Hermione arrived at the Double Bubble at 8:20 am. Since it was the only cafe within walking distance of the Ministry, it was always bustling, and this morning was no different. It was a perfect (very public) place to meet, and she stood outside for a moment, discretely peering through the window to see if Malfoy was already seated. She spotted him sitting in a corner of the cafe reading a book and wearing glasses. She almost hadn't recognised him with the spectacles; it made him look quite scholarly.

Bracing herself, she entered and stalked towards him, noting that there were two cups on the table. There was also some sort of pastry near what she assumed was her drink. As she approached, she caught a glimpse of the book's cover: Cold-Forged Grimoire — her steps faltered for a moment.

How did he get an advance reader copy of the most highly anticipated book of the year? Oh right. Pureblood. Seething with jealousy, she wondered if it was worth asking him if she could read it and decided against it, not wanting to be in his debt.

Absorbed in his reading, Draco didn't look up until Hermione (a touch annoyed) coughed.

"Thank you for my coffee. Should we be going?" She reached towards her cup but he was faster and reached the cup first, pulling it towards him.

"Actually, I hoped that we could talk here for a bit… outside of the office. I thought perhaps a more relaxed, public setting might be… better?" he offered, sounding unsure of himself.

Better for what? she wondered. She didn't think she'd ever seen Draco Malfoy looking anything less than completely in control until now. Curious, she took a seat across from him. He still hadn't released her coffee, and she contemplated pulling it from his grasp.

"I'm sorry."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up and her gaze flicked up to meet his. The words had been so quiet that she had barely heard him and almost wondered if it had come from a nearby table instead. In all their time together at Hogwarts, she had never heard those words pass his lips with anything resembling sincerity.

His hands twisted nervously. When he raised his eyes and spoke, his voice was quiet and wholly unlike the boy she'd been familiar with. "I wish they hadn't sent you to work with me… I honestly thought they were going to choose Longbottom."

She scoffed. Of course, he regretted being stuck with her. Of course, the prick didn't find her a suitable research partner. Hermione moved to stand, but he grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving her chair.

"Draco!" she gasped in shock. He released her immediately, but she could feel the phantom press of his fingers where they'd banded her arm.

"I didn't mean it as an insult — please stay," he said desperately.

There was something strange in his eyes that made her want to believe him. When she didn't immediately try to rise from her seat again, he passed the coffee cup to her, their fingers brushing as she accepted it.

"I got you a lavender scone as well. I seemed to recall you like them."

Her affinity for lavender scones had started at Hogwarts when they'd been served as a treat for Summer Solstice her first year. They were heavenly. Since then, she ate them every time they were available at the Great Hall, and had even filched a few extra when she thought no one was looking. So yes, she did — but how did he know? Thinking back, she tried to remember if she'd ever said anything about breakfast foods to him and nearly laughed aloud at the absurdity. They had never had a single pleasant conversation before the beginning of this project.

Hermione was relatively confident that even her friends hadn't noticed that she favoured them. However, there was someone else who had always been watching; she could distinctly remember the feeling of his gaze from where he used to sit at the Slytherin table, his eyes full of loathing. She had always tried to avoid making eye contact with him (it made her too uncomfortable), and thought if she ignored him, he might leave her alone. Perhaps he'd been paying even closer attention than she realised.

"How did you—"

He blushed faintly. "Let's just say I put a lot of effort into hating you."

Her own cheeks heated at that; she took a bite of her scone, just to have something to do to fill the long silence that followed.

"What I intended to say was that it is completely unfair of Shacklebolt to put you in this position. This is a problem that we — purebloods — made, and we need to be the ones to fix it."

Well, that certainly hadn't been what she'd expected him to say.

"It's inexcusable to ask someone who has been a victim of psychological and physical abuse" —his eyes went to her forearm where the hateful scar hid under her sleeve— "to come up with a solution to the problem."

Hermione covered her arm protectively — she'd forgotten that he knew. He'd been there that night... She gritted her teeth, sucking in a sharp breath as she tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the memories from swallowing her; details she hadn't remembered in previous flashbacks surfaced.

"Well, Draco?" His father's voice was urgent — desperate. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

Draco was trying not to look at Harry but his father shoved him closer, holding him by the neck. Draco's hands were trembling.

Draco didn't answer. Instead, he looked past Harry, to Hermione. His face was drawn, and he had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't been eating or sleeping well. He looked broken and scared — like his world was shattering around him.

"I'm sorry," he said for the second time that morning, pulling her from the memory. "I shouldn't have referenced that so casually." He reached out like he was going to touch her, but stopped and pulled his hand back.

"I'm not used to talking with people subjected to that kind of trauma. The people I've been working with — Blaise, Pansy, and others — experienced a different kind of trauma. One that I have more intimate experience with, as you know." He paused.

"I am not excusing anyone's behaviour or actions. We all make our own decisions and have to live with them. Some people try to forget; many never learn how to cope. The things that I did… that I allowed to happen… There's no forgiveness for me, and I would never ask for it. But I do have to learn to live with it, just like everyone else who participated or stood by watching it happen." He looked at her, his eyes searching as if trying to decide if he should continue.

Taking another sip of her coffee, she waited patiently.

After a long pause, he continued hesitantly, "I would like to tell you a bit about what it's like to grow up in an old pureblood family. My experience wasn't unique, though my parents were more public with their views than some others."

Her lips pressed together in a thin line of displeasure, and Draco licked his own lips nervously.

"I'm not telling you in order to convince you of anything… I just want you to understand that there are other kinds of trauma that people like me experienced growing up. If we want to develop this social program, it's important for you to understand. And I hope… I hope that when you're ready, you can help me understand what it was like for you, too."

She kept her face neutral, recognising the irony of adopting a mask, while Draco's face was open and filled with emotion. Hermione had long suspected his impassive mask to be some kind of defence mechanism. Today, for whatever reason, he'd dropped the mask and was trusting her not to hurt him.

"Would that be alright?"

She nodded, feeling suddenly apprehensive and not trusting her voice to come out evenly.

Steeling himself with another sip of his own coffee, he stared into his cup as he told her about his childhood. It started innocently enough, seemingly innocuous nursery rhymes he'd grown up listening to: old wizarding parables where the Muggle or magical creature was often the villain, sometimes comedic relief, but never the hero. Things that created pattern recognition and associations in his mind. Recollections of conversations between his parents at home and during dinner parties where they talked about "them" (the Muggle-borns) with disgust and sometimes anger.

Like other good pureblood families who followed "the old ways," his mother was careful to ensure that they only cultivated childhood friendships with families of similarly "good breeding." Draco and all his childhood friends had attended a prep school in order to give them an edge when they moved on to their standard magical education. The school was very exclusive and focused on instilling "strong values" along with their head start in magical education. The "strong values" had mirrored the Malfoy Family motto: "Purity will always conquer."

"We were told that the world was ours and that we had a duty to protect it from the lesser beings who wanted to steal it from us." He paused his story and shook his head, looking back up at her for the first time since he'd begun.

"Those were the messages I heard for the first eleven years of my life." He smiled sadly. "And then, fate brought me to Hogwarts, though my father was set on me attending Durmstrang. He felt that the quality of Hogwarts education had 'eroded' in the time since Dumbledore had taken over as headmaster and insisted that I receive a proper education.

"Crabbe and Goyle already knew that they were going to attend Hogwarts, and I demanded to attend with them. My father wouldn't hear of it, and I threw the world's largest tantrum. I sulked for nearly two weeks — it was the longest my father ever denied me anything," he laughed. "After being such an utter terror, my father finally relented and withdrew my application from Durmstrang, accepting my Hogwarts summons instead. I didn't realise it would be one of the most important decisions in my life."

She looked at him quizzically, wondering what he meant by that, but didn't want to interrupt.

"Before I left for school, my father warned me repeatedly not to fall in with 'the wrong types.' He wanted me to bring glory to the Malfoy name, and to guard myself against" —he paused, licking his dry lips before changing what he'd originally been going to say— "Muggle-born thieves and liars."

"But then, after arriving at Hogwarts, I found the world didn't quite work the way I expected. Despite my best attempts, a Muggle-born witch bested me in every topic." He smiled down at his coffee cup, remembering. "She wasn't stupid, as I'd expected, or even particularly mean… no matter what I did or said to her. When you're groomed to believe that the world belongs to you, it's too easy to blame others for your own failures. I was so angry… and I turned that anger on you." He looked up at her again, his eyes filled with regret and self loathing.

She blinked. It hadn't been about her after all; it was about him.

"Instead of examining the things I'd been told, I leaned into them, pushing myself towards even more extreme views and surrounding myself with people who shared those same beliefs — creating an echo chamber. When the Dark Lord returned… I was ready to prove myself." His throat worked and his hand closed over his left arm where his Dark Mark was hidden.

"I'm grateful that they considered the rest of my friends too young to take an active part. I was an exception; my father thought if I proved myself— he told me that I would be the one to lead the next generation of pureblood wizards, second only to the Dark Lord himself."

Looking up from his arm, he met Hermione's gaze, his eyes guarded. "So, that was my childhood. It took me far too long to realise I'd been lied to and when I did… my entire identity began to crumble. It took me some time to piece it back together. Unfortunately, not everyone has.

"Some people are still trying to cling to their old views, while others are just trying to find their way out and don't know how. Our generation saw firsthand how dangerous such beliefs could become. They've seen evidence that the messages they believed as children were wrong… that 'purity always concurs' is a myth… but they don't know how to process that realisation.

"That's what I wanted to tell you last night, but I thought it was something best shared in person. It's not an excuse, but hopefully it helps you understand. If you don't want to be a part of the project, then I will respect your decision, but I wanted you to have more information before you decided."

He reached for his coffee, and she noticed his hand was trembling slightly.

"Draco," she whispered, drawing his attention back to her, "I'm not going to walk away from this."

He looked at her, disbelieving, searching for… something. Uncomfortable with the vulnerability in his gaze, she broke eye contact and cast a warming spell on her coffee.

"We… should probably get to the office." She stood, hoping to dispel some of the tension that had grown between them.

Throat bobbing, Draco nodded and cleared his throat. "I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

Collecting her coffee and scone, she took a few steps towards the door before turning. Draco, still seated, looked out through the window, his eyes unfocused as he stared towards some far off point.

"Draco," she said again — it took a minute before he looked at her this time. "Thank you," she whispered, before turning and walking away. She'd never be able to forget, but she might just be able to find a way to forgive him.