The atrium crowd was growing thinner by the minute. Everyone was in a rush to get home for dinner and all the floo fires were ablaze, casting a consistent green glow over the room. Most departments had been closed for well over an hour and no one wanted to linger any longer than they had to in the dank office building.

Hermione, nose stuck in a legal document, exited the lifts onto the ground floor and walked directly into something solid, parchment spilling from her arms.

"Ooof- I'm so sorry!" she gasped, bending down to begin gathering everything she'd dropped. She noticed the man standing in front of her. He was tall, blonde, and very familiar. "Malfoy!" she stood up quickly. "Erm- how are things? You know? With the Aurors?" Smooth.

Draco seemed unshaken by her entrance. "Fine," he replied simply. He bent down to help her pick up her documents."You're here late."

"You are too."

He handed her the last pieces of parchment from the scattered mess on the floor, his hand brushing hers in the process. Tingles shot up Hermione's arms as all the hairs stood on end. She attested it to the chilly temperature in the atrium.

"Potter's got me working the late shift," Draco explained. "I'm not sure if it's a customary position for the new person in the office or if he's punishing me, but..." he drifted off, running his hand nonchalantly through his hair.

He styled it much differently than he had in school, Hermione noticed. Before, it had been slicked straight back with gel and grease, a pompous style for a pompous person. Now it was parted on the side and he used much less gel, merely sweeping the front of his hair a little to the side. He seemed much more approachable this way. Not to mention he'd traded in his usual all-black look for something a bit less intimidating; he was wearing black dress pants with a white button down shirt underneath his Auror robes. The white of his shirt made him look significantly less pale.

"I'd better get going," Hermione said with a hurried tone."I have to be- I have to do something."

"Right," Draco nodded, handing her the last of her scrolls, eyes lingering on her face just a second longer than was customary for typical social interactions. She started to walk away when Draco called out to her. "Granger!"

She turned around far too quickly. "Yes?"

"It's dark outside. If you'd like, I can walk you home."

She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow.

"Not that I don't think you're perfectly capable of defending yourself!" He sensed her judging gaze and quickly adjusted his words. "Trust me. I've been on the receiving end of one of your right hooks." He fumbled with his words for a moment and her pursed lips turned into an amused smirk.

"I just mean, if you'd like some company on the walk home before you get to your... 'something'... I don't have anything planned immediately and I could walk you there. If you want."

At first she didn't want to agree, but she found her head nodding of it's own accord. What could it hurt?"Okay." She was surprised by his offer, not only because it was Malfoy volunteering to spend time with her, but also because he'd remembered a small, insignificant portion of their conversation weeks ago where she had mentioned she lived in a flat just down the road from the Ministry. She hadn't thought he'd been paying much attention, but apparently she had mis-judged him. Again.

They exited the building and began the quarter-kilometer stroll down the street. Less than a block from the Ministry building, Hermione let out a deep and uncontrolled sigh.

"I don't have to walk you, you know. You're allowed to say no." Draco pressed, sensing her unease.

"Nothing's wrong," Hermione assured him. "At least not exactly. This is just strange. Surely it's weird for you, too." She stopped and turned to stare at him. "You're Draco Malfoy. I despise you."

"You should," he agreed, his voice void of emotion. "I was an arse to you. I'm honestly surprised you agreed to let me walk with you in the first place. If you'd like I can go-"

"No." She bit her lip and cocked her head to the side. "What I mean is that it's weird because you don't feel like Draco Malfoy and I don't hate you when I look at you now. It's only been a couple of years. What's- I mean how- just- What happened to you?" She looked down at the ground and then back up at him. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

"You've earned some rudeness." He shuffled his feet a little and put his hands in his back pockets. "Potter and I had a talk similar to this one a few days ago, and I thought I would know what to say for the second time around, but I don't. After the war everyone looked at me differently. All they saw was the mark on my arm." He took his hands out of his pockets to push up his sleeve, showing off his Dark Mark. Hermione cringed a little at the sight of it. To her it still represented everything the war had left in it's wake.

"I didn't expect that to still be there," she admitted quietly. "I knew it surely must be but I didn't-"

"I was surrounded by hatred for so long. My parents, their friends, my friends, everyone had so much hate in their hearts. Hate for muggle-borns, hate for Potter, hate for failure. There was no room for anything else and it was all anyone could talk about. I could feel myself becoming harder, and I was going to become my father. I had to get out."

"But how?"

"I just left." Draco turned to lean against a vacant store front, realizing that their walk wasn't going anywhere for a little while. "I packed a trunk, left my parents a note, and I left. I lived in London for awhile- got a job at Diagon Alley as a shop-keep. "

"You had a job? A real job? Like not in an office, but serving people? Doing grunt work?"

Draco chuckled at her complete disbelief. "Yeah. It was miserable. But I was free. Mum wrote me a lot, but for awhile I didn't respond. I couldn't. I separated myself from everyone. It was lonely, but it was good. Blaise- Zabini visited every now and then. He was the only one who was okay with everything. He still sort of is. Even now he occasionally hangs out with people from the old crowd though, and I wanted something different. I wanted to do a bit of damage control for the things my family had done."

"So you decided to become an Auror," Hermione finished the story for him.

"Exactly. Unlearning everything you've ever known isn't as easy as it sounds, but I tried. I really did. And I'm sincerely sorry for everything I ever said to you that caused you pain in any way. I know it doesn't erase it, but I am. Sorry."

"I really believe that you are. But it's funny- I didn't take you for the apologetic sort."

"That's because I'm not. Or rather, I wasn't. It's something I've had to work on because I have a lot to be sorry for." His voice broke a little on the last sentence and Hermione could feel the pain behind his words. What he was saying hadn't been rehearsed or planned. This was as raw as she had ever seen him and she was almost afraid that any sudden movements would frighten him back into his shell of contempt.

Hermione slowly reached out and put her hand gently on his arm. "You are the person I least expected this from. And I know it doesn't count for anything really, but I'm proud of you for trying. And I accept your apology."

He let out a sigh of relief. Hermione then realized that this was the apology he had probably been dreading the most. Out of everyone he had hurt in school, she and Harry were the ones he'd tread on the worst. It was no wonder he'd chosen to apologize to them first. "I can't believe you're being so... I guess I just can't believe you're not still angry with me."

Hermione paused to think before she spoke, choosing her words carefully. "I am angry. I'm not angry at you. I'm angry that words like 'mudblood' even exist. I'm angry that most people came out of the war for the worse. Several of my friends have post traumatic stress and they live with that every day, suffering. I'm angry that it was your people who did that to them. But I'm glad you saw reason. I will always be hurt by some of the things you said and did and I will always be frustrated by those memories, but I don't hold grudges against people who don't deserve them. You apologized and I think you meant it. That's enough for now. If at least one good thing came out of all of that disaster, who am I to turn it away?"

After a few moments of silence, Draco cleared his throat. "Can I be honest with you?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course. This is the most personal conversation we've ever had, so I couldn't think of a better time for honesty."

"Right then. I was always a bit jealous of you."

"Jealous of me? Whatever for?"

"What for? For everything! Everyone liked you. You got the best marks in our year. You didn't have to try. Everything was effortless for you. Except maybe your hair because that was always a bit much, but you seem to have that mostly under control now."

Hermione scoffed a little, her hand jumping to her mostly pristine bun at the back of her head. A few strands had started to come loose, but he was right, she had started making more of an effort once she was in the real world.

"Sorry, that was rude wasn't it?" Draco put his hand over his face in shame. "I'm still working on it. I meant that as a compliment. You look nice."

Her face softened. The Draco she had known would never have given anyone a compliment, much less her. And even if he had, he would never have defined it so bluntly as one.

"Basically I just want you to know that I was mean to you because I wasn't a nice person and I know that. The thing is that I've grown to care when I'm hurtful, but I never did before. I wasn't mean to you because you deserved to be made fun of or because you were weird or unpleasant. I was mean to you because of me, not because of anything you did wrong."

"It's nice to hear you say that," she said honestly, staring at him with more shock than was probably appropriate. "You're like a completely different person than I remember."

"I feel like a different person."

A few more moments of silence passed between them, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Hermione spoke. "So, are you going to finish escorting me home then?"

Draco pushed himself off from the storefront and brushed his jacket off casually. "Yes, of course."

They began walking again and in a few minutes they were at the door to a 5-story brick building with white flower boxes in all the windows.

They stood facing each other for a few seconds before Draco awkwardly stuck out his hand for a shake. "This is it, then? So I'd best be off, yeah?"

Hermione stared at his hand and laughed before he awkwardly lowered it. "Would you like to come up for a cup of tea?"

He didn't answer.

"Unless of course you have something you need to do."

"I thought you had 'something' you had to do..."

"Something can wait. I'd rather have tea with a friend right now."

"Friend?" Draco repeated the word back to her and she almost couldn't believe she'd used it herself. However, she shrugged and nodded, causing him to grin more widely than she thought he could. "Absolutely."

They walked up one flight of stairs and came to a door marked 2B. Hermione waved her wand and opened the door.

As she pulled it open she heard a shout of surprise. Harry was standing in the middle of her living room, stark naked save for a throw pillow he was holding over his groin. "Hermione!" he gasped. "You're home early! M-Malfoy? Well, isn't this quaint." The hand that wasn't holding the pillow with a vice grip quickly went up to his hair to nervously muss up the back as he so often did.

Hermione stared at her friend, open-mouthed. "Erm- hello, Harry. Nice to see you, as always." Her voice was tight and high-pitched. She and Ginny didn't have any sort of protocol in place for overnight guests, and Harry was often there, but they had never before run into this particular issue.

"You and Potter?" Draco whispered in her ear. Whether his tone was more condescending or shocked, she would not have been able to guess.

"No!" she spat. "No, definitely not."

Right on cue, Ginny popped out of a door in the hallway, wrapping a robe around herself as she went. "Hermione! I thought you said you'd be working late," she laughed uncomfortably. "Malfoy? What?" She stopped and stared at the two of them, confusion coating every inch of her face. After the most tension-filled awkward silence that any of them had ever had to endure, Ginny finally spoke again.

"You know what? I'm just going to take this," she grabbed Harry's upper arm, "and we're going to go in here." She yanked him along with her, pillow and all, into her bedroom and closed the door. "We'll talk later!" she shouted through the closed door.

"I think I need my own flat," Hermione declared.

"That was more of Potter than I ever wanted to see," Draco muttered, his eyes still wide with shock.

"You and me both," Hermione seconded. She stepped into the small kitchen and began busying herself with the tea kettle.

"You mean you and Potter never...?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed loudly. "Harry and I have always been just friends. Always. It's been him and Ginny for years now anyway."

"So, you and Weasley then? You seemed quiet enamored with each other after the war as I recall," Draco pressed, taking a seat at the small kitchen table.

Hermione put the kettle on and stared at him, hands flat on the counter top. "Kind of," she admitted. "A long time ago."

"What do you mean 'kind of'? You're telling me you went through seven years in the same dormitory as those two and something only 'kind of' happened at the very end?"

"Why do you even care?" Her voice was thick with condescension. She was looking at Malfoy like he was a new person because otherwise she wouldn't be able to stand being in the same room as him, and if he teased her or belittled her right from the get go, she wouldn't be able to give him the benefit of the doubt anymore.

"We're friends now, right?" His tone was innocent and his shoulders shrugged ever so slightly implying there was no hidden reason for his question. He wasn't seeking to call her prudish or paint her as a harlot for her answer, whatever it may be.

"Okay, so what about you and Pansy? You two shared a dormitory as well."

"I asked you first."

She sighed, and dropped into the chair next to him. "It didn't last very long. Ron and I, we tried it out. After the war things were so crazy. Emotions were heightened. He and I had always had a weird relationship and after everything we'd been through we thought we were supposed to be together. We called it destiny. We casually dated for three months, but they weren't even a good three months. His brother had just died and a lot of our friends and it wasn't the right time, if there ever was a time..."

Without pausing to discuss it further, much to Hermione's relief, he went right into the answer to her question. "Pansy and I had a bit of a flirtatious relationship in school. We filled each others' needs occasionally. I haven't talked to her since about a week after the war. From what I hear, she's married now to some pureblood chap her parents had lined up for her." His answer was fairly vague, but she hadn't really cared much in the first place. On the list of things she typically thought about, Pansy Parkinson was nowhere near the top.

The tea kettle began to sing and Hermione got up again to pour two cups. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Bit of both."

She set a cup of tea in front of him and sat back down in her seat with her own. Silence settled in as they both sipped on their drinks. Subconsciously she began fiddling with a scar on her arm, rubbing her thumb over the area repeatedly. Draco noticed.

"I dream about it sometimes," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

"Dream about what?" she asked, oblivious to his eyes, which were staring at the word 'Mudblood' emblazoned in her flesh.

"That day at the manor where I didn't interfere. I watched my aunt torture you and I didn't stop it. I hear your screams sometimes in my sleep."

Hermione watched as he reached across the table to touch his fingertips to her forearm. The contact was cold, but it sent a warmth spreading from it all the same. He brushed over her scar with a gentleness she hadn't realized he was capable of.

"It wasn't your fault," she assured in a hushed voice. "You didn't wield the knife."

"No, but I could have stopped it." His voice was firm. "You weren't my friend, but I had known you for years. I knew you well enough to know you didn't deserve to be tortured at the hands of Bellatrix. You're a good person, and I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to stop her." His once-strong tone caught in his throat. "I'm sorry I wasn't enough."

Her other hand came across to cover his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "There was nothing you could have done. It's a form of survivor's guilt, Malfoy. Trying to stop her would only have made it worse."

"It doesn't mean I'm not sorry."

"I dream about it too you know," she confessed, pulling her hands back to drop them into her lap, picking at the cuticles of her fingers so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. "In my dreams the pain is real. I wake up and my arm is on fire. I can hear the echoes of her laughter and I feel her weight pinning me down so I can't breathe. But you're never in the dreams." She lifted up her face to match her eyes with his, their color like melted steel. "If I blamed you at all, wouldn't it be you holding me down to slice into my flesh? Wouldn't it be your laughter ringing in my ears? You didn't ask her to do it, and not many would have interfered. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Weasley and Potter would have saved you," he muttered bitterly. "They did save you."

"Why do you have to compare yourself to them?" she questioned. "They're Gryffindors. Their mold is reckless. Yours is cautious. Neither is wrong."

His mind wrapped around her words and he took them to heart. She didn't hold any resentment toward his house. If he were in her place, he would feel nothing but hatred toward the group who had teased her, spread rumors and lies about her, and who had done everything they could to see her suffer. Instead, she seemed to understand where they were coming from and accepted it, or at the very least forgave it. He couldn't sense an ounce of mockery or malice in her tone.

"You're something else, Granger." He leaned in on the table, resting his elbow on the hard wood surface and placing his chin on his closed fist.

"What do you mean?"

"Can't you see it?"

"See what?"

"You're incredible. You're clever, passionate, driven, kind, forgiving. You're the kind of person everyone wants to know. And I know I'll find some way to drive you away like I do all of the good things in my life, and for once, I'm not sure I could accept it."

His view of himself was so bleak that it broke her heart on his behalf. He still saw himself as the empty shell he'd been in their sixth year, so broken and defeated. He saw himself as someone unworthy of time or attention, and what she saw in him was something remarkable and pure. She never saw herself sitting in her flat with Draco Malfoy of all people, having a conversation filled with compliments and heartfelt, emotional stories. And she surely never thought she would be kissing him. But both were true.

It started cautiously. She tested the waters, simply leaning across the small wooden table far enough to put their faces in close proximity to one another. She scrutinized every inch of his face, starting with his eyes and ending on his lips. He breathed in quickly as her hand traced the side of his jaw. "Then we'll just have to make sure you don't drive me away," she finally whispered, biting her bottom lip as she stared at him intently.

His stomach was in knots. For so long he had hated anything to do with muggle borns. He was raised to think they were less than people, lowly, and unwanted in their community. How he'd managed to listen to his parents all those years when there were people in the world like Hermione Granger was really starting to amaze him.

"You're so—" he started, but she put her finger on his lips.

"Shh," she said. "Let's not talk right now." Her finger made it's way to his chin and she used it to pull his face the two inches closer it needed to fill the gap between them.

When her lips finally met his, there was little that could be done to quench their thirst. His mouth turned greedy after the first taste, moving hard against hers with reckless abandon. Before either of them had really registered what was happening, Hermione was on her feet, closing the gap between them completely without breaking their kiss. In one fluid movement she went from her seat to his lap, knocking her chair to the floor in the process with a crashing sound that neither of them really noticed. She felt her fingers get lost in the silkiness of his hair and then the solidness of his torso, letting them explore freely every inch of him she could reach. Her lips parted slightly allowing his tongue to dance with her own, tasting and exploring what had for so long been forbidden fruit.

A low moan rose in the back of her throat as he sandwiched her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbling gently. Her back arched slightly as his kisses traced a path down her jaw to the sensitive spot on her neck. Their foreheads came together, noses touching as they allowed themselves a moment to breathe, inhaling each others scent as they attempted to catch their breath.

"That was-" he started to whisper.

"I know," she finished, equally as hushed, a smile spreading across her face.

Out of the silence, a loud, slow clapping noise came from the other side of the room. Both of their heads snapped to face the noise. Ginny and Harry were standing in the doorway to her bedroom wrapped in a blanket, watching the scene unfold.

"Sorry, was I not supposed to clap for that?" Ginny asked innocently.

Harry looked caught between amused and disturbed, his eyes wide and a goofy, unsure grin on his face.

"How long have you been there?" Hermione asked, horrified, acutely aware now that at some point over the course of the past few minutes, Draco had pulled out the pin in her hair and it was now cascading to her shoulders in unkempt waves. She stood up, her legs wobbling a bit at first before she righted herself and took a step away from Malfoy.

"Since the crash," Ginny admitted, pointing to the chair. "Came to see what the fuss was about. Wanted to make sure everything was okay, but it seems to be just fine." She winked dramatically at Hermione.

"Does this mean that we can forget about what happened earlier? This is far more interesting, right?" Harry urged.

"Fat chance, Potter," Draco drawled. "You're never going to live that one down."

After a short silence, Ginny popped her lips. "So. Is anyone going to mention how weird this is? Or shall I?"

Hermione looked over at Draco who was already looking at her. The fact of the matter was that their sudden interest in one another was very weird. So weird in fact that it made perfect sense to both of them. Without humoring Ginny's question with an answer, the pair of them burst into a fit of laughter.

Draco was coming home today, but Hermione couldn't help feeling hollow. He might be in the house, but it wouldn't be the same as it had been. She would still be sleeping alone, feeling the ghost of his warm body against hers, the real thing just doors and walls away. She would be able to hear his feet shuffling to the toilet in the middle of the night, but he wouldn't come back into their room half-asleep with his hair a mess seeking groggy midnight kisses. She would be his housekeeper, not his wife.

"Are you sure about this?" Ron asked her quietly, placing a hand on her knee. He had reluctantly tagged along to provide moral support for the day. He claimed he was happy to do it, but Hermione knew that if Harry or Ginny had been available, he would gladly have relinquished his duties.

"I think so," Hermione nodded in affirmation. "It's time. No matter what happens now, it's time."

As instructed, they made their way to an office on the ground floor of the hospital. When they opened the door, Draco was sitting there in his own clothing, looking downright happy to see them. Two of his healers were there as well.

There were documents in a line on the table for her to sign, releasing Draco from the hospital's care. She made her way down the row, signing all four, scanning them all quickly but thoroughly.

"Mrs. Malfoy," a healer started, "Draco is in no way back to full health. You will need to be cautious. His mind is fragile and too much too quickly could overwhelm him. Of course, in order for us to release him, we'll need you to agree to weekly therapy sessions. Is this understood?"

"Bloody hell," Draco mumbled. "I'm not fragile and I don't need therapy. I'm not a nutter."

Hermione and Ron shared a look and both of them rolled their eyes at the same time before saying, "Yes," in unison.

"That's perfectly fine," Hermione finished, signing the last document with a flourish.

"Well then, this is the end of the line for now," said Healer Malone, the sweet elderly healer who had been with Draco from the very beginning. "We'll miss you, Draco."

She stood and wrapped him in a tight hug. Since he was still sitting, his face was nestled tightly in her bosom. He attempted to say something back but his words were muffled. Assuming he had said a sweet goodbye, Healer Malone released him only to give him two kisses on his forehead, leaving a bright pink lipstick smudge.

"Come back and visit us any time, dear."

Draco grimaced at the woman as he pawed at the stain she'd left, but she took it for a smile.

"Are you ready then?" Hermione asked him, slinging her bag over her arm as she stood up.

"Ready to get out of this dump, yeah," Draco said. He stood up and walked over to the door, bowing dramatically as he swept his robes around him like a cape. "Goodbye, St. Mungo's people. I'd say I'll miss you, but I'm no liar."

On his last words he focused his stare directly at Hermione as though he was expecting her to say, 'Just kidding! Joke's over! We can all go back to school now!'

"Please let me give him a swift kick in the arse," Ron whispered through clenched teeth.

"Ronald..."

They exited the glass wall that was the hidden front to the hospital and Ron grabbed Draco's arm tightly.

"Ow! Get off me, Weasel!"

"Can't do that," Ron sneered. "Seems you can't remember where you live. Maybe you should have your Mummy write it down and you can wear it round your neck like a toddling baby."

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped again. She watched the two of this disappear with a pop! as Ron Apparated them back to the house. She joined them moments later.

When she arrived, Draco was staring up at their home in horror. "Please tell me this is the wrong address," he whined. The house was of a modest size, but it was nothing compared to even one wing of Malfoy Manor.

"Remind me again why I didn't splinch the bastard," Ron mused under his breath, shoving Draco forward. "Just go inside, ya git."

Hermione pulled Ron aside roughly. "I know this is your dream come true, finally having the upper hand against Draco, but you need to lay off. He needs to realize you're his friend, Ron. Right now you're not acting like one."

"I'll act like his friend when he's back to how he was before. Right now he's the same bloke who tortured you at school and made all our lives hell. And if he calls me 'Weasel' again I swear..."

"We need to help him get there. Stop being a prat."

She left him gawking behind her as she joined Draco at the door. She opened it up for him and followed him over the threshold.

He stared around the open living room and his eyes scanned across a large homemade banner that read "WELCOME HOME DRACO" in untidy colorful letters. He scoffed. "That looks like it was made by children."

"It probably was," Hermione pointed out. "Ginny and Harry are always looking for arts and crafts ideas to keep James and Lacey occupied."

"I don't need an explanation about everything. Bloody hell..." He dropped his small bag where he stood and walked off to have a look around. After browsing through the living room and the kitchen he leaned against the door frame between the two rooms and casually shook his head.

"Granger. Granger, Granger, Granger. You could have done better than this." His tongue clucked disapprovingly.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, sitting up in the armchair she'd situated herself in as he'd investigated. Perhaps there was some surface she'd neglected to dust.

"This is shoddy work, especially for you. I couldn't possibly live here." He was still searching for plot holes where he should be have been searching for memories.

"And why is that?" Hermione asked, settling back down with an amused expression on her face. This ought to be good.

"Where are my things? My books? My artifacts? My clothes? There's nothing here that's mine!"

Ron, who was lounging on the couch, stood up and beckoned for Draco to follow him. The other man stared back with a suspicious expression. "Well? Are you coming or not?" Ron finally asked out loud, his patience wearing thin.

Hesitantly, Draco followed the red-haired man to the staircase and up to the second story. Ron pointed down the hall. "First door on the right, mate."

Draco stepped past and opened the door slowly. Inside were walls of bookcases stacked from the floor to the ceiling, small figures and instruments tucked intermittently into the shelves between heavy volumes. A desk stood against the far wall, laden with papers, quills, and small personal effects. There was a fireplace to the left that seemed to have stood for far too long without a flame, the ashes long-cooled at the base. "What is this?" Draco asked quietly.

"It's your study," Ron said obviously. "She hasn't touched it since your accident."

Draco crossed the room to the desk and glanced everything over. There were case files, presumably from work, and photographs in little frames, all of the same little girl: Lacey. The items on the bookcases were all his, and they seemed to be all present and accounted for. He took a seat in the well-worn chair and put his feet up on the corner of the desk. It was the one part of the surface that was uncovered, and it appeared that he had done this before. His feet had their own special place. He sighed deeply.

"Leave me," he said quietly.

"As you command, your majesty," Ron muttered sarcastically, closing the door behind him.

A few hours later, Draco made his way back down the stairs, following the smell of food. He found Hermione in the kitchen, mixing something on the stove top. Her curls were pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head, small wisps of hair sticking to the back of her neck from the heat of the steam. He had never seen her so casual before. She was wearing grey sweatpants and a purple sweatshirt so large that it draped off one of her shoulders.

"What is that you're making?" he asked, causing her to jump violently in surprise, not having realized he was standing there.

"Merlin!" she gasped, her hand jumping to cover her heart. "I almost forgot you were here." That was a lie. She'd been acutely aware of his presence since his arrival, and she had done her best to give him the space he clearly required. "It's just spaghetti," she said in answer to his question.

"It smells nice," he said quietly.

"Thank you," she replied.

"Although to be fair, anything would smell good after the shite they've been force-feeding me for weeks." Of course, he would have to spoil his compliment. She wasn't sure how much longer he could keep putting up his front when there were so many moments of civility peppered into his behavior.

"Are you doing okay with all of this?" she asked, setting down her spoon and turning to face him. " I mean of course you're not okay, but are you managing?"

He remained silent for a few moments before he answered, cautiously choosing his words so as to make sure he didn't sound too comfortable. "My study is nicely put together," he commented, "But the rest of this place reeks of domesticated mudbl- muggle born."

At least he'd had the decency to catch his mistake before he had completely uttered it, Hermione noticed.

"Draco," she sighed. "Everything in this house, except for your study, was chosen by the two of us together. The couch, the chairs, the artwork, the beds, the colors. Everything was as a pair. You have your study and I've got my reading nook and the rest is ours. I'm sorry you don't remember it, but I'm sick of you pretending you're not trying. Because I know you are or you wouldn't be here."

He sauntered over to her and stood directly behind her as she cooked, pressing his body close to hers, hands moving to hold her by the waist. She breathed in deeply, feeling the pressure of him and not even caring about his motives. She leaned back gently, getting as close to him as she could, not knowing where this sudden burst of seemingly random passion was coming from, but she appreciated it all the same.

She felt his lips move to the base of her neck just below her ear, not touching, but hovering close enough that she could feel the warm of his breath tickling the small hairs at the base of her neck. "Don't presume to know me," he suddenly growled in a deep whisper, slamming both of his palms onto the counter-top on either side of her with a loud smacking sound, causing her to scream in surprise.

"Oy!" Ron shouted from the living room, jumping to his feet. "What's going on in there?"

Draco stalked off to the stairs to return to his study. "I'll take my dinner upstairs whenever it's ready," he stated, much in the way someone would make a request of a house elf, leaving her visibly shaken in the kitchen. Ron rushed to her aide, giving Draco a seething glance as he disappeared from view.

Half an hour later, Hermione knocked on the door to the study once before opening the door without invitation. She slammed the plate of pasta down on Draco's desk. Placing one hand on either side of the plate, she leaned down to meet his gaze across the surface of the desk.

"I do presume to know you, Draco Abraxas Malfoy. I know that you sleep on your stomach because you can't get comfortable any other way. I know that your favorite color is actually red and you only pretend to dislike it because it reminds you of Gryffindor house. I know you called your father 'Daddy' when no one else was around to hear until you were fourteen. I know you claim you don't do any sort of exercise, but that there's a pull-up bar hidden in the corner bookshelf and you do over 100 of them every morning before breakfast. I know that you play the piano beautifully, but you never choose to because you're afraid it makes you look too studious. I know that you like your orange juice with extra pulp in it and that you won't eat a banana unless it's cut into pieces. I know that when you were a child you wanted to grow up to be the headmaster of Hogwarts, but you never told your parents about it because you knew they'd disapprove. I know you. And I know I do because you can't tell me that a single one of those things is wrong."

He stared at her open-mouthed, gaping like an idiot as she crossed back to the door. "And one last thing," she added, her fingers clenching the door frame so tightly her knuckles were white. "From now on, either you eat at the table with us or you don't eat." She slammed the door behind her, sending the artwork on the walls to shaking.

It was after midnight when Draco finally left his study again. He had dozed off in his chair for awhile, but it made his back ache, so he got up to stretch. He emerged from the room slowly, looking to either side to be sure he was alone. Outside the door was a folded up pair of lounging pants and a robe with a note in curly handwriting that read, "The guest room is across the hall."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped through the door directly across from him. There was a large canopy bed and a small side table with a cup of water and a toothbrush on it. The room was fairly undecorated, but there was a small painting of roses above a wooden chest of drawers. A mirror was on the opposite wall showing him his own reflection, which he hadn't seen since his first few days at the hospital.

He was pale and thin, more so than he remembered. His hair was disheveled and there were dark circles under his eyes. His face was lined with years he'd never lived and he felt as though he was staring into the ghost of both his future and his past.

Looking at the glass of water on the table, he realized how thirsty he was. He drank the entire thing in three gulps. Still feeling thirsty, he made his way back into the hall. Not knowing which door was the loo and not wanting to walk in on a sleeping (and with his luck, completely naked) Granger, he headed toward the kitchen.

Not even one step down the stairs and he heard hushed voices from the living room and stopped in his tracks, listening.

"He's a child, Ron. He's mentally sixteen. What if he never recovers? Have I just adopted a teenager? How's he ever going to be my husband again?" Her voice was frantic. He could almost hear her desperation as it sought some hope to cling to.

"You need to give him more time, Hermione. I know I've been giving him a rough go of it, but you heard what the healers said today."

"It's just that everything he went through to become the man he was can never be done a second time. The war is over. He can't live through it again. He can't experience the aftermath, the desperation, the anger. Everything that shaped who he was is gone. I'm never going to get him back, am I?" She was whimpering now.

Ron comforted her for a moment until her crying had subsided. Draco inched further down the stairs until he could see them both standing in the space between the living room and the kitchen. Her head was on Ron's shoulder and he had his arms wrapped around her tightly, giving her the comfort she craved.

"Hermione," Ron finally said quietly. "You know I'm the person who knows best what the mind can be like first hand. He stepped back from her a little and took off his shirt with one fluid movement. For a second, Draco felt a pang in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. He didn't know why, but he suddenly had the urge to punch Weasley in the face.

Ron's torso and arms were covered in faint but distinct scars. Hermione traced one of the lines with the tips of her fingers, re-living a memory. They were remnants of an incident he had faced almost a decade earlier in the Department of Mysteries. "How could I forget," she whispered.

"It's been almost ten years and I still have these scars. You've only given him six weeks. The wounds of the mind can scar deeply. I wouldn't give up on him yet."

Hermione nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. "When did you get so wise?"

"Always the tone of surprise," he teased.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Of course. I'll kip on the couch and if you need me I'll be there before you can even shout. You know that."

"I love you, Ron," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"You too," he said, giving her hand a squeeze as he made his way back to the couch. The urge to punch Weasley was stronger now, and Draco found his hands clenching involuntarily.

He then realized that she was heading directly for the stairs where he was sitting and he quickly got to his feet and disappeared back into the guest room before she could noticed he'd been listening. There was an odd sense of discomfort filling his gut.

A/N: This was quite the long chapter comparatively to the others, and it took me so long to get it to where I was happy with it! I can't even begin to tell you how many times I wrote and re-wrote this entire chapter from start to finish. Hopefully it's okay, but as always, I'm more than open to your comments and opinions. :)

I'm really excited because I get to start really getting into Draco's motives, thoughts, and feelings now, and I hope I'm able to do his brooding justice. Let me know if you have any suggestions, theories, or concerns! Thank you so much for reading. I love the amount of motivation you all provide me with. 3