The next week passed slowly, and Hermione maintained an icy professionalism in order to avoid any comments that might antagonise her new colleague. It worked, and miraculously, they'd made it almost the full week without hexing one another.

Now, sitting opposite Malfoy at the end of the long conference room table, she jotted down notes as he explained how psychology played into criminal intervention tactics. Being Muggle-born saved a lot of time, since Draco didn't need to explain psychiatry. While the intended outcome of psychiatry and mind healing were the same, to someone who was familiar with both, it was immediately obvious that they were quite divergent from one another. Mind Healers used magic and potions (which Muggles obviously could not), but the major differences went back centuries to a time when the wizarding community was even more avoidant of Muggles.

Early Mind Healers completely discounted leading Muggle researchers, only trusting their own observations and research, which were heavily skewed towards magical interventions. Draco had blended the two in order to create new methods that were more effect in trauma recovery. It made Hermione angry to consider that Mind Healing could have integrated these techniques much sooner, helping many more people, if only wizards hadn't been such pricks about Muggle research.

The goal of the program was to mitigate the effects of trauma through a series of interventions, starting with those who were at most risk of self-destructive tendencies and delinquency. Once they could identify common factors of high-risk individuals (using criminal cases and records from St. Mungo's Mind Healer ward) they would be able to develop several high-risk profiles, allowing them to intervene before the behaviours spiralled out of control.

"Ultimately, my concern is that failure to address the traumas of our generation could lead to an adverse impact on the next," Draco said. "When parents have unresolved trauma, children are at an increased risk for a variety of related conditions, such as depression and anxiety, and may learn unhealthy coping mechanisms as they mirror their parents."

"I'm sure I could gather the information you've described, but it will take time to sort through and correlate. I'd like to compare pre-war trends to what we are seeing today. That would allow me to determine any new patterns and identify unique stressors that are linked to changes in behaviour. We could use that to narrow in on our profile." She started to pace, speaking more quickly as she forgot herself in her excitement. "It stands to reason that providing support and treatment prior to the first major incident could prevent further escalation..."

Moving to one of the white boards, she pulled out her wand and took notes as she spoke. Occasionally she crossed things out, thinking aloud to herself for some time before finally winding down. Suddenly, she turned to the table, a new idea having popped into her head.

"But do you think—" She cut off, freezing. She'd completely forgotten she was talking to Draco Malfoy. Lost in her thoughts, she'd expected to see Harry sitting there, listening with slightly glazed eyes, as she explained another theory that he didn't understand. Instead, it was Malfoy's grey eyes she looked into as he tracked her movements, while the rest of him remained still as a statue.

Flustered, she opened and closed her mouth a few times before saying the first words that popped into her head. "Why are you really doing this?" Her voice was hard. Harder than she'd intended.

"Doing what, Granger?" he asked, uncaring and seemingly unaffected by her sudden change in behaviour.

There was a long pause and Hermione's chest tightened, feeling trapped by his gaze. "This. The entire project. Why do you even care?"

There was another longer pause before Draco replied unemotionally. "The things that blood purists have done to Muggle-borns and Half-bloods over time have been awful and are inexcusable." He stood and moved to gaze out the window before continuing, as if unable to meet her eyes for the next part. "But have you considered the types of households that groom children in such ideologies? The types of things you must have been told to result in the belief that you had more rights, more claim to magic, than others? To teach children to hate?"

She shouldn't have asked him this question. Anxiety was building rapidly in the pit of her stomach as he discussed his childhood in such a flat and detached way. Though she saw he clasped tightly his hands behind him, there were no other signs that the discussion affected him. In fact, it sounded like he was reading facts from a potions book. Hermione had no interest in learning about the inner workings of the Malfoy family, or listening to him justify the way she had been treated. The churning anxiety shifted to anger in her belly.

Immediately after the war, her anger had risen quickly in any confrontation, and at the most minor of annoyances. It had shocked her, and she'd struggled to understand it. But, over the years, it had seemed to ebb. There was something about Draco that brought it back to the surface with a speed and intensity she hadn't experienced in years.

Remaining where he was, looking out the window, he was oblivious to Hermione's agitation. "We were so brainwashed," he continued. There was a bite to his words, as he allowed a hint of emotion to creep into his voice. "I couldn't accept the possibility that anyone with mixed blood, let alone a Muggle-born, could come close to challenging me. But then I met you, and it was all I could think about.

"You were supposed to be an impossibility, and since I was a Malfoy, and incapable of failure, it had to be because of you. All my problems with professors, with quidditch, at home… it all twisted in my head and became your fault. My father encouraged it, of course. He claimed I was allowing you to best me. Said I must not be sufficiently motivated—"

Unable to listen to any more, she spat out angrily, "So this is just about proving that you were an innocent bystander, is it? That you didn't have a choice?" Dimly, she was aware of her hands shaking. "Merlin, it's not like they were using Imperius on the lot of you… or are you going to claim that now too, just like your father?"

After a beat, he turned slowly from the window; the mask that had been so carefully hiding his emotions was gone. Instead, he stood there with a look of devastation on his face, but he didn't try to argue or explain himself. He simply waited for her to continue.

"Meanwhile, innocent people like Dirk Cresswell were killed. Snatchers tore apart him because he tried to hide the fact that he was Muggle-born. His wife didn't even know where he had gone for years after he disappeared. He hadn't even told them where he'd gone to ensure that she and their children were safe. By the time she knew what had happened, he'd been dead for months."

Swallowing down a knot of emotion, she continued, "Do you remember Hannah Abbott? Death Eaters slaughtered her Muggle mother because she had the audacity to marry the only son of a pureblood line. She wasn't even capable of defending herself."

She angrily brushed dampness from her cheeks.

"My own parents—" She choked back a sob.

"I couldn't… I had to…" Covering her mouth, she attempted to hold back her tears.

She wouldn't — couldn't — share that part of herself with Draco Malfoy; not her parents. What she had done to protect them caused her enough pain. The idea of Malfoy being able to see it and relish in her pain was unacceptable.

It was the right decision: modifying her parent's memories and erasing her from their lives. Her parents had been (and still were) too vulnerable without magic. By the time the war had ended, it had been too late to reverse the memory modification. It hurt. Unable to stay in his presence a moment longer, Hermione whirled from the room, slamming the door as she went.

Harry called out to her as she went, but she didn't stop.

Stumbling out of the Floo, she made it to the couch before full body sobs overcame her. This was a massive overreaction, which only made the whole situation worse, as her sympathetic nervous system took over. Knowing it was already too late, she tried to calm herself. I'm fine. Mum and Dad are safe. They are still in Australia. There are wards around their house and people I trust watching over them. I will know if anything happens. Hermione repeated it over and over again as her body trembled, refusing to obey her commands.

She was breathing too fast, sobs choking off as she struggled to get enough air. Her chest tightened like a vice and her fingers were numb. Merlin, she wished Ginny were here. Ginny always knew what to do.

As she curled onto her side, Crookshanks approached, having noticed her distress. He yowled at her and pushed his squashed face against her forehead, rubbing against her firmly.

Hermione reached a shaky hand out to pet his soft head. Taking that as an invitation, he gently crawled up and perched precariously on her side where he stretched himself out and began purring. Gentle vibrations rumbled through her body as his weight and warmth pressed in on her comfortingly.

He really was the best cat, always there when she needed him. Through the ups and downs of her teen years at Hogwarts, when she was still struggling to understand how she, a Muggle-born witch, fit into this magical world, he'd been there through it all. When she had to leave him behind at the beginning of the war (when Hermione and her friends had been forced to run) she'd been inconsolable; she thought she'd lost him forever. Miraculously, when everyone returned to Hogwarts to finish their final year, he'd been there — right in the middle of her old bed — flicking his tail at her as if annoyed that she'd taken too long to return from dinner instead of being gone for years.

Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing and the feel of Crookshanks' gentle, soothing purrs.

Some time later, when Hermione had recovered from the worst of her panic attack, she sat up, kissing Crooks on the head.

"You're the bestest boy, Crookshanks. Yes, you are," she cooed at him and kissed the tip of his nose. She pet him a few more times, and he obligingly arched his back into her palm.

Once she felt steady enough to rise (shakily) to her feet, she made her way to the shower, Crookshanks trailing behind. Hot water always helped relax her muscles and shortened her recovery time, although she knew she'd feel like rubbish for the rest of the night, regardless.

Stepping into the shower, she let the water beat upon her. The water was scalding, as if she could simply burn everything away. Her thoughts drifted, and she leaned her head against the cool tile — she was so tired.

Skin bright red and wrapped in a towel, Hermione made her way to the kitchen for a cup of tea and some biscuits (she hadn't eaten since leaving the Ministry earlier that day.) The thought of food made her nauseous, but she'd been missing too many meals lately and knew it was necessary.

A sound startled her. Crookshanks hopped onto the counter, fur raised, and hissed at something outside her window. A huge eagle owl at least three times the size of Crooks was waiting on the windowsill, a letter clutched in its beak.

"Get down from there, you silly thing." Hermione shooed the irate cat off the counter, not wanting to tempt the enormous owl into making Crookshanks into a snack. Crookshanks let out a disgruntled yowl before leaving the room.

Opening the window, she relieved the owl of its letter. It didn't fly off right away, indicating that it was waiting for some sort of response. Feeling awkward in her towel, she opened it and read:

Granger,

I made a complete arse of myself today. I want to explain, but I know I will only make it worse by trying to do so in a letter. I am sure you don't want to work with me, and I understand and respect your decision. This project is important, and I'd like to explain a few things to you in person. I've acted very poorly, and for that I am sorry. Would you allow me the chance to try again tomorrow morning, in a more casual setting, at the Double Bubble?

Respectfully,

D.M.

Hermione stood there for a long time, considering. She absolutely did not want to spend more time with Draco Malfoy, but he was right: the project was important and no one else in the DMLE knew how to run the necessary algorithms.

She also recognised that she was struggling right now, and was perhaps reacting more strongly towards him than if someone else had tried to explain things the way he had today. She had asked the question after all, so she couldn't be too upset that he'd responded.

The owl was hopping back and forth impatiently by the time Hermione attached a return note.

8:15 am - Cappuccino

Watching the owl fly away, she was fairly certain she'd regret her decision in the morning.