A/N: As you might imagine, sitting down to write about Hermione dealing with her virulently racist birth family was... a struggle. Mostly because I wanted to make sure that I was treating the subject matter with the seriousness that it deserved. There are no easy answers.

The whole point of this story was to examine and play with the pureblood!Hermione trope. I deliberately chose the Malfoys because they were Death Eaters and because they were still alive, which meant that Hermione could interact with them. [I've seen the pureblood!Hermione trope with conveniently dead parents, both Death Eaters and not.]

This really is meant to be a family drama sort of thing. I'm not focusing on pairings at all. I'm focusing on the complex and prickly relationships between Hermione and her family (yes, I include Harry as family).

Auntie_L, you are amazing. Thank you so much for being you.

"You don't have to do this, Hermione." Harry's voice was gentle and patient, the way it always was these days. He put his hand over hers. "You just got your Mum and Dad settled in France."

Irritation flared within her and she turned to look at him. The messy hair that wouldn't behave no matter what he did, rivalling her own ridiculous curls on some days. The warm concern for her in his brilliant green eyes. The beard that he'd grown a year after the Battle of Hogwarts was neatly trimmed and groomed. His worn Quidditch jersey was nowhere to be seen. Instead he was wearing an emerald green pullover that she didn't recognize. Her lips tightened and her gaze narrowed.

"Can I ask you a question?" She was proud of the wobbly tone and the way her voice broke on the last word.

"Anything," Harry promised her and pulled her in for a hug. Hermione hugged him tightly and then stepped back so that she could watch his face.

"You always encourage me to reach out to Draco," Hermione said carefully.

"Of course," Harry agreed immediately. "He's your brother."

"You usually mention that part, yes," Hermione murmured. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, glancing down at the highly-polished leather shoes on Harry's feet. "But whenever Lucius or Narcissa come up in the conversation, you always tell me that I can wait. That I shouldn't feel pressured. That I should take time if I need it." She dragged her eyes back up to Harry's slightly flushed, guilty face. "Why is that?"

"Lucius Malfoy is not a good person," Harry muttered and averted his eyes.

"And Draco is?" Hermione pressed, twisting the screws a little more. Harry's ears turned red.

"He's… he's trying to be," Harry said carefully.

"I see." Hermione pressed her lips together straightened her shoulders, irritated that she felt she needed to defend her biological father. "One could argue that Lucius Malfoy hasn't been given many chances to be a good man."

"I suppose," Harry agreed reluctantly. He frowned and scratched his head awkwardly. "I should probably come with you… to Malfoy Manor?"

"I'm not setting foot inside that house," Hermione countered in a flat voice. Harry blinked at her, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Oh." He tugged at his sleeves. "Are you… are you inviting him here?"

"I don't think that's a good idea." Hermione shook her head. "A public meeting doesn't seem wise either. If I lose my temper, or if he loses his, it would be all over the front page of the Daily Prophet before you could say Quidditch."

"That's true." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up all over his head. "What are you thinking?"

"Honestly? I don't really know. What do you think about my parents' house?" Hermione asked. "I could have the Floo connected to the network for a day. Or… does the Leaky Cauldron have conference rooms?" She groaned in frustration. "Why does this have to be so difficult?"

"What if you made him pick a place?" Harry suggested. "Nowhere public, not the Manor. Somewhere that you could have a conversation that's neutral ground for the both of you. If anyone would know about somewhere like that in the wizarding world, it would be Lucius Malfoy."

"Did you… did you just compliment my… biological father?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Not on purpose," Harry muttered. He shrugged his shoulders. "They know the wizarding world better than we do."

"They?" Hermione repeated. Harry scowled at her.

"Them," he said flatly. "The Malfoys. Your parents."

"I suppose they do," Hermione allowed. She poked Harry in the shoulder. "We will soon enough."

"But it won't count, will it?" Harry mused with a vaguely worried frown. "I'm a Potter. You're a Malfoy. In a few years, people won't remember how hard we've had to work for everything. They'll just point at us and say that of course we know because we're from wizarding families."

"They probably will," Hermione agreed with a sigh. Harry had a brilliant mind that made incredible leaps—when he let himself. "Unless we do something to change all of it."

"Like what?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her. "Stage a revolution?"

"Something like that," Hermione agreed easily. She smiled, showing all her teeth.

"I hate it when you do that," Harry muttered at her. "Bloody scary, you are."

"Shut up," Hermione huffed at him and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm going to have to do this his way, for now."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"Kreacher?" Hermione called hesitantly.

"What is Kreacher's Miss Hermione needing?" Kreacher appeared next to Hermione and looked up at her eagerly.

"Is there any stationery that I can use?" Hermione asked. She frowned and bit her lower lip. "If there isn't, that's fine. I mean… I doubt Sirius was using formal stationery. And I imagine that erm, before, there wasn't much call for that sort of thing."

"Wait, Kreacher's Miss Hermione," Kreacher said firmly. He popped out and then popped back with a box clutched in his arms. He held it out to her. "Miss Lycoris' stationery."

"Miss Lycoris," Hermione repeated and glanced at Harry.

"She's on the tapestry," Harry said with a shrug. "On Orion's side, I think."

"Thank you very much, Kreacher," Hermione said with a smile. "This is extremely helpful."

"Anything for Kreacher's Miss Hermione," Kreacher practically cooed at her before he popped out of the room.

"He's gotten better?" Harry offered helplessly when Hermione winced.

"He seems to be." Hermione sighed again and rubbed a hand over her face. "It's just that they all have these expectations of me now."

"Who does?" Harry asked with a small frown.

"The Malfoys, my aunt Andromeda, my grand-mère, my great-grandfather," Hermione listed them all off. She waved a hand at the door to the library. "Even your House Elf."

Harry snorted at that. "I think that Kreacher has decided that he's your House Elf," he muttered.

"The only reason that he wants anything to do with me is because my mother was born a Black," Hermione scoffed. She bit her lip and stared at Harry. "Do they really want me? I'm not going to be some perfect little Pureblood princess for them. I'm still me."

"A perfect little princess," Harry repeated, his eyebrows raised. "What, like Pansy Parkinson? Or like Luna Lovegood? Or like Susan Bones?"

"I don't know," Hermione huffed at him. "Like… some kind of feminine version of Draco."

"Well you're certainly not pale and pointy," Harry pointed out with a smirk. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"Ha ha, Potter," she snapped. "Very funny."

"Wait a minute, you're starting to sound like him," Harry teased her gently. He snickered and Hermione poked him in the ribs. "You should tell me that your father's going to hear about this."

"Harry!" Hermione scowled at him and swatted him on the shoulder. "I think that being stuck in this house with Walburga Black's portrait and long-term exposure to the Horcrux affected Kreacher," Hermione sighed. "And… I just… it's my family's fault he's like that."

"You didn't have anything to do with any of this," Harry protested, waving a hand at Grimmauld Place. "I mean… you didn't even know that you were related to them until a couple of months ago."

"That doesn't mean that I don't have a responsibility to make this right, Harry," Hermione snapped. She waved a hand around her. "The Blacks and the Malfoys helped Riddle. They were happy to try and destroy our world. They have allowed the degradation and the oppression of Centaurs, Goblins, House Elves, and Muggleborns because it was convenient—because they profited from it."

"Merlin, Hermione," Harry muttered. "I don't know if Lucius Malfoy is ready for you."

"Probably not," Hermione said grimly. She set the box of stationery down on a side table. "But we don't have time to wait for him to be ready."

"We?" Harry echoed. He looked at Hermione, both eyebrows raised in silent question.

"Yes, we," Hermione repeated. She smirked at him. "You're helping me with the revolution, remember?"

"Right. The revolution." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just going to… do you want a cup of tea?"

"Tea sounds lovely," Hermione murmured. When Harry was almost out of the room, Hermione called after him, "Tell Draco I said hello!"

The box in front of her was a faded green. When she lifted the lid, the faint scent of lavender drifted up to her. Neat compartments held each item. The largest was a stack of bone-white paper with a delicate filigree border in black. Matching envelopes were stacked in their own slot, and the last two slots held sticks of black wax and a seal that bore the coat of arms for the House of Black.

Carefully, she pulled out a couple of sheets of the paper. Tucked next to the paper, she found a beautiful fountain pen. It was quick work to change out the ink. The pen felt heavy in her hand as she stared at the blank pages in front of her.

What should she say? She swallowed and pressed the nib to the paper.

Dear—

Hermione lifted the nib from the page and stared unseeing at the coffee table.

Dear what? Mr. Malfoy felt too formal. 'Dear Sir' seemed a little ridiculous if she were honest. 'Lucius' just felt… wrong. Hermione had not been raised in the sorts of houses where one called one's parents by their first names, and it made her anxious to even think of doing so. 'Dad' felt equally wrong. Lucius Malfoy was not her Dad. He might be partially responsible for her existence, but he certainly did not deserve to be called Dad.

With a groan, Hermione set the nib back on the sheet of stationery. She huffed a little and carefully wrote Father. Becoming more like Draco, Indeed. Harry could be such a git sometimes.

I apologize for not writing to you sooner, but familial obligations have kept me busy until now. I hope that this letter finds you and Mother doing well. It occurs to me that we might be best served by meeting and discussing our circumstances. A dear friend suggested that you might know of a public place that we might use for such a meeting.

Please advise me as to your schedule and the proposed location for our meeting.

Regards,

Hermione

Perhaps it was cheating to avoid using a last name, but Hermione wanted Lucius Malfoy to come to this meeting. She needed his help, as annoying as that might be, and she was unwilling to anger him before they even sat down at the same table. Later, she would reevaluate whether allowing Lucius Malfoy into her life was something that she could continue to endure, but that would be up to him.

Owls were a normal part of one's life when one was a wizard. The tawny owl in front of him was a general delivery owl. It bore no one's crest. He carefully took the letter from the owl and gave it a piece of sausage. The envelope was hauntingly familiar. Lucius hadn't seen stationery from the House of Black in years. He flipped the envelope over and stared at the coat of arms for the House of Black that sealed his letter with black wax. Lucius swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

Finding out that he had a daughter had been a shock. It had taken him time to work through his feelings. Lucius was aware that he had not been… kind or patient with his wife. Narcissa's intransigence had not helped matters. Her stubborn refusal to apologize was infuriating. He supposed that this letter was only to be expected. The next salvo in her efforts to drive him utterly mad. He was glad that he was alone, so that no one else could see his hands shake as he broke the seal.

Divorce wasn't the done thing among their set. He'd known couples that hated one another—they merely lived in separate homes and avoided all possible contact with one another. More often were the couples that were indifferent to one another. They may like their partner well enough. They were able to conceive an heir for the line, a spare if they were lucky, and then they left one another alone.

Lucius Malfoy had always considered himself a lucky man. He had loved his wife and their marriage had been a harmonious partnership for over twenty years. Discovering that his wife had been keeping secrets—had kept his child from him—had shattered his entire world view. He knew that their relationship had been strained to the breaking point, but he had never considered that Narcissa might take this step. Not once had he expected her to leave him.

For several long minutes he stared at the words Dear Father. This was not a letter from his wife, informing him of their formal separation. This was not a letter from his wife at all. His fingers tightened on the pages and they crinkled in his fingers. His daughter had a lovely hand. Her penmanship was as nice as Draco's, which probably shouldn't surprise him so much, and yet it did. He hadn't expected it. The letter itself was polite, but distant, which made sense.

"A public place," Lucius murmured as he read the letter through once more. He sat back and stared at the far wall. "A public place."

It was a Slytherin sort of request and Lucius smiled fondly at the letter in front of him. He knew the lineage tests were accurate, but he also knew that Hermione Granger had been raised by Muggles. His few interactions with her had only emphasized her Muggle-ness. This letter was the sort of thing that he would expect Draco to write to someone. The subtle phrasing was rather well-done.

Finding her a public place would be a challenge, but one that he was happy to undertake on behalf of his… his daughter.