitled brat that makes fun of people for being poor. For trying to kill Buckbeak."

She's quiet for a moment and so is he then she continues her point. "But also for not killing Dumbledore even though you thought you had no choice. For not telling Bellatrix who Harry was when I'm sure you had to know. For standing down at the final battle. You're responsible for a lot of decisions but they weren't always the wrong one."

He nods just barely in response, staring hard down at his empty plate.

Hermione stands and motions for him to rise. "Come on then. We've wasted enough time and I've saved the fun errand for last."

Rising from his seat he quirks a brow. "Oh yes? And what muggle trapping will I indulge in next then?"

She grins. "A mobile."

When he finally grips the little device in his hand, all buttons and lights and chirping sounds, he looks at her with something akin to awe. When she shows him how he can take a photograph and send it immediately to someone else, he's a little disappointed the image doesn't move. Then she shows him he can also send a video and all complaint is out the proverbial window. "This is way better than an owl."

She grins. "Welcome to the muggle world. Let's head home. You can prove you really know how to cook." She winks and almost without thinking takes his hand, pulling him to follow her home.

XXXXX

Dinner is actually a bit of a treat for Hermione. Draco wasn't kidding. He really can cook. Well, in fact.

"I'm blown away, Malfoy. Really. When you said you could cook I thought you just meant… pot noodle or something. Like 'bachelor-style-just-enough-to-not-starve' type cooking."

Impossibly, he grins. She smiles back.

"Cooking is a lot like potions really. My Mother…" he trails off and Hermione waits patiently. If he prefers to drop it, she will, but she gives the opportunity for him to make that choice.

Taking a deep breath he finishes but a bit curtly. "My Mother liked to cook sometimes. Found it relaxing."

Draco takes a bite of his sautéed vegetables and Hermione takes that as a cue to move on. "Well you've done an amazing job. Truthfully, outside of bacon, I'm a dreadful cook. I'll make you a deal: You cook and I'll do the shopping for ingredients and the clean up after." She grins though he is still looking down in thought, hoping to bring him back out of his funk.

"Sure."

Hermione frowns at his pensive expression, having expected a more fiery refusal, or perhaps a jab at her lack of ability in something. Instead he is studying his potatoes with feigned interest, and she allows him the quiet. As he breaks through all of his repressed issues of the last decade she expects many of these up and down moments. She imagines it was hard to properly mourn the loss of his only family from inside prison walls.

After a few minutes, he seems to be finished, just pushing the last bits of food around his plate, and Hermione stands, gesturing to his meal. "Finished? I can take that…"

He nods and pushes it away before rising and walking out of the room. Sighing, she takes their plates and sets to work cleaning the dishes and utensils from their meal, employing a self-made regiment of muggle and wizarding methods.

When she is finished, she wipes her hands on a dish towel and follows the path Draco had taken to her sitting room. This is only his second night of freedom and she hopes for something better than falling asleep in his clothes with barely a word spoken to her.

Entering the room, she finds him staring at her telly, watching the moving pictures with interest.

"Television. You've heard of it?" She waits for a response but he is silent a moment.

Finally, he seems to snap out of it and glances just briefly at her before looking back at the screen. "Yes… a long time ago. It's like a play right? But made into something you can copy… like a picture or parchment."

"That's… not bad. It's more than that though. Sometimes like a play. That's what we call films or programmes. But there are other things. Like news reports. Some things you see are real events, either happening right now or that already occurred. Some are fiction. I'll help you distinguish which is which. Some things are just for fun but you can also gain a lot of knowledge by watching certain things."

"And this?" He asks with a grimace and Hermione studies the screen. There is a crowd of men pushing against a line of soldiers in fatigues trying to keep the rabble at bay. Hermione grabs the remote control off the arm of the sofa and hits the volume up a few times.

"…crowds in the streets, protesting the new Wizards' rights agreement enforced by the UN. Some high-ranking opponents of the bill are pressuring the Austrian government to push back against instituting the laws, on the grounds that the wizarding populace infringes upon the safety and freedom of Austrian citizens. Similar protests have been reported in other countries including the United States, Spain, and Afghanistan."

Hermione changes the channel and lands on an old episode of Black Adder and tosses the remote to the cushion. "So that was an example of something very real," she says quietly. When he turns to her, he looks a little horrified.

"This is the world I live in now? The muggles are fighting over whether or not to let us live with them?"

She straightens her posture and meets his gaze. "Yes. Much like Voldemort was fighting to make sure people like me would die." He cringes and his expression darkens a bit but she goes on. She has no intention of placating him or hiding the realities of his new world, but neither is she trying to punish him for their past. "But there are a lot of muggles, as you may have caught from that, who try very hard to protect us. To fight with people like my department in our favour. And those muggles are winning. It's better now than it was five years ago. Much, much better." She offers a crooked smile and gestures that he sit.

Hesitantly, Draco lowers himself onto the sofa and sits perched at the edge, obviously uncomfortably. She huffs at him and flops down with little ceremony. "Relax, Malfoy. We'll take the telly slow with some comedy tonight. Let me introduce you to Edmund Blackadder."

It takes until the title character smarms out "So, some sort of hat is probably in order" and Draco laughs in spite of himself. Hermione has been watching him intently and now relaxes, relieved he seems to at least have a sense of humour after all.

A/N Greetings from Mexico! Anyone planning a trip, I highly recommend Le Blanc Spa and Resort. So unfortunately, I've not been writing much here. Reading other fics (for instance Second Time Around by Neko-Tenchi which I am devouring) is easy by the pool. The laptop though, not so convenient out of the room. I did however have chapter 3 done so I'm posting anyway. I hate catching up with what is written ahead but I also want to build interest in this my new story so weighing the options, my vote is to post! Please please review so I know you're out there! Who knows, I might even get motivated enough to take the pc poolside :P