The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

The study was different from many of the original rooms in the Manor, having been completely redecorated by Draco. It was one of his favourite rooms. The stone floor had been covered by a plush red carpet, while mahogany shelves lined the walls, full to the brim with books. His own novels were stacked in a pile by the side of the desk, ready for him to refer back to for continuity purposes. He'd also felt awkward about displaying them with his own books, believing it would be a slightly arrogant gesture. Hermione moved to the leather chair by the fire and collapsed into it with relief. She still looked on edge and Draco wanted to give her a few moments to compose herself. He turned back to Susan.

'How about we set you up somewhere with good light? It might take a bit of playing around in this house.'

'Sure,' Susan shrugged in acquiescence. He led her away from the study and down the corridor, leaving Hermione by herself.

She glanced down at the dying embers in the hearth with a sigh. If she'd had the choice, she wouldn't have come back here. Part of her had hoped the experience might be cathartic, but the reality was closer to crushing. As the ember light began to fade, she realised she'd never felt so old. She'd been forced to experience things that children should never have to. They may have thought themselves mature, the golden threesome battling Lord Voldemort, but that's what they were - children. Ironic, really, how hunting out horcruxes had been so soul-destroying.

She pushed herself up from the chair and began to examine the room. The colour-scheme reminded her of the Gryffindor common room and provided a similar comforting warmth. She ran her finger along the edge of a bookshelf and wandered around the room, her eyes roaming the books. Some titles must have been inherited, or at least Hermione hoped so, considering the number which pertained to cursed artefacts and dark magic. They were interspersed with more cheerful topics, even some muggle fiction. Intriguing. Her foot came into contact with something hard, and a small pile of books scattered across the floor at her feet. She bent down to reassemble the pile, inspecting the novels.

'Oh my Knight,' Hermione read aloud, examining the cover. It featured a long-haired man without a shirt sat at a castle window, a blonde-haired princess stretched across his lap.

'The Pirate's Booty.' This time there was a shirtless male hostage bound to the mast, while a sexy female pirate brandished a sword.

'What is this?' Hermione wondered to herself. Did Draco have a penchant for chick-lit? He was clearly an avid follower of the author, D. M. Granger. There were several more books, all along the same lines, stacked in precarious-looking piles around his desk. She recalled a few reviews that had been submitted to the Daily Prophet on the mysterious D. M. Granger's work. They were generally favourable, although Hermione had never been tempted enough to pick one up. She found little time for reading fiction with her job.

Draco re-entered the study and paused, his eyes widening at the sight of her mishandling his books. She straightened and shot him a confused stare.

'I can explain,' he held up his hands in surrender.

'Your personal life is none of my business,' she replied, manoeuvring herself around the desk and back towards the chair. She stood behind it, her hands gripping the top edge, the chair placed firmly between Draco and herself.

'What do you mean, it's not your business?' He folded his arms. 'You came here to interview me.'

'You know why, don't you.' It wasn't a question. Draco shrugged, his arms unfolding. He buried his hands in his pockets. 'Kingsley wants to gloat at your failure to put Voldemort in power.'

'I never cared about that.' She moved out from behind the chair.

'Maybe you should,' she said accusatorily. 'Everyone's laughing at you. You put your eggs in the wrong basket and lost.' Draco looked hurt for a moment, but his expression quickly clouded over.

'I did what my parents made me do, Hermione. I was just a child.'

'We were all children,' she growled back, throwing her arms out. 'We were all just children! Fred and Lavender and Colin...' she fell onto the floor, tears streaming down her face. The faces of all the innocent students lost flashed into her mind, the grief overwhelming. Draco paused, uncertain how she would interpret an attempt to comfort her. Hermione was sobbing deeply, her fingers clawing the red carpet. He couldn't watch her in such pain and do nothing.

'Hermione,' he knelt down in front of her, his hands reaching out to cover her own. 'I was brought up in a culture of fear and perhaps it was foolish, but I was desperate for my father's praise. He manipulated that, along with Voldemort. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I always felt like I was too far gone to stop. I never wanted what happened at Hogwarts.'

'It's fine you saying that now, when everyone's dead.' She spat back angrily, but she didn't pull her hands free from his. He moved his face closer to hers.

'Do you think if I'd disobeyed them, anything would have changed?' She didn't answer. 'I've thought it through so many times, Hermione, every single night I think about what I could have done differently. The outcome wouldn't have changed.'

'I can't forget,' she sobbed, her eyes moving up from the carpet to his. 'I see their faces all the time. I think about all the things they never got to do.'

Draco moved forward and pressed his mouth to hers, it being the only comforting gesture he knew. She responded to the kiss slowly, the tears still running down her face. He could taste the salt on her lips and felt a desperate longing, deep in his chest, for her never to be sad again.

Susan appeared in the doorway. 'I've set up my lamps now,' her voice faltered as she took in the scene. Malfoy pushed himself away from Hermione, releasing her hands. He stood up and tried to look composed, but was unsure how to break the tense silence in the room.

Mibby, a house-elf with a pierced ear and green waistcoat slipped through the doorway, solving his dilemma.

'Master,' she said proudly, 'we are ready to set-up dinner.' Draco nodded.

Susan was ushered into the room without a chance to speak as a stream of elves appeared, setting up fold-away tables. A plethora of dishes in silver tureens were arranged on one table, while another held three different varieties of wine, each matched to a specific dish. Hermione pushed herself up from the floor and back into the leather armchair, her gaze firmly avoiding the others. Draco sat behind his desk, forcing Susan to sit on the edge of a chaise longue at the opposite side of the room.

The three selected and ate their dinner in silence. Susan was afraid to mention what she'd seen, what she didn't understand. Neither Draco nor Hermione wanted to discuss the stolen kiss in front of her.

Mibby re-appeared towards the end of dinner and went straight to her master's feet. They had a brief whispered conversation, whilst the other elves began to clear away the dishes. 'I see,' Draco said audibly. He turned his gaze back to his guests. Hermione stared firmly at her empty soup bowl.

'The storm has gotten worse,' he explained. 'The grounds are flooded and the wind is too strong for me to lend you broomsticks. You'll both have to stay the night.'