Draco is surprised by how pleasant the lone Weasley twin had spoken to him. Perhaps Granger was right. Not that he'd admit it to her. After a brief conversation about the joke shop and George's (self-admittedly casual) business plan, Draco follows Hermione back out into the street.

"We should stop into Gringott's next. Grab some Galleons for Ollivander. I only had muggle money prepared for your release."

He looks over at her and raises one brow in question.

She raises a brow right back and smirks. "What, you thought I was going to buy your wand for you? Please. It's all you, Mr. Moneybags."

She quickens her pace and Draco falls in beside her, rolling his eyes. Glancing to his left he points at a yellow arched symbol. "You weren't kidding then, were you?"

"Not at all. I know you know what it is from the telly but, do you want to see what all the fuss is about?"

Draco scoffs. "No thank you. I've dined in some of the finest wizarding restaurants in the world. I cut my teeth on classic French cuisine. I've eaten the freshest fish straight from the ocean in Japan. Admittedly it's been a while but still, I'm not slumming in a muggle take-away place."

"You are such a snob."

"Absolutely."

His bald, unflinching statement seems to tickle her and she laughs in a positively endearing way. "You know I appreciate fine food like anyone but haven't you ever heard of a guilty pleasure?"

"No but it sounds intriguing," he teases with a mockingly sexy voice.

It earns him another playful arm slap before she grabs his sleeve and pulls him toward the restaurant.

"Hey, wait, Granger, I was kidding. We really don't need to do this."

"Oh come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Think I lost that somewhere in Scotland," he grumbles back.

Within minutes, they are seated at a small table with a tray holding oddly wrapped food between them.

"I thought this was a muggle place."

Hermione picks up a cheeseburger and begins to unwrap it as she answers. "It is. Been around for decades. Why?"

He frowns and looks around before lowering his voice. "Maybe they have wizards here and no one knows. Maybe it was a wizard place all along."

She stops and looks up at him, furrowing her brows. "What are you on about?"

"It's too fast. I've been eating muggle food for a while now. I know how long it takes to make cooked meat like that sandwich." He points at her burger. "Is the meat enchanted?"

She sniggers. "No, it's not enchanted. Purely muggle made. Just… just try it okay?" She offers the now-unwrapped sandwich with a lopsided grin that turns into a full blown smile as he gingerly holds it between two fingers, a look of abject disgust on his face.

He doesn't want to admit he likes it. Draco chews slowly and tries to mask his reaction while deciding what to tell her. How can something so obviously low quality be so…

"Yummy, hmm? I won't even make you admit it out loud. The fact that you haven't handed it back is all I need to know." Her facial expression is one of smug self-satisfaction and she reaches for another cheeseburger to claim as her own.

They both take a few bites before he decides to verbally concede, "It's not wretched. By all rights it should be though." Then, remembering earlier in their afternoon, "Now what is this about dinner with your parents?"

To her credit, Hermione looks a little chastised. "Sorry to spring that on you. I was trying to lighten the mood a little. But yes, they have been hounding me to visit lately and my Mum says she is itching to meet you."

"Me? Why, other than perhaps to berate me for my poor treatment of you in the past, would your family want anything to do with me?"

Hermione sighs and balls up the wrappers on their table, placing them on the tray. "She won't berate you. If anything I'm afraid she'll be overly accommodating. My Mum and Dad love a good cause. They help organize charity events, donate funds to community projects-"

"I am not a project, Granger."

"I know that, Draco-"

"And don't placate me with that tone either; whining my first name and giving me 'soft eyes'."

She visibly straightens and starts over. "I'm not placating you and you are not a fucking project. You're a person and a wizard and it's my job to help you because you've already paid a price for any mistakes you may have made. I promise my parents will be kind and if they aren't, they will answer to me. But you need to lose that chip on your shoulder."

Draco looks away and doesn't say anything else on the subject. There again she lays it out there. Her job. She could not make him more painfully aware that he is an obligation. Why does he continue to expect anything else?

"Not everything I do is just because it's my job," she had said. The retort he had held in that moment was that 'everything' and 'most' is close enough.

Rising from the table, Hermione collects the tray and carries it a few feet to a rubbish bin to toss the paper remnants of their snack. When she returns, she seems to have found some kind of resolve and offers him a smile. "Come on then. Sorry I took us off track. Let's collect some Galleons and get you a wand."

Draco stands with a little reluctance but ultimately follows the witch out the door and they continue their walk in an almost comfortable silence. He might be her job, but she has treated him with more respect than he probably deserves. Maybe he does have a chip on his shoulder.

One of the most palpable differences between the Diagon Alley of his childhood and now is the nigh complete lack of robes. Mostly only the elderly don the traditional garments. Witches and wizards alike of various age ranges saunter the streets in muggle clothes. Or he assumes they're wizards. Who can tell?

A man passes in a black muggle business suit with a mobile phone held to his ear, yet also a wand playing between the fingers of his other hand. Draco watches him with interest as they pass, noting the way he twirls the wand deftly. A wizard, obviously, with that wand play.

A witch catches his eye next. She is older, wearing robes even, but she is carrying a handbag with a small dog tucked inside. Hermione had pointed out this muggle trend when they had been shopping shortly after his arrival. He also notices as her feet kick out from under her robes with each step she is wearing something Granger called "Crocs".

Next is a group of young women, all wearing robes but they are cheaply made and not one of them has a wand visible. They are staring into Fortescue's and pointing excitedly at whatever it is they see inside. "Magical groupies", Granger mumbles at him. She's mentioned them before: Muggles who covet this formerly secret world and dress the part for entertainment.

The worlds that his family fought so hard to keep separate have melded in such an odd way. It's like two puzzles dumped on a table then thrown together however you can find a tab to fit an indention. It might not quite fit but if you shove it together and squint, you can fool yourself into believing it works.

He shakes his head and continues to follow her through the familiar door of Gringotts and stops dead as soon as he is inside.

"There are… what happened…" He pauses and looks around. "This is a Goblin bank, Granger," he hisses in a low voice. "It's always been a goblin bank."

"Oh it still is. Still Goblin owned. But they had to comply with some laws about diversity. Can't hire based on race so they put some people into various teller positions. Even some of the higher executives, as I understand it. The vice-president is a muggle actually. Oxford grad. Genius with numbers."

"You could have warned me."

Hermione shrugs a little. "Sorry. I admit I forget some things. I'm sort of used to this now but I get that it's a shock for you. I promise though, they still run Gringotts with respect and amazing security. Your vault is safe. You will, however, need to show your muggle identification to access it."

He nods and they continue to a counter. They are greeted by a young wizard that nearly looks like he could still be in Hogwarts.

"Good afternoon. Welcome to Gringotts. How can I assist you?"

"I need to access my vault."

"Certainly sir. Might I see your identification?"

Draco pulls the card Hermione had given him from his pocket and hands it to the teller. He clearly remembers a day he could saunter in and be recognized simply by his platinum hair.

The young teller frowns as he looks over the muggle credential. "Mister… Malfoy. I see," he clips out.

Hermione bristles beside him. "We are rather in a hurry. As long as everything is in order, we would like to continue as quickly as possible."

The boy (because Draco refuses to acknowledge him as a man) clears his throat and rings a small bell to his right. "Yes. Of course. I'll just ring your escort then."

Knowing there will be a short wait, and not comfortable with Hermione fighting his battles, Draco leans on the counter and sneers at the boy, "recognize the name do you?"

"It would be hard not to."

"I imagine. It's one of the oldest Pureblood names in Wizarding Britain."

"Indeed. And very instrumental in the events preceding Integration. Ironic isn't it…"

He mumbles the last under his breath and Draco opens his mouth to say something that he will most likely regret when Hermione places a hand on his arm. He imagines she is going to say something trite like "he's not worth it" or "be the bigger man". Instead she looks at him with sincere eyes and says "He's right of course. Imagine how differently things could have been if you'd not lied to Bellatrix for me. For Harry. I've always thought you were one of the quiet heroes. The kind the papers forget to mention."

"I-", Draco is stunned. They don't talk about the war much. And that event is one of the few in his life he can look at with a little less self-hatred. He's still ashamed. In that moment he knows he could have done more. But he could have done less too so that helps him sleep at night. He's saved from continuing that thought when a Goblin approaches and looks him up and down before speaking with something close to respect.

"Mr. Malfoy. Always an honor to serve your family. If you would follow me this way."

The pair follow behind, leaving a young wizard gaping at war heroine Hermione Granger calling Death Eater Draco Malfoy a hero.

XXXXXX

Hermione remembers just in time to lean over and spare Draco another shock. She whispers, "The travel to the vaults is different by the way. Just so you're not surprised."

"Different how?"

Before she can answer, their escort presses a button on a wall and the subtle doors, nearly camouflaged to the wall, immediately slide open. He gestures inside, "After you, sir."

Draco looks back and Hermione and then into the small room that looks like it could suffocate him within minutes. "What is that?"

"It's a lift," she says with obvious confusion. "Like at the ministry."

"Don't they have one of those…what were they? Excalator?"

She smiles and nudges him forward with the palm of her hand on his back. "Escalator. And no I'm afraid they don't. What I find hilarious is that roller coaster of a cart system they used to have seemed perfectly civil to you but this...?"

"This is a damn coffin, Granger."

Pushing him more firmly and following him inside, she settles to lean against the wall, next to where he stands rigid. "You are so dramatic."

"Subfloor eighty-five. We will arrive momentarily." The Goblin pushes one of the buttons. Hermione has been to Gringotts many times but still finds it jarring to see the "Lobby Level" button at the top of the number pad rather than the bottom. Now that it has been restructured by technology, the vastness of the banks caverns can be fully understood. With one hundred and eight sublevels, it is like a skyscraper turned upside down.

She glances over at Draco to see his face impossibly whiter than usual and stifles a snicker at his expense.

"Don't laugh at me."

Perhaps she didn't stifle it completely

"Sorry," but they both know she is not in the slightest. "Are you claustrophobic?"

"What gave it away?" He sneers and screws his eyes shut.

The lift comes to a gradual and smooth stop and the doors slide open.

They follow the Goblin into a clean and carpeted corridor and Hermione feels Draco close to her ear. "Are the lift doors magic? Or muggle?"

"Muggle. Been around for years."

He makes a short hum of understanding but no further reply.

At a heavy silver door with a keypad to its right, the trio stop. "Because this is your first visit since we restructured, I'll need you to create a passcode. I'll access the system with a management sequence then you type in the numbers you want to use in the future."

Draco seems to get the gist and follows the instructions, choosing 561980. Hermione thinks to mention that birthdays are not terribly secure passwords but decides he has enough to deal with and really, the bank is pretty damn secure even if they left the door wide open.

The code is set and the doors open. The Goblin bows curtly. "I'll leave you in privacy, sir. Will you be needing currency conversion services this afternoon?"

Hermione steps in to answer. "Not today. We are doing local shopping." He nods understanding and turns to leave them.

"Maybe I should."

She looks at Draco as he heads into the room. "Should what?"

"Exchange currency," he says over his shoulder. "I mean, for later. Once the funds you set up run out."

"I'd leave it until you need it. Exchange rate is down but it's expected to come up by the end of the month."

"Why, Granger, I never pegged you to stay on top of finance."

She shrugs. "It's closely related to everything I do with integration. A lot of the families I represent could have easily lost even more of their wizarding means with bad investment and exchange transactions."

Draco collects a small purse of galleons and a box of what Hermione would call "trinkets" and heads back to where Hermione is waiting at the door. She gestures to the box in question.

"Some things of my Mother's," comes his taciturn reply.

She has no response except an understanding nod.

They are unescorted on the return trip. Draco clings to the elevator wall with even more obvious discomfort since they are alone. Hermione slides her hand into his and squeezes lightly. He doesn't look down at her but he does give a slight returning pressure on her hand.

When the doors slide open, revealing the lobby and back to the ground floor, Draco strides out like the Emperor of the free world. Hermione follows behind, smirking and shaking her head.

XXXXX

When he's sees Ollivander's place, the first time in years though it looks almost completely the same, there is a throb of pain in his chest. Draco concentrates on a calm demeanor. Granger says the man holds no grudge.

Because that's likely. I'm sure if I was held in a dungeon for weeks I'd invite the family for some pick-up Quidditch and tea…

Then again, Hermione hasn't lead him astray yet.

He slows his stride and, in a move one could argue as chivalrous (or possibly cowardly), he pushes the door open and stands aside to allow his companion to enter ahead of him. She nods her thanks in an endearingly bashful way. Nervous though he is, Draco allows a half smile. It's amazing how she can be one of the strongest, most confident people he's ever known, yet falter at his attentions. Remove her superbly professional attitude toward him and it's fun to imagine pushing their boundaries a bit more.

"Ah, Ms. Granger. Punctual as ever. And Mr. Malfoy. It has been some time indeed."

"Mr. Ollivander, thank you so much for meeting with us." She offers him a politician's smile.

He waves away the thought and gestures for them to follow him to the impossibly tall stack of thin boxes. Draco remembers another lifetime. He is an arrogant, entitled child and he sneers at the cramped, dusty store with its faded letters and bare floors. That boy died a thousand deaths, pieces stripped away slowly by fear and loss and bitterness. The man left behind, peeled to the core like an onion until there was virtually nothing left, is comforted by the aged wood and soft voice of the shopkeeper. He feels humble. So of course, in true Draco fashion, he holds his head high and pretends to be everything he once was and nothing that he is today.

"Now. To the business of a new wand for an old soul. Have you an inkling what might choose you these days, Mr. Malfoy? I have some ideas of my own you see." He points to four boxes that are separated from the rest.

Draco shakes his head. "No, sir, I've no idea what wand will choose me." Still holding himself with pride but he speaks politely, almost reverent. Being in the company of so many wands and their maker feels like hallowed ground. He feels the pulse of magic in the room and could nearly fall prostrate at a pile of boxes stacked on the floor.

"Things change, you know. Even old Ollivander. I've new materials now. This one, for instance, I think might work for you." He lifts a box and open the case, showcasing the contents to his customers. "Fourteen inches. Ash. But the core… the core is a departure from what you would be accustomed to in this shop. Manticore hair. I regret I did not take more advantage of their gift before they vanished from us forever."

He hands the wand over and Draco closes his eyes, wrapping his fingers around the wood and sighing in absolute relief.

This is not his wand. He knows that. It does not choose him. But he can still feel his magic channeling and focusing. It would work for him if pressed. Regretfully, he shakes his head and makes to hand it back. His fingers hesitate a moment before letting go.

"Hmmm interesting. I expected that to match you well. This then perhaps. Twelve and a half inches. Yew. Trusty unicorn hair, as you had before." Opening another box, he offers it and Draco latches on eagerly, assuming the unicorn core will feel like home. He is disappointed when it proves even less agreeable than the last. The pulse of magic is faint and not nearly as satisfying as the last wand, unsuited for him though it had been.

Ollivander snatches it away. "Obviously not. Third time's a charm those muggles like to say, yes?" He offers the next box. "Twelve inches. African Blackwood." Hermione sucks in a breath but holds her tongue. Ollivander's eyes glance her way and he bites out a bit irritated, "Acquired legally, I assure you, Ms. Granger."

Focusing back on Draco, the pulse of warmth is palpable in the room. This is his wand. "Third time's the charm," he mumbles to himself like a prayer. His knees almost buckle in relief.

Ollivander clears his throat. "As I was saying. Twelve inches, Blackwood, Phoenix ash core. It seems you, like the dear bird housed within, have the potential to rise again, Mr. Malfoy. That will be fifteen galleons."

That shocks Draco out of his reverie a little. "Fifteen? My first wand was seven."

"Inflation of course. And muggle permits. Overhead is killing me."

XXXXX

Hermione allowed Draco to stand in the shop for another five minutes simply holding his wand. He isn't allowed to cast so much as a Lumos but she could practically taste the satisfaction emanating from him simply from holding the wand.

"What was that about the wood?"

She looks at him as they stroll casually back down Diagon toward the apparition lot. "Oh the Blackwood? Very endangered. Illegal to harvest in most markets. It was already hurting by muggle standards. Used for furniture and flutes and such. But after Integration, wand makers depleted it even more."

Draco nods in response but makes no comment. He is holding the wand case close to him as they walk, fingering the latch lovingly.

"Could he be right?"

Hermione raises her eyebrow, "Could who be right about what?"

"Ollivander. Can I rise again? Can I pull myself out of this miserable purgatory?"

She scoffs. "Of course you can. You just have to want it. I told you the day you showed up you were smart. All you have to do is learn a bit of the new culture and in no time-"

"I'll be out of your hair," he interrupts and finishes for her.

"Rude to interrupt a lady, Malfoy. And I was going to say you could 'rise again' as he suggested. I wish you'd stop with the bitter self-depreciation. It's unbecoming of a wealthy playboy elitist."

He snorts and can't stop the little smile. "I am quite wealthy you know."

"Oh, I'm aware."

The rest of the walk is silent but not awkwardly so. When they reach the Apparition point, Hermione offers her hand and Draco takes it without hesitation. Before she twirls them away she smiles at him and offers, "You did great today."

She doesn't give him time to reply. He smiles and allows himself to silently agree.

A/N Apologies for the delay. I've no excuse. Well, I probably have tons of excuses. Work, toddler, pets, business trip... but still sorry for the wait! Thank you to the anonymous reviewers that I can't directly message. You caught me in some embarrassing edits. I'll try to go back and repair when I have time. "Per say" made me kick myself a bit.

Love hearing your thoughts and reviews. Please, if you have a moment, drop another for this chapter!