A/N: To those still reading this, welcome back. I didn't really think I would ever finish this story, but something in me decided it was time to pick up fanfiction again. I've been doing a lot of writing on the side for novels, and I've been slowly preparing to learn some additional languages to broaden my scope of writing. I hope this conclusion is satisfactory to everyone who stuck with the story, and to those newcomers who found it. Shoot me a review if you feel so obliged at the end, and let me know what you think. Hopefully there will be some new stories here in the future.

Day 596

He stood behind her, watching the witch as she presented the enterprise to the press. He did his speech, but nothing he said could ever draw people's attention the way her words did. It was hard to believe this was the same witch he dragged out of Azkaban one year ago.

Gone were the signs of abuse, her distance from others and her dividing walls between friends. Harry and Ginny sat near the front of the audience, watching their friend with large eyes and broad grins. Sweeping the crowd he noticed Ron Wealsey and his wife a row or two back, a small bundle held fast against the woman's chest. He hadn't attended any of the conferences up until this point, and Draco was a little surprised that he was here now.

His eyes lingered mostly on Hermione, who caught the attention of everyone in the crowd. Her speech might've started out with a bit of stumbling and stuttering, but no one seemed to remember her rocky beginning. Between her smile and the crisp, clean pronunciation of each individual word it was hard to believe she had any qualms at all about getting on that stage.

Draco smiled at her, listening to her boast Malfoy Corporation, the once prestigious name shattered after the war. Now, months after he finally agreed to let her aid his ever-failing plans to dig the company out of recess, they were reopening the company after a full month of being closed.

It was Hermione's idea really. Purge the hallways and rooms of everything racist and bigoted that settled in the walls for the past century. Gone were the posters demeaning anyone lesser than a Pureblood, the graffiti etched into stone by a wand and the age old employees who couldn't be changed, even after the war. Those who refused to work alongside muggle-borns and halfbloods were removed from the company permanently.

If Draco had his way, the company would've worked through its rough spot without shutting down and cleaning the building of all its hate. He would've found a way to do it, he was sure. But without Hermione's confidence and community's love for her, he doubted the change would've made a difference. Without her trusting him first, no one else would have ever decided he was being sincere about employing muggleborns, not after so many years of racism.

Lost in thought, he hardly noticed when she finished speaking and the crowd in front of them rose into a round of applause. He stood as well a second too late, clapping a bit too loudly behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, the smile she sent him more radiant than the sun over their heads.

He barely even noticed when they handed him a pair of enlarged scissors to cut the ribbon in front of the store.

"You really do look a mess," she giggled quietly, walking among the new employees of Draco's company. They didn't glare at her anymore when she passed, the bigoted, judging employee's banished some time ago. If the world called for change, then people had to learn to change with it. Those who were unwilling to give it a try weren't given a second chance.

"I wouldn't look anything if you didn't spill it on me."

Hermine chuckled, waving her wand and watching the wine disappear from Draco's crisp white shirt. She straightened the collar, ignoring the way he breathed in sharply when her fingers trailed across the skin of his neck. She smiled, teeth gleaming white in the new lighting of the building.

"You know everyone's impressed," she continued, dragging her hands from his skin. "With the business I mean. Harry didn't really believe you were serious about reform until you shut the facility down last month."

"So I've heard," he grumbled, eyes dancing across the gathered crowd in search of Scarhead. "And he couldn't just tell me himself?"

She nudged him, slipping between two gathered groups in the hallway. "It's a big change Draco. The press ate this story up for months. You might not be the first Pureblood to change your ways, but you're setting an example for the remaining old families to change their views too."

"I know. People keep saying that. I didn't do any of this to be an example to anyone."

Grinning, she gripped his hand and dragged him along the hall. "I know."

Stepping down the corridor was like walking through your home after someone else owned it for ten years. He knew every path by heart, and he even knew in advance the changes that would take place in the establishment. But it all felt like a dream, and he was only a viewer to what took place. Even now the newly painted walls felt foreign, and so many people lingering around was something he might never grow used to.

He let Hermione drag him along, stopping occasionally to speak to someone. He would acknowledge the conversation, smirking whenever someone commented on the new building and the changes that they could see. He watched their eyes attempt to focus on the couple's faces, but the always drifted down instead to where their hands remained intertwined, a question always bubbling up in their throat. Draco made sure that they left before anyone could question them.

It's not like they needed answers anyway. The press gave them everything they were going to get.

"Do you think Potter will lecture me?" Draco asked one morning, groggily pouring himself a cup of coffee. Hermione made the drink herself, the muggle way that admittedly tasted better but was a foreign concept to Draco.

She laughed. "I think Harry is always going to lecture you Draco, just like you're always going to egg him on. If that ever changes I'll know something's wrong."

It'd been a week since Draco showed her his failing business, and already she had more paperwork organized and in place than all his ancestors combined. Even if the business worked in ways Hermione didn't approve of, it never worked more efficiently than right now.

But that wasn't what Draco focused on, not really. He let his eyes trail her a moment, the way her curves moved with her, the way her locks fell around her shoulders when she bent across the table for another piece of toast. Even the way her nose wrinkled in irritation drew his attention.

He caught her hand when she moved to grab the coffee from him, creamer in her other hand. He turned her arm over, kissing the skin of her inner wrist instead, causing the girl to giggle.

"Honestly, you are impossible this morning! How am I ever going to get anything done?" she asked, setting aside the creamer so she could wrap her arms around his neck.

"You know, this is why the press has pictures," he replied, smirking when their foreheads fell together. "You just can't keep your hands off me."

Hermione groaned, dragging her fingertips over his bare skin as she drew back. "I see you're blaming me for your actions again. I'm not the one who thought it'd be a splendid idea to kiss in the gardens! I mean honestly Draco, we knew the party would be swarmed with cameras."

"All good parties are."

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm also not the one who thought the middle of the lawn was a good place to snog either. We couldn't at least hide behind a bush first?"

"I'm not going to hide behind anything to kiss you," he replied, taking a sip of the black coffee. He scowled, setting the bitter drink down and sliding it across the glass table, letting her catch it on the other side. Hermione smirked, knowing he wouldn't like his coffee so bitter like that. "I am an adult. If I'm going to kiss someone, it will be out in the open."

"Then you must reap the consequences." Smirking she stood from the table, briskly walking across the room to the window. Dragging back the drapes a fraction she peered out into the midmorning world, noting the few people stalking around the front of the complex. "They really think we won't floo out?"

"When you don't know where people are going, the best place to start is square one!" Draco called from the kitchen, pulling over some of her notes about the company. "They'll be following us for days. We're the newest piece of gossip."

She let the curtain fall back into place, knowing the concealment wards on the apartment would keep anyone down below from noticing the movement. She turned back towards the table, eyes drifting down to where different articles of publication sat, something Draco once kept locked away in his room.

Sitting on the sofa she picked up the newspaper articles, folded over so many times they were practically unreadable at this point. Her fingers dragged across the picture of her, one she didn't remember taking.

There she was, lying on a stretcher as a healer tried to adjust her outside the gates of Azkaban. She didn't recall any of this, knowing by that time she'd passed out from exhaustion and malnourishment. Draco was directly next to her, the stray photographer some distance away. In the background she could see Harry and Ron coming out of the prison as well, several paces behind the blond.

He'd finally told her about the rumors, uncovered articles he supposedly never kept. After their blowout the night of Ron's wedding, he finally realized she would never let the topic settle. Hermione liked knowing the ins and outs of things, and in this case she liked knowing what made people believe she'd gone so insane. Until she saw the articles, the crude words splattered across white, stressed paper, she'd never realized how cruel media could be.

There was a reason Draco never felt inclined to give her the papers until now.

After everything she expected there to be more than four. But Draco told her that Harry and Ron never wanted her name slandered, and even if media wouldn't listen to him they did honor the wishes of the Boy Who Lived. The fourth article was printed only three days after Hermione's return to the world, and since then no more articles were published.

With a sigh she picked the four pages up. Someone who wrote for Witch Weekly took these photos on a whim and sold them to the magazine. She checked and rechecked, certain that the person had to be Rita Skeeter. Even though Harry assured her the publicist wasn't her age old enemy, Hermione wasn't convinced for many days.

The person got themselves into the Daily Prophet due to their article on her. Britain wanted to know what happened to her after the fall of Voldemort, and other than Draco's ramblings there were never any leads. That earned the writer two more articles thereafter, until it was finally put to a stop. Even now, the name of the reporter meant nothing to Hermione. She never knew him, yet he was more than willing to drag her reputation through the dirt.

She tore the articles in half, startling the blond on the couch. He immediately came to her side, watching her tear different pieces a second and then third time. When she finished she magicked away the mess.

When he didn't speak she glanced up, noting the way his eyes seemed to study her. "I was just going to burn them," he muttered, a smirk pulling at his lips. "I suppose destroying them is more satisfying."

"I let all these people believe rumors about me," she muttered, staring at him. "The press controlled how the world saw me. And none of you thought it important enough to tell me the truth."

"Hermione-"

"I understand now" she continued, speaking as though he hadn't interrupted. "You were all trying to protect me. And considering what the articles made me into… perhaps you were right to hide them from me in the beginning. I might not have reacted well when I was still healing. But you should've told me before someone else got around to it. The reality of everything might've hurt less that way."

"I didn't mean for you to learn about it that way," he argued, watching the way her eyes dropped to the table again. "I knew – we all knew – you'd find out the truth someday. It was inevitable. I only spoke to Potter alone once since all this began, and it's the only conversation that didn't end in arguing. When things cleared and everyone started realizing that for one reason or another, you seemed to trust me the most, he decided I should tell you what happened. I just didn't really know how to."

She nodded. "So you kept the articles as proof?"

"I kept them as reminders," he said, meeting her eyes. "I didn't want to forget how horrible they were, even if it might be better that way. I figured if I owed you the truth, I owed you the whole truth."

Hermione nodded again, reaching across the space between them for his hand. He arched an eyebrow, letting his thumb rub against her knuckles. "Thank you for telling me. It might not be the greatest news, but I'm glad to know now."

"Are you really sure about that?"

She stood, grinning at him. "The press got away with so much because I wasn't here to defend myself. I couldn't get a word in to sway the way people saw me, the pity they were feeling. The press won't get the best of me again."

"Well I doubt they really have anything else quite so terrible."

Ignoring his jab, she stepped back towards the window. Even with the curtain drawn a breeze still found its way in through the open space. She drew the curtain back further this time, again acknowledging the reporters down below, trying to blend in with the dwindling crowd. They really did stick out, if for no other reason than the fact that they kept glancing up. She figured they would never forget their address now.

"We'll have to move sometime. I don't think I can handle the press outside the building every day. Are you sure you can't just ward off the entire complex?"

"Management is against the idea," Draco muttered. "They want people to only worry about their own spaces. It's a wonder I haven't bought a bloody house yet. At least then no one can tell me how to live."

"What about the Manor?" she asked, glancing back over her shoulder. Despite everything they hadn't ever breached the topic of his childhood home, even though it was someplace strangely familiar to them both. "You won't ever go back."

Shrugging, he stood from the table to reach her side, wrapping an arm around her waist. "There's nothing to go back to."

It wasn't entirely true. He let her drag him along through the halls again, her hair swinging back and forth as they moved. They were higher up in the building now, away from milling crowds. Draco didn't have to be a genius to know where she was going.

Partnership wasn't something Draco was too familiar with, much less something he had experience with. So the idea of sharing an office with someone was taboo, and the idea of it being Hermione Granger was enough to make his father roll over in his grave. Yet the office looked so much more homey with two desks instead of one, and the fact that they were of equal size seemed to emphasize the equality in the room.

"I was just going over sales this morning," Hermione stressed, dropping his hand as they entered. "I was looking at your regional sales, compared with the international sales you have between distributors in Ireland and Whales, not to mention the income you receive from France though my French really isn't up to reading that many words-"

"I thought you spent the morning badgering Scarhead about this meeting. You really wanted him to get work off so he could show."

"Oh, Harry wouldn't disappoint me," she said airily, waving the comment away. "At least, never again. I just have to remind him of these things. He's absolutely terrible at remembering plans."

Draco smirked, watching her shuffle different folders around as she organized her desk. Compared to his where folders were strewn about and he had parchment everywhere, you couldn't see one thing out of order on her side. It was only moderately infuriating.

"I was thinking about homes the other day," she remarked, breaking the silence between them. "I know you're ready to destroy the apartment."

"I just don't like the small space. My money isn't frozen anymore, and I'm certainly not in debt. We make a lot of money together. There's no reason to stay in that dingy apartment."

"It's not that dingy."

He smirked. "That's because you keep adding lights."

Hermione grinned, reaching across the desk to grasp his hand. "So you want to move out then? I have a lot of recommendations for places to live."

"Half of them are muggle I suppose?"

"Absolutely. They have such beautiful neighborhoods. And the press won't notice us if we are out of the wizarding world half the time."

He nodded, thinking over the suggestion as she collapsed into her chair. Plucking a quill from the tabletop she picked at the feathered end, not meeting his eyes. Wandering around the desk he sat on the edge, forcing her to focus on him again.

"Wherever you want to live Granger," he whispered, fingers brushing over her jawline. "Even a muggle neighborhood. I'll go with you."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Last time you weren't so sure. You actually denied me a couple times."

"I wasn't thrilled," he admitted, "but I know it's more out of the way, and we'll have more privacy there. Things are hard enough here right now. We can glamour the place so people don't wonder where we go all day, or get someplace with hedges to hide the house."

"And you wouldn't be oh so ashamed to live in such a place with me?" she asked, leaning closer to him. Her big brown eyes sparkled, her interest in the question growing.

Draco shook his head, smiling. "Like I said, wherever you want to live, it's up to you. I'd go anywhere for you."

Day 641

"I knew you would hate that color," she laughed, twirling around the home. While he went out to work today she spent the time decorating and organizing the entire place. She doubted he would ever lose anything again.

"It's so red," he stressed, looking around. "So horrendously red."

"I love the color."

"You're a Gryffindor," Draco grunted, ignoring her growing smile. "You tend to like red."

"At least the walls aren't red."

"No, you seem to have reserved that for the furniture. This couch is as bad as the leather I bought for the apartment."

"No," she argued, a smirk starting to form on her lips, "my furniture is at least comfortable."

He shook his head, taking in the living room again. At least everything wasn't red, and the accents dialed down how very red the couches were. It could've been a million times worse.

"I see you also took the liberty of alphabetizing the books."

"They are by genre too," she continued, stepping over to the bookcase. "I wanted to be able to find everything quickly. I just love being able to find everything."

She started rattling off everything, from books he'd bought her in the past months to the ones her friends saved in her absence. He knew she had a lot, but seeing it all in one place put into perspective how much she actually owned. Besides, she borrowed books from the library all the time. He could barely imagine how many she ripped through at night when he was preoccupied.

Watching her talk so passionately about what she loved brought a smile to his face. Seeing how happy she was in their new place made it even better. Standing back, watching her adore what they had together, he'd never felt more at home.

Day 811

Even from a distance, Draco looked ridiculous in a Santa hat. Earlier she threw the cap over his head, explaining the muggle story of St. Nick. Apparently it was a stranger concept than she realized, as it took several attempts to make him understand this really was a bedtime story, and not a nightmare come alive.

She just didn't expect him to keep the cap on. It really bleached out his hair, making him seem closer to the old man from the story than he realized. Now if he were just a little pudgier and had a beard, the look would really work.

He caught her staring, the plateful of cookies in her hand. He cringed at the sight, and she couldn't help but laugh. After all this time, Draco knew that she was a decent cook, but a terrible baker.

"Relax," she giggled, setting down the dessert. "I picked these up from Harry's earlier. Ginny really takes after her mom; she's an amazing cook. These ones won't even kill you."

"And they aren't hard like the last batch."

"I could throw one at your shirt and we could test that theory," she teased, stepping towards him. They'd bought a tree for Christmas this year. Last year, her first Christmas out of Azkaban, they spent all their time celebrating amongst friends. She missed the festivities of the year before and the feel of friends close by for the holiday. Last Christmas was dedicated to making up for her failed holiday. This year she had something else to focus on.

"You know," he whispered, brushing back her hair, "the star really pales in comparison to the ring I bought you."

Her gaze drifted down to the new ring on her finger. Sitting on her ring finger, the diamond glowed brighter than any decoration in the room. She shook her head, smirking at him.

"I think you're just using that as an excuse to brag."

"Well you refused a big stone," he whined, glancing down at the ring, "so I made sure I bought the brightest diamond in Britain."

A smile tugged at her lips as she examined the ring a second time. It was nothing over the top, unlike some of Draco's other gifts. It was definitely a ring she wouldn't mind wearing for a lifetime.

She tried to picture herself back in Azkaban, losing hope as her days ticked by. Never would she have expected that she'd be standing beside Draco in a home that they owned, eyeing a Christmas tree while they talked about the engagement ring on her finger. If she started thinking about that in Azkaban, she surely would've thought she was going mad.

"Did the Potter's see?" he asked, grasping her hand. He kissed her cheek, feeling her expression stretch to a grin beneath his lips.

"No, Ginny was running around so much trying to get her son to actually help her that she hardly paid me any attention when I came over. Her back was to me most of the time while we talked, so she could either cook something, or ask Harry why the tree wasn't up yet. I thought maybe we could tell everyone tomorrow."

"You still want to go to Weasley's dinner?"

"Ron's dinner," Hermione whispered, giving him a meaningful look. After all this time, he still hadn't warmed up to her former boyfriend. She wondered if he ever would. "And yes, I would."

"And you really think that's the time to tell them? For all we know this is the announcement of baby number three. Merlin knows how Lavender handles it all."

She grinned, turning to gently slap his shoulder. "She's happy Draco. They just let their lives take off faster than ours."

"They really didn't have that many hardships either, other than Weasley's blunder right before the marriage. We've had a bit more to work through."

"And now we don't have anything. Think about it Draco, the timing is perfect. Even Blaise and Pansy will be there. I can't believe how close of friends she and Lavender became."

He nodded his agreement, reaching down to kiss her hand. "Okay, we'll do it tonight."

And she smiled, standing up on her toes to kiss him on the lips. Drawing back, she straightened the cap on his head, thinking how much could change over time. "Merry Christmas Draco."

"Merry Christmas Hermione."

~FIN~