The Battle of Hogwarts is over, and the wizarding world is recuperating. Hogwarts is reopened after some drastic renovations, and while some students return for their seventh and final year, other students are invited to teach.

After the Battle of Hogwarts ended, Hermione spent several days at the Burrow with the Weasleys and Harry Potter, but they were constantly reminded of all the friends they had lost in the fight. There was a void in the house that should have been filled by Fred, Remus, Tonks, and many others, and although time passed, none of them were any closer to accepting the absence of their loved ones. It would take a very long time for them to all recuperate mentally and physically from the fight.

Hermione had always been a very practical, calculating witch, but the Battle had taken its toll on her as well. She was exhausted, and quite frankly, just wanted to escape and relax for a while. She did not know what her next move would be, which was a first for her and to top things off, her relationship with Ronald Weasley had taken a nosedive after the death of his brother.

A few weeks was all Hermione could stand to stay at the Burrow, and she soon returned to her parents' house in London. The house was exactly the way she had left it. That is, apart from the absence of her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were still enjoying their Australian vacation, entirely unaware that they had a daughter at all. Hermione decided that until she could travel to Australia herself to reverse the memory charm she had placed on them, she would stay in and tend to their old house.

It took her nearly two months to truly adjust to her solitary role in the house, and she had even been looking in the Daily Prophet for job openings. There were several at the Ministry of Magic, but thoughts of the Ministry left a bad taste in Hermione's mouth. She didn't want anything to do with them at the moment.

As time passed, Hermione found things easier to think about. She could breath easier, move easier, without the constant reminder of all those that had lost their lives. It might have been because she rarely left her house, and her magical world had very few ties to this place considering her parents were muggle born. Everything was slowly coming back together, until a strange letter arrived one morning.

Hermione woke to the sound of something rapping on her bedroom window. Her first thought was that a tree branch was being tossed around by the wind, but she quickly remembered that there was no tree in their yard. Her eyes flew open and she leaped out of bed. Waiting patiently outside her window was a handsome eagle owl with a letter clamped in its claws. She threw open the window and retrieved the letter from the unfamiliar bird, but it did not depart: It would wait for her reply.

Opening the letter, Hermione read:

I can't believe I'm even writing this to you, but I wanted to make sure you were alright after the battle. I know you lost a lot of friends. How are you?

D.M.

D.M., Hermione thought curiously, but no one came to mind. She stared at the initials for a long while, expecting the name to suddenly come to her, but she was at a loss. She looked outside her bedroom window at the eagle owl that was patiently waiting, and it struck her. She did recognize the owl. She had seen it deliver mail in the Great Hall several times to someone across the hall.. Someone who always gloated about the packages he had delivered. Someone...

A chill running down her spine, Hermione sat down at her desk and scribbled out a short reply.

Draco?

H.G.

Hermione leaned out the window and handed the letter to the owl, who hooted loudly in reply. He then spread his wings and took off into the sky. When he returned a few hours later, he carried another letter.

Yes. Are you surprised?

D.M.

Hermione frowned. The more she thought about it, the less she believed that Draco Malfoy was actually writing her letters. After all, they had spent seven years as enemies. Why would he have such a change of heart all of a sudden? Unless, it someone pretending to be Draco... With a smirk, Hermione pulled out a roll of parchment and quickly jotted down two words:

Prove it.

When the eagle owl did not return for the remainder of the day, Hermione figured that she had won. Whoever was writing her knew that their game was up. They could not fool her. But she was surprised when she woke the following day and saw the eagle owl waiting outside her window.

You punched me in the face in third year.

D.M.

Hermione smiled, and began her reply:

Ron and Harry were with me that day. You could just as easily be one of them.

H.G.

The response Hermione got following her letter made her laugh out loud. It was written in all caps, and Hermione could imagine Draco growling through his teeth as he wrote:

WHY THE BLOODY HELL SHOULD I HAVE TO PROVE WHO I AM... TO YOU NO LESS? I AM DRACO FUCKING MALFOY... NOT SCARHEAD OR WEASEL. WHY AM I EVEN HAVING THIS CONVERSATION WITH YOU? THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR TRYING TO DO SOMETHING NICE... DON'T REPLY TO THIS!

She wrote back quickly, laughing the entire time.

Okay, I believe you. I apologize for doubting you. Is that better? And why are we having this conversation anyway?

H.G.

Draco read the letter once before throwing into the fireplace with the others. He watched as the edges of the paper turned dark and a hole quickly burned through its center. He was risking his relationship with Lucius by even writing to a mudblood, so he had to be as cautious as possible. He then strode over to his dark-stained oak desk and pulled out another piece of parchment. Why was he doing this? He didn't even like Granger. He had been raised to hate mudbloods, and now he owling one... he disgusted himself.

Like I said in my first letter, I just wanted to check on you. Is that a crime?

D.M.

Hermione pursed her lips. Something definitely wasn't right. Draco was being far too nice for comfort.

It's not a crime.. just strange. I'm not sure why you even care, but I am doing fine. I can't say the same for some of my friends. How are you?

H.G.

Draco managed a smile. How was he? That was a hard question... He wasn't even sure how he was at the moment. After all, something had to be seriously wrong with him for him to want to write Granger. He tossed the letter into the fireplace and set to work on his response.

Things have been hard. My mother is divorcing Lucius because he refuses to renounce the old ways. The Malfoys are being shunned by a majority of the wizarding world at the moment, but it'll all blow over... Wait, why am I telling you this?

D.M.

Hermione frowned as she read her letter. She understood without having to be told what Draco was going through. His world was changing, and he wanted someone, anyone, to talk to about it... even if that meant writing to her. With a sense of empathy, Hermione replied:

I'm sorry to hear about your parents. If this is an attempt to put our past behind us and start over, then I accept. I'll be here to listen to anything you have to tell me.

H.G.

Draco threw Hermione's letter in the fireplace and watched it burn to ashes before starting his next letter.

Something like that... and, as mush as it pains me to say it, thank you Granger.

D.M.

Their correspondence continued over the rest of the week, and they formed a fickle friendship through their letters. Draco spoke of his desire to get away from it all, how he yearned to disappear. Hermione comforted him the best she could, still skeptical about the whole thing. After carrying hate and resentment toward Malfoy for so long, it was difficult to simply put all her past feelings aside and pretend to be friends. But she was trying.

And now, Hermione held the most recent of Draco's letters in her hands. She had read over it several times and could still not believe it had come to this. What was she thinking? She had been contemplating her reply for hours, and was still unsure if she should go through with it. She took a bite of the sandwich she had prepared and glanced over the letter a final time.

I'll be there tonight at eight. If you change your mind before then, you know where to find me.

D.M.

Hermione was kicking herself. Why did she have to suggest that Draco come stay with her to get away from things? He could have gone to the Leaky Cauldron... he could have gone anywhere... but she had to open her big mouth and invite him into her home. What on Earth was she thinking? She was only trying to be nice, but perhaps she had gone too far this time.

Hermione glanced nervously over at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. It read seven o'clock on the dot. She only had a few minutes left if she wanted to tell him not to come. But something inside her would not let her write that letter. Something inside her, something definitely twisted, actually wanted him to come. After all, he had been nice enough in his letters. Maybe he really had changed?

Or maybe this was all part of his plan? Did he have a plan?

Hermione groaned. She was over-thinking things, which is exactly what she wanted a break from. Thinking.

Just before eight o'clock, Hermione rushed upstairs and looked at herself in the mirror. Ugh, she thought. She looked rough. She brushed her hair out quickly, wet it lightly, and pulled it into a bun behind her head. She then changed her T-shirt, to one of her nice halter tops. She contemplated putting on makeup before she stopped herself abruptly.

"What am I doing?" she whispered sharply. She was trying to make herself attractive for the same rude and vile Draco Malfoy that had plagued her all those years at Hogwarts. Even if she put on make up and wore a ball gown, he would still tell her she looked like an electrocuted beaver. After all, this was the same Draco Malfoy that was her best friend's mortal enemy. Yes, that very same Draco Malfoy.

A knock at the front door startled her. Her heart was slamming in her chest and she could feel her cheeks burning red. Trying to keep her breathing level, Hermione darted down the stairs to the front door, pausing for a moment as her fingertips touched the doorknob. She swallowed hard. What had she gotten herself into?

There was another knock and Hermione wrenched the door open. Standing on her door stoop was a tall, dark hooded figure. In one hand he carried a slender broomstick and to his side stood a black dragon skin trunk. Slowly, he lowered his hood and revealed a splash of white-blonde hair. Hermione studied the familiar face of Draco Malfoy, his unblinking gray eyes watching her carefully.