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Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Main characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Molly Weasley, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy

Summary: A few months after the War has ended, Hermione discovers Draco sitting on her doorsteps one evening, and instead of chasing him away, starts talking to him. It soon turns into a regular event, with them talking about things like forgiveness and home—until Harry discovers them.

Author's Note(s): This story was written for the Interhouse Fest on LJ. I've included my prompts at the end of the first chapter...

Lots of thanks to River_in_Egypt, who was kind enough to help me out with more than just the SPaG, and who insisted on making Draco snarkier than I initially wrote him. ;-)

Rating: T (alcohol abuse, some profanity)

"Ms Granger?"

Hermione just returned from a long day at work when her elderlyneighbour approached her in front of the steps that led to her small house. "Good evening, Mrs Thompson..." She turned around, feeling tired and not entirely in the mood to deal with the curious neighbour.

"I see you had a long day," the elderly woman continued, "I just wanted to let you know that there was a young man sitting on the steps to your door over the last few nights."

"A young man?" Hermione stopped fumbling for her keys and looked at the other woman.

"I found it rather strange that he would do such a thing. He never knocks or anything, just sits there until very late. And he always looks miserable." Mrs Thompson made a step towards her. "He isn't some jilted lover or anything, is he? I mean I would understand, you being such a pretty young lady–"

"Mrs Thompson!" Hermione cried out rather exasperated. She had moved here to be left in peace for a while, and had to deal repeatedly with an elderly, overly curious neighbour instead. If anyone ever thought that Molly was curious, then they had never met Mrs Thompson! She took a deep breath, and put on a polite smile. "I haven't jilted anyone, Mrs Thompson. But thanks for letting me know," she replied, "but I'd rather get inside now, it's been a long day at work, you know?"

Mrs Thompson tutted. "I'm surprised that your parents let you move out–"

"Mrs Thompson, please." Hermione sighed desperately, and started fumbling for her keys again, wanting to get away from her nosy neighbour as fast as possible. If only the elder woman knew what she had survived already at her age. "Thanks for your concern, really. But there's no need to worry about me—I'm fine on my own, and my parents probably don't mind having their house to themselves again. So, I wish you a good night, Mrs Thompson." And with that, she pushed the key into the keyhole and turned it around.

"Ms Granger–"

"Good night, Mrs Thompson." Hermione pushed her door open, and stepped inside. Finally. She breathed in as she closed the door behind her, enjoying the silence of her small house for a moment before taking her coat off. Yes, that was more like it. No more parents dancing around her, no more obnoxious patients at her parents' dental practice, no nosy Mrs Thompson—just her all alone in her own place. Her own place, but not her home. With another sigh, Hermione finally hung her coat on the wardrobe, and walked over to her kitchen to check the fridge for some leftovers from last night's take-away. No, this wasn't home to her, but then she hadn't felt home anywhere ever since that damn war had ended nine months ago. Yes, she had felt glad that she had been able to reverse the Memory Spell she had used on her parents, and that they had returned to England, taking over another dental practice from a fellow dentist who was about to retire anyway. Yet, ever since she had brought her parents back, she felt as if there was a distance between them without being really able to point out why. Her being a witch had never disturbed their relationship before, they loved her nonetheless. It was something else. Maybe the things she had to do to survive in that War played a part?

To her dismay, the fridge looked rather empty, except for two bottles of beer she couldn't remember buying, some milk, and something that suspiciously looked like some salad she had intended to eat earlier this week.

Yes, she had done things she still couldn't talk about with anyone except her closest friends who had been there as well. Then there was still the fact that she had Obliviated her parents, that she had taken the decision from them—just because she had been selfish enough to want to keep them safe. She was sure that her parents still loved her, as they let her work in the dental practice, but that diffuse feeling of distance still hung over her head, separating her from her parents. That was why she had moved to her own place about half a year ago.

After taking one last look at the empty fridge, Hermione closed it again—it was going to be another night of ordering some take away, and tonight called for something Asian.

Later that evening, after having finished her take-away Hermione was reading through the next few chapters of her newest Muggle whodunnit. As always, reading helped her to relax, but this story also let her delve into a completely different world, providing an escape from her confusion at least for a while—and she had always loved a good mystery, and especially those written by Agatha Christie. They were rather short, but she loved trying to solve the mystery from the clues already presented in the story, and she always loved the moment when she finally came to the revelation and realised that she had guessed right. However, her reading still greatly depended on her mood, and her shelves mirrored that, as they were filled with philosophical works that treated subjects like war, peace, and even forgiveness next to fictional classics like Dickens or the Brontë sisters,—even a Russian author could be found in those rows of books—and the crime stories.

She was slowly starting to doze off, reading the same page at least twice now, when she heard the faint sound of someone Apparating nearby. If Mrs Thompson hadn't alerted her earlier to the visitor, she might not have heard it. She had absolutely no clue who was visiting her repeatedly at night, as she had forgotten to ask Mrs Thompson for details on his looks. Curious, she went to the door, and spied outside. It couldn't be Ron; he wasn't so stupid to run after her now that they had officially broken up—or if he did run after her, he wouldn't just sit on her doorstep without letting her know; no, he would always make himself known to get some attention. Ron was still her friend, but after the War, she had realised that he wasn't what she really wanted, or needed, in a man. She didn't even know what she wanted at all right now, that was why she was living here in this Muggle neighbourhood.

Peering outside, she was baffled when she recognised the hair. No, that couldn't be... Him of all people? She watched him sit down on what she supposed was now his usual spot. He really didn't do anything else than just sit there, staring out into the night. Breathing in, she very carefully opened the door, not wanting to scare him away before she could at least talk to him. "Malfoy?"

He turned around in response, giving the impression of someone who was too weary to even care any longer. "Took you long enough to notice," he replied laconically, and turned back.

"You've been spotted. My neighbour told me. What are you doing here?" She came outside and walked down the few steps past him to have a better look, rather surprised to see him again after all those months since the hearing straight after the war—all the Malfoys had to answer to the Wizengamot about their actions during the War, and were especially scrutinized for their switching only hours before Voldemort's ultimate defeat. She had taken part in Draco's hearing, even testified in his favour, as she understood the situation he had found himself in while others were blinded by the after-war prejudices. She had been the only one of her friends to do so, even though she still very much disliked him for other things he had done. It was her testimony that actually spared him from the house arrest his parents were sentenced to, but she guessed that he was still nonetheless stuck to the Manor because no one in wizarding society wanted anything to do with the Malfoys anymore.

"Sitting."

"Why?"

"Because I can? I checked how far your wards extend, you know?"

Beneath his usual cocky tone, Hermione thought she could hear the same weariness she felt a lot these days. He looked worn out, even lonely; there was nothing left of the cockiness he had shown at the hearing—which probably had been a defensive behaviour anyway—nor the sneer and the contempt he had shown off so much back at Hogwarts. "Just tell me why it has to be my place you chose for sulking around?" She rubbed her arms and wished she had taken a coat with her; it was a chilly night after all.

"Come on, Granger, I didn't think you'd be so out of the loop not to know that no one would want me sulk anywhere in their vicinity."

She let out a sigh. "Manor not big enough to find a spot for sulking, then?"

He shot her an icy glare, indicating that he wasn't up for their usual game of insulting each other tonight, that he was rather tired of it all.

"I see." She rubbed her arms once more; the day had been exhausting enough, and now she had to deal with Malfoy on top of that. She wasn't exactly in the mood for that right now, but she still wanted to know why he had shown up here. That was why she climbed the stairs back inside. "I'll be right back."

"No need to," he grumbled dejectedly behind her back.

Hermione ignored his comment and went back inside, internally debating whether it really was a good idea what she was about to do. Didn't Harry say at one point—though jokingly—that she had a heart for lost causes? That she wanted to save everyone? She sighed as she opened the fridge to grab the two bottles of beer she had seen earlier. Moments later, she returned with the beer bottles in one hand, and her coat in the other. "So, I have two rules if you want to keep coming here to sit on my doorstep," she started, handing him one of the bottles. "Number one: No insults—neither against me, nor against my friends." She raised her eyebrow and shot him a warning glare when she noticed that he wanted to say something. Putting on her coat, she continued, "Number two: You tell me what's the matter with you. Because I noticed you changed since the last time I saw you at the hearing."

"Oh, you did notice that? Your testimony was basically worthless, because I'm still stuck at the Manor for all it's worth..."

"Malfoy, don't test me," she responded to his cynical outburst. "I tried to help, despite hating your guts back then–"

"Back then? You still don't like me. You just don't want me on your conscience."

"Malfoy, stop it, you're really testing my limit right now. I said no insults, and you're getting close," Hermione snapped at him. "I'm most definitely not in the mood to deal with you right now, so be careful with your words, or I'll reconsider my hospitality." She watched him trying to find a retort to her words, and then finally slowly nod as if agreeing to a deal. "Good," she said, now with a much softer voice. "So, why are you here?"

Draco played with the still closed bottle in his hands for a moment, while being almost defiantly silent. "You were the only person I could think of that wouldn't chase me straight off," he finally admitted, "I just want to get out of the Manor, but no one wants to deal with us, and as you can imagine, I don't want to deal with them." With a small plop, he opened his bottle, then looked at her, his eyes studying her closely. "You look like you don't want to deal with a whole lot of people either, since you choose to live here."

"Not your business." Irritated that he hit the nail on the head with his last remark, she opened her own bottle. Yes, she wasn't in the mood to deal with a whole lot of people at the moment—the Ministry most prominently that would love to have her on board for their misguided after-war attempt at reconciling the wizarding community; she just couldn't identify with them wanting to prosecute every single witch or wizard who had done something in the name of Voldemort, regardless how small the deed. Her warning hadn't been heeded, so nothing was going to change any time soon. She had fought for a better world, to give everyone the same change regardless of their blood or their heritage, but it had all been for nothing. That damn war had demanded so much from her and her friends, even from Malfoy, and now they all suffered the consequences to varying degrees—everyone was mourning lost family members; her friends were in the constant spotlight as war heroes, while others were shunned, turned into pariahs. It was definitely a huge reason why she chose to leave the wizarding world for the time being.

"I see," he commented dryly, even flashing a short smirk. "You don't like the world very much either."

"No." She eyed him, and then took her first gulp of beer. Her first impression was right, he did indeed look lonely—and exhausted, though he tried to hide that. Just his eyes betrayed him; their usual shade of pale grey looked jaded, as if they had lost their fire. He had most definitely changed, and not for the better as he seemed to suffer from his loneliness that his status as a pariah in wizarding society brought. Bitter might be a good word right now to describe him. "I'm still wondering why you came to me of all people. I mean we never were best of friends, you know?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Your place seemed as good as any. And no one suspects me here..." He swayed the bottle in his hand, following the opening with his finger. "Maybe it's because you were one of the few people who actually cared. At the hearing, I mean. You told them that I should get another chance."

After his outburst at the beginning, Hermione found Malfoy now almost eerily earnest. "Yes, I did," she replied, and then added with a more sarcastic tone, "that I care is going to be my downfall one day."

A short smirk flashed up on his face. "Probably. And then the Prophet will be all over it—Golden Trio member Granger: did she care too much?" he said, his hand following an invisible headline in the air.

"Please not," she groaned mockingly, then stood up to cast a combination of a Cushioning and a Heating Charm on her spot after checking the vicinity for Muggles; she was starting to freeze her bottom off. "Just how did you find my place?" she asked when she sat down again.

He shrugged again. "Not important."

"Oh, this bodes well for my future hospitality," she commented dryly, stowing her wand back into her coat sleeve.

"You don't need to know everything, Granger," he replied with a taunt in his voice.

"It's not important anyway, I'm not in hiding." She shrugged.

"You're just playing a recluse, then."

"Maybe."

"Not maybe, Granger, you are a recluse," he insisted, mocking her further with raising his eyebrow.

"All right, I am," she groaned, and sipped from her bottle.

"You're not going to tell Potter, are you?" he asked after a few long moments of rather awkward silence between them, fumbling with the label of his bottle.

Hermione shook her head. "No. He would have a go at me for even just letting you sit here," she replied earnestly, ending with a sigh.

"I probably get why he wouldn't want to see me sitting here, with everything that happened at Hogwarts and during the War, so... Thanks for being civil enough."

"Okay, now you're creeping me out. You thanking me... This has to be a first."

"Don't tell me you want to take a picture of that moment," he replied, and raised his bottle for a gulp. "But yes, it's a first, savour it."

She noticed the small grin on his face before he put the bottle to his lips. "Oh, I will. And then I will tell everyone that you actually thanked me for something."

He let out a groan. "Please don't."

With a teasing smile, she shook her head. "I won't, because that would mean that I have to tell everyone as well that you're coming here."

"Why not?"

"They don't need to know everything," she replied, rolling her bottle between her hands, mostly to keep them occupied. "But you really mean it when you say that I'm the first person to be actually civil enough with you?"

"You have no idea," he grumbled, bitterness cracking his voice. "This really is the most civil conversation outside my family I've had in months. As far as we can still do a civil conversation amongst ourselves..."

"Seriously?"

He nodded, while facing her "We're pariahs, Granger, no one wants to have anything to do with us."

She searched his face, and thought she saw hurt flicker over his face for a fleeting second before he was able to hide it again. It only added to his weary look—he definitely suffered from his loneliness, and even more so from being ostracised for something he had no real choice in. "So, you come here for company?"

"Maybe."

"Not maybe. I know you're lonely, and you're desperate for some decent human contact. That's why you come here." His clenched jaws and his fixed staring on his bottle were a sign that she in turn had hit the nail on the head—he had to be boiling over with frustration under that mask. "Look, you can sit here as much as you want if it is so important to you," she then offered. "I mean we're both cast-outs in a way–"

"You a cast-out? Society bloody adores you, even though you disappeared," he rebuffed her.

"I couldn't care less right now." She took another sip of her beer. "You know why I decided to move here, basically leaving our society? I can't bear it right now, that bloody black-and-white view in the aftermath of the War, with a Ministry that has apparently learned nothing from the War. I've read enough about Muggle history to know that this isn't the way to handle this situation, or it might lead straight to another conflict in the near future."

"You compare it to Muggle history?" he objected, staring right at her in surprise while letting his bottle float between his hands.

"Well, yes, I do," she retorted, and then smiled shortly when she remembered that his knowledge about Muggle history was limited, or rather non-existent. "The Muggles had two World Wars. The Allied Forces in the First World War, especially France, wanted to load the complete blame on Germany as the losing party, and demanded vigorous reparations, basically dismantling and ruining the country in the process. That led straight to a recession, giving a right-wing party the opportunity to seize power. They started a second war, conquering half of Europe and then pushing their ideology through everywhere. Now, wizarding society—and the Ministry especially—goes through a similar blame game. You wouldn't believe how much that creeps me out."

"Yeah, blame game is a good name for it," he concurred sarcastically, and let his bottle rise up before taking it in his hand for another gulp.

"I mean how can we build a peaceful society after the War when we're not able to recognise the mistakes that have been made on both sides? The Ministry is pursuing everyone with the slightest connection to Voldemort, but the Ministry deliberately ignores its wrongdoings. If they keep doing that, then they are no better than those we blame for everything..." Hermione stopped her rant when she noticed that Draco was staring at her, his eyes growing bigger and bigger with almost every word. "What?"

"You had a lot of time to think about that, haven't you?" he commented, a sarcastic tone mixed into his bewilderment. "Because you sound just as bitter as I about the whole thing..."

"Bitter is the right word," she replied dryly. "So, I'm here because I don't want to play that game."

"That must be another first—you feeling bitter," he said, smirking, and let his fingers follow the outline of the bottle. "But, you know, I wish I could disappear so easily..."

"I can understand that." She finished her beer. "It might surprise you, and I don't even really know why I tell you that, but I feel like I lost that place I could call home. I feel like I don't belong anywhere any more–"

"What about this place here?" he asked, sounding earnest.

"I live here, but I wouldn't call it home."

He nodded and finished his bottle. "Yeah, I get that."

"Sounds like you feel similarly." She tried to stifle a yawn, and lost.

"You'd be surprised." His short laugh sounded surprisingly bitter. "But I might tell you about that another time. You look like you should be in bed," he then commented on her yawn, and smirked when she couldn't stop herself from yawning once more.

"If it hadn't been for you, I'd be now nicely tucked in under a warm cover, finishing my crime story."

"Yet you figured I'd be more interesting," he teased her, and then started to get up.

"What gave you that impression?" she replied, cocking her eyebrow, and then got up as well, taking his empty bottle he handed her.

"Granger, you were always one for a good mystery, you always want to know. I just gave you one."

"As if."

He chuckled at her slight mocked protest. "But thanks for letting me sit here," he said before getting up as well to leave.

"You look like you've been thinking," Hermione remarked the next evening when she sat down next to Draco, handing him a fresh bottle of beer from the pack she brought home earlier that evening.

"Yes, I've been thinking for the last few months actually," he replied, taking the bottle she was offering. "Thanks."

"You have a lot of time for it, I guess..."

"More than enough, stuck in the Manor all day long." He sipped some beer. "Maybe that's another reason why I come here..."

She nodded; she wouldn't want to be stuck with her parents in the same place either, even if it was as big as Malfoy Manor. "So..."

He looked at her, his eyes apparently searching her for some answer she probably couldn't provide. "Can I ask you something?"

"Just remember my rules..." She took a sip from her bottle, wary of what might come.

"No need to worry, Granger, I'm not going to suddenly attack you... This is just something that's bothering me for a while now, and you seem like someone I could discuss it with–"

"You can't talk with your parents?" she asked, interrupting him because this rather surprised her. Then she noticed how he was fumbling with the label again, realising that this was a sign that he needed to distract himself from his insecurity.

He groaned, and took a gulp of his beer. "I barely exchange two words with my father. And I most certainly can't speak with him about a lot of things—at least not without it ending in another fight because I just can't agree with him any longer. As for my mother... I do still speak with her, but she is lonely, missing her friends while under house arrest, and discussing things with her is just as difficult." He took a deep breath, and swayed the bottle in his hands. "I just want to know what you think about forgiveness, you know? Do you think you're able to forgive things that happened during the War?"

"That is no easy question," she replied thoughtfully, surprised at the honesty in his voice. "And it is no easy, but certainly an interesting concept... Why do you ask?"

"My family has never been good with forgiveness, I figured. But with everything that has happened lately, it got stuck in my head, you know?" He pointed at his temple.

She nodded. "I hope you don't mind me being rather blunt, but your family—even you as far as I remember—really never seemed to know the words kindness and forgiveness with regards to others–"

"Yes," he admitted, taking a gulp from his bottle. "That's true. My family always considered those things to be weaknesses—my father still does."

"And you don't?"

He shrugged, tearing further at the halfway nibbled-off label. "At the moment, I don't really know anymore what I'm supposed to believe."

"That's why you ask about forgiveness? You want to know what I think about it?"

"Yes." He sighed, his eyes fixed on his fingers that were still tearing at the label.

"You know how to ask the difficult questions for sure," she replied, and rolled her bottle between her hands to gain a few seconds before answering.

"You like difficult questions, Granger, but I'd really like to know," he replied with a wink, curling his lips into a smirk.

She nodded. "Look, some say that forgiveness is necessary for a society to mend, that you can't harbour resentments forever, because we need to be able to work together in some way. Personally, I think it is sometimes just as necessary, so that you can let go of your anger towards the person who wronged you and be able to move on with your life. Understanding the situation or position of the person that wronged me—you with your persistent bullying at Hogwarts for example—then I might be able to forgive, and maybe even think you deserve another chance. Being able to forgive is hard, but I think it is a central part of living together–"

"Hogwarts is one thing," he replied with a shrug. "But would you consider stuff that happened during the War to be forgiveable?"

She looked at him, noticing the earnest expression. To cover for her moment of confusion, she sipped her bottle; his interest in this topic was definitely perplexing. "I don't think it is this easy. Why do you ask?"

"I've just been thinking a lot about what I've done during the War, you know?"

"You mean that you tried to kill Dumbledore, for example?"

"Yes, amongst other things," he replied quietly, crumbling the already torn-off label in his hand, just to avoid looking at her.

"Are you trying to ask me whether I specifically could forgive you for what you had to do in those days?" She saw him nod after several long seconds of faking interest in the information on the back of the bottle; the whole situation was starting to feel unnerving to Hermione—here was Malfoy sitting next to her, asking her to forgive him, looking rather confused, and even a bit lost. "Look—and I don't mean to offend you right now—you really were an arrogant elitist arse back at Hogwarts, priding yourself on your blood status, and letting me know mine at every opportunity–"

"Yes, I was an arse then," he admitted exasperatedly, and sipped from his bottle.

"–but the War wasn't your fault. Our generation had no choice other than to finish what our parents had started. We all did what we had to do in order to survive and keep our loved ones safe—your family, my family—just on different sides. I see no fault in that."

"How can you see no fault in that?" he snorted, and rolled his right sleeve up, revealing the fading Dark Mark on his lower arm.

Hermione flinched when she saw the remnant of his past as a Death Eater; seeing it brought so many memories back, memories she thought she had buried deep enough in the depth of her mind.

"How?" he repeated, glaring at her. "This reminds me every day of the mistakes I made–"

"What would have been the alternative? What would have happened if you hadn't taken it?" she replied, holding his gaze, surprised to see his eyes darken.

"He would have killed my parents," he growled in response, and finally rolled the sleeve back down.

"That's what I mean. You did it to keep your family as safe as you could..." She breathed in, and rolled her sleeve up to show him her scars. "This is my daily reminder of the cruelty of war." She watched Draco follow the scars with his finger, almost touching her skin. "War turns us all into animals that fight for survival, you know?"

He shook his head. "That's the one thing I'm really sorry about... I should have stopped my aunt–"

"She would have killed you for trying." She rolled her sleeve down again, and then looked at him for a moment, noticing his clenched jaws. "You sound as if you struggle to come to terms with your part."

"How can you ever come to terms with something like that?" he retorted cynically. "I was ordered to kill someone–"

"But you haven't, Malfoy, that's the point."

He looked at her, his darkened, stormy eyes studying her sceptically. "Is it?"

Hermione nodded. "It is. But if it is forgiveness you seek from others, then you should start with yourself."

"With myself?"

"Yes. Based on what we discussed so far, I get the impression that you feel guilty."

"Granger, I am guilty! I did those things–"

"Malfoy, please. You had no choice." She saw that he wanted to say something in response, but then instead swallowed his words with another gulp of beer. "Look, you can't change what happened, but you can give yourself another chance to do better..." She swirled her bottle in her hands, contemplating their discussion for a moment. Malfoy asking her all these questions in earnest was definitely strange, but on the other hand, it was also interesting to hear that he was thinking about those things, that the hearing hadn't completely been in vain—at least in regards to Draco.

"Have you forgiven yourself for everything you did during the War?" he then asked, letting his finger absent-mindedly trace the curves of the bottle.

She sighed, and rubbed her neck. "To be honest, I still struggle with the fact that I Obliviated my own parents. I let them forget me in order to protect them, you know?"

He stared at her in disbelief, stopping his bottle play. "Wow."

"I can't even fully explain why it bugs me, it just does. Maybe because I was selfish in that moment to not want to lose them, while other parents fought alongside their children." She rubbed her legs to warm them up a bit in the cold evening air—the combined Heating and Cushioning Charm only worked where she was sitting on it. "And again, I don't know why I tell you that..."

"You don't speak with your friends about those things?"

She shook her head. "No, not really. I don't see them that often at the moment."

"And here I thought you had been absorbed by the Weasels by now... Instead it sounds like you're just as desperate for some decent human contact..."

"You have no idea." She swayed her bottle in her hand. "You know, if you want to know more about the concept of forgiveness, I have a few books I could lend you. Muggle authors, but their ideas apply to the wizarding world just the same."

"You're sure you want to lend me Muggle authors, Granger?" he replied, finishing his bottle.

"Oh, they will do you good, Malfoy! And they might give you some answers I can't."

"Okay, as long as you don't have me write an essay about them." He handed her his empty bottle and got up.

With a smile, Hermione got up as well; she knew exactly what books might be of interest for him—and she was now curious what he was going to say about it. "Okay, wait here. Won't take long." And with that, she went inside.

TBC

The Prompt:

"After living at Hogwarts for so many years, home isn't home anymore. A story of friendship, forgiveness, and finding what home really means."
Additional: "Light-hearted would be preferred, but as long as there's a happy ending!"

Please leave a review if you liked the story! As always, it'll be much appreciated! :-)