A/N: Hello, everyone! Apologies for the delay. Writer's block hit me hard before this chapter finally happened, so I'm dedicating this to my unwavering friend and sounding board Arielle, without whom I would have veered far off track.

Also, thank you to everyone who left such kind reviews! Virtual hugs and kisses to you all!

Chapter 10

In which Hermione bites off more than she can chew

Hermione dug the heels of her palms into her eyesockets, willing her migraine away. Her head was swimming and her gut was roiling uncomfortably, so much so that she was vaguely worried that her lunch would reappear and ruin her living room carpet. She took a deep breath, then ten more, trying to calm down enough to speak—but even then every breath only served to send a jarring pulse of pain through to her temple.

When she finally did calm down, though not nearly enough, she could barely hear herself over the hammering of her own heart.

"C-could you say that again? Except this time, do try to make sense."

Draco, who was sitting in her favorite armchair, sighed resignedly and ran a hand through his white-blond hair. He still felt out of sorts coming from his intimate conversation with Blaise just a few hours prior, and despite looking his usual perfectly-coiffed and impassive self, the last thing he wanted was to be around the object of his startling and disorienting new affliction…er, affections. Somehow, giving voice to his feelings to Blaise had made them so much more real, and he wasn't sure how to handle them. If he even should, given their current plan of action.

He would have honestly preferred to head to Pansy's flat with them to get Franny settled in, but the others (rather, Pansy and Blaise) had insisted that he ask her to participate immediately and he, surprisingly, had conceded. Time was, after all, of the essence.

He was completely secure in the knowledge that his father had yet to find out about Franny, but it never hurt to err on the side of caution. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get back to his friends and far away from the disconcerting way Granger looked at him.

He subconsciously tensed the muscles in his shoulders before relaxing them, watching distractedly at the way she worried her pink bottom lip before shaking his head slightly. Correction: the sooner they were able to force Lucius' hand, the sooner he could get out from the cloud he'd been living under since he'd moved back to Britain. Let it be known that above all else, he, Draco Malfoy, was a pragmatist. A self-serving arse, yes, but a practical one.

"I, no, we," he corrected himself, getting a hold of his bearings. "-need you to pose as my girlfriend for the next three months," he reiterated, taking a split second to enjoy the sheer outlandishness of his own statement. He could now officially cross "indecently proposition a woman" off his bucket list.

Against her better judgment, Hermione laughed; a sound that was so shrill and jarring in the awkward silence between them that Draco winced. She realized she didn't care, and it served him right to be in as much pain as she was for having the gall to walk into her apartment with such a ludicrous proposition. As if the madness at the gala the previous night hadn't been enough!

"Next you'll tell me that Franny and Ron need to have a fake engagement. Should I pencil their wedding date into my planner?" she snapped.

Rather than the smirk she fully expected to find, his face was a study in disinterest. "We were just having a little fun," he deadpanned, as though their conduct were perfectly excusable.

She stared at him incredulously. "So you were in on that ridiculous charade? And here I thought you'd actually changed. You're still as petty and manipulative as you were in school. It's a ploy right out of the Slytherin playbook," she rambled, and her breath caught in her throat the second she met his eyes.

He was regarding her with a blank look that anyone who actually knew him would recognize as one more dangerous than his glare. It was rare, and only ever happened when he had been caught so off guard and gotten so royally pissed off that his brain actually blanked out and spent the next split-seconds calculating the next move.

Not, of course, that Hermione paid any more attention to him in school than had been required, and thus wasn't privy to just how hard the man across from her was working to temper his emotions. She didn't know that his patience was already worn thin by her lousy attempt to redirect the conversation, and now she was shoving him into a pigeonhole simply to reaffirm her own prejudice. No, she wasn't aware of any of this, and yet she had known that her careless remark had sent the man across from her into a dark mood.

Bloody hypocrites, the lot of you, Draco lamented mentally. So sodding good to the rest of the world, yet so dysfunctional in real life. He frowned. She and Weasley were a better match than he had initially thought.

To him, it was ridiculous that reducing someone to their weakest point in life was more comfortable than the idea that a couple could be so secure in their relationship that they didn't mind when the other flirted. Draco was sure that a part of Fran had been attracted to the Weasel, had even told him that she was going to go have some fun—just as sure as he was that Franny had an inkling about his attraction to Granger. They had just let each other be, knowing who it was they'd be coming home to.

But of course the woman knew just what to say to push his buttons. That he was enamored with her didn't matter a whit when he found himself this angry—and not even at the insult; he was upset on principle alone that he was getting reprimanded with flawed logic. He hadn't gone through his own personal version of hell to have anyone debase him and force him back into the box he had fought tooth and nail out of. Draco was a Slytherin, yes, in school. How could anyone move forward when the figureheads of the new regime themselves couldn't even let go of their adolescent biases? He had worked too hard to be reduced to the boy he had been, especially to the only person who had actually seen and experienced the changes firsthand. The thought grated at him, his fists clenching and unclenching subconsciously as he considered his next move.

Finally, he willed himself out of the tunnel of rage he found himself in for the second time that day. When he spoke, his voice didn't falter.

"What would you have me say?" he began carefully, tone tight. "That we apologize for having a little bit of fun at someone's expense? That schoolyard bullying was so satisfying that we had to find ways to perpetuate that kind of negativity into our adult lives? Would that excuse please you, Granger?"

When she didn't respond, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his tented fingers in one graceful, almost feline movement, simultaneously shifting his perch to the edge of the chair to close the distance between them. Outwardly, he seemed placid, but inside he was still vibrating with anger.

On anyone else, the position would have seemed merely pensive; on Draco Malfoy, it was positively threatening for the speed with which the invasion into her personal space was made. For the first time in weeks, Hermione remembered that he had been a Death Eater in Voldemort's inner circle despite his youth, and was therefore still dangerous. She unconsciously retreated, regretting her words, now all too aware of the mere inches that now separated their bodies. She moved over a seat and leaned back into the couch cushions. The movement caused the hint of a smirk to pull at Draco's lips. The distance was necessary; she could almost feel the reigned-in rage coming off him like body heat.

His next words were saccharine—meant to bait and yet still goosebumps rose on her arms at the coldness they were delivered with.

"Need I remind you, dear, sweet Granger, that change is inevitable—even when it makes you uncomfortable. Even when you refuse to acknowledge it. If I were anything like they boy I'd been at Hogwarts, I would have Imperioused you the second you opened the door and erased your memories afterwards. How much I would erase, I can't say. I could have left you unable to remember how to tie your shoes, let alone how to swallow your own spit. I would not have hesitated, nor would I have regretted taking your free will from you. Would you have preferred that?" He raised an eyebrow at her, making her gulp.

"While I am repentant of my actions in the war," he continued, "it does not change what they made me. If you prefer to hold me to my past for your own comfort, I will do nothing to dissuade you. I will not save you from that fate and the lack of personal growth that comes with it—though it is a pity that someone as bright as you could be so narrow-minded. Unlike your precious Potty and Weasel, I was never a hero, nor do I have it in me to be one. Beyond the charity I extend to those who not just require but deserve it, I am not so holier-than-thou that I can claim absolution or goodness. Unlike you, I acknowledge the necessity of evil—embrace it, even. I know what I am, and I am not a wholly good person." He tilted his head at her, studying her as though she was a particularly disfigured science experiment. "Did you expect anything otherwise?"

Hermione didn't know what to say. There he sat, orphanage-volunteering, Ministry-reforming, muggle-loving Malfoy, and yet he was giving her a lecture on the very thing she had devoted her adult life to: acceptance. For the first time in her life, Hermione didn't have any words to argue with, because she knew that he was right. Her words had been harsh and unfair, and if there was one thing you learned as a wizard, it was the power of words.

And then there it was: expectation. Had she expected him to be anything more than what she knew him as? He had shown her that he was a far cry from the broken, tortured boy he'd been. As much as she was loathe to admit it, the man had a point—one that she had always acknowledged and yet refused to voice for fear of reprisal from her friends.

They were warriors of the Light—to acknowledge the necessity of evil, of cruelty, of balance, would have been their antithesis. What leg did they have to stand on, what excuse for murders and violence, if they were to even think such a thing?

Much like him, Hermione was very much a pragmatist—she had never had the luxury of basing her decisions on something as flimsy as hope, and yet everything he now was had nevertheless sparked it to life. Hope that there was more to the world than what she'd had to hinge her entire belief system on, hope that who you were was a personal decision rather than one that was imposed—one that came with acceptance. Hope that it was alright to be as complex and complicated as she was, instead of being the token muggle-born friend, the problem solver, the one with all the answers, the bookworm extraordinaire.

The key to her own salvation rested with Draco Malfoy somehow, as loathe as she was to admit it.

"I'm sorry," she finally murmured, mustering up the courage to meet his eyes straight on. "For my statement," she clarified at his raised eyebrow. "But I still don't trust you, Malfoy. I still don't know if this is all an act, or if the last four years have actually changed you for the better. Did you really expect me, or anyone for that matter, to just take you on your word?"

The corner of his lips twitched, holding back a sneer. "You do remember that I was acquitted of all charges as a Death Eater?"

"Your mother was placed under Veristaserum, not you," she pointed out.

He leaned back into his seat, seeming to consider the matter before inclining his head towards her. To anyone else, it would have come off as a simple twitch, but Hermione was perceptive enough to know that he was nodding his consent.

"So test me," he stated flatly.

She sputtered, shocked at the sudden turn in his mood. From seething with suppressed rage, he was suddenly…resigned? "What?" she demanded, her jaw dropping.

"Test me, Granger," he repeated, his tone now challenging and slightly amused. "I'm sure Potter has access to Veritaserum as an Auror."

She shook her head, now seriously considering his severe proposition. "No, every batch of Veritaserum is carefully kept under log. It would take weeks to get clearance, and I highly doubt we would get it for, er, personal matters." She cast her gaze to her bookshelf. "We could brew some, but it's a tricky potion and would take a month. Besides," She swung her gaze back to him. "There's no guarantee that you're a skilled enough Occulumens to withstand its effects."

"I don't have weeks." Draco muttered darkly, running a hand raggedly through his hair as he considered their options. "Do you know Legilimency?"

At that, her jaw dropped. How could he so willingly consent to having someone in his head? Was he that confident that he had nothing to hide from her? She flushed, realizing how intimate the offer was while he seemed to understand the implications and not mind at all! It would change their dynamic forever. "N-no," she finally admitted.

He sighed. "Get up, then." At her questioning look, he finally let out the sneer he'd been holding back. "A pensieve, Granger. I have one in the Brighton estate. I can Side-Along Apparate us there. And don't look at me like that. You're the one who asked for this." He rose from his chair and held his elbow out for her to take. "Come on." He tapped his foot impatiently. "We don't have all day."

Hermione stared at him, wondering if it were all truly necessary. She had been the one to question him, yes, but now that he was so willingly offering her the truth, her curiosity won out against her better judgment and stood, taking his arm. There was a way that Draco Malfoy had managed to save himself, and she was damned if she wasn't going to figure it out for herself.

There was a whirl of color and an uncomfortable pull around her navel, and they apparated away.

"So," Blaise said, unshrinking the last of Franny's boxes and settling on the couch of Pansy's penthouse apartment. The place was barely furnished, but the floor-to-ceiling windows let in a lot of light, revealing it to at least be dust-free. It was by no means homey, but it would do.

Pansy had bid them goodbye after showing them around, begging off on the excuse that an emergency at work had come up and she had to go into the office to deal with it, leaving Blaise to help the muggle girl get settled. At the moment, Franny was kneeling on the floor in front of him, pulling out muggle contraptions that he recognized as cameras and machines for developing photos.

"Are you hungry? Would you like me to go out and get you anything?"

Franny shook her head, frowning at the boxes that surrounded her. She hadn't liked having to be uprooted just when she was finally starting to feel at home, but she was adaptable enough not to complain. At least this place doesn't echo, she thought with a grimace, and consoled herself with the fact that there was a gym housed within the complex to help her stay on her exercise regime. "I'm fine, thanks. Are you hungry? The fridge is stocked. I'm sure I could make you something, but don't count on it being more than a sandwich."

Blaise chuckled. "Tempting, but I'm not hungry. Are you sure I can't be of any more assistance?"

She waved a dismissive hand at him before sighing resignedly and shutting the now-empty box. She had gotten permission from Pansy to turn the bath in the guestroom into a darkroom, but she was quite sure that the witch hadn't realized the stink of developer that she was agreeing to. She shrugged off the thought and figured she'd just air out the room when she could and rose, knees cracking, to settle across from him on an armchair, their orientation startling similar to the one Draco and Hermione had found themselves in across the city. She tucked her knees under her and rested a hand on her chin, looking at the dark-skinned man expectantly.

He raised an eyebrow at her expression, a smirk curling at his lips.

"Well? Get on with it."

"With what, dear?"

"Your interrogation," she grinned. Blaise looked startled for a split second before resuming his knowing smirk. "You're D's best friend," she said by way of explanation. "So get on with the part where you make me jump through hoops and make me prove myself worthy of him."

Blaise cleared his throat, unable to hide the excitement in his eyes. He was surprised by her forwardness, but he wasn't one to overlook an opportunity. Her willingness to be put through questioning made it easier for him to cut through the bullshit and get to the heart of the matter.

Back in school, it was no secret that Blaise had never liked any of the girls Draco had dated—save for, he supposed, Pansy herself. Having known him since before he could talk and being born a few months prior, he felt a protectiveness and responsibility for his friend that he'd had to hide behind cool Syltherin indifference. After years and finally free of the unspoken laws that governed his school House, he was more than ready to reclaim his title as official Best Friend. He was more than prepared to discover that he disliked her so that he could advise Draco to cut his losses.

While Blaise had never prescribed to the pureblood propaganda, a wizard of Draco's standing fraternizing with muggle was a stretch and was by no means feasible nor sustainable, especially now that he was back in society. Their society. Either the man was still being a sucker for punishment, or he was letting his other head make his decisions for him. Blaise just wanted to protect Draco from the judgment and snide comments that would inevitably be thrown his way. There was also a very good chance that his association with her would affect the family businesses, as a lot of the movers and shakers in the wizarding world remained to be members of the pureblood elite. A large portion of their kind's wealth rested with them, after all.

Not that the businesses needed any more help. Draco's inheritance from his grandparents alone were enough to ensure comfort for the next three generations of Malfoys—and that was before Narcissa's own Black inheritance was transferred to him at her death.

With Narcissa gone, Merlin rest her soul, it was up to him and Pansy to look out for Draco's well-being.

He waved his wand, casting a non-verbal spell for tea to begin preparing itself in the kitchen. They sat in silence as the water quickly boiled and the accoutrements settled themselves onto a tray before flying out to rest on the coffee table between them. Blaise helped himself to a cuppa.

"All civilized conversation requires tea," he answered to her questioning look.

The girl shook her head and stood up to retrieve something from the master bedroom. She returned a few seconds later with a bottle of whiskey tucked under her arm. Without asking, she tipped a bit into Blaise's tea before tending to her own. "All civilized conversation requires alcohol," she corrected.

He shrugged, hiding his amusement, and took a sip, savoring the taste of the whiskey before setting his cup back down and regarding her with a now-cold stare, all pretenses gone. "What are your intentions with Draco?" No use beating around the bush, he figured.

Franny snorted into her cup before meeting his stare head on. "Well, to shag him senseless, as you Brits would say," she replied, donning a surprisingly accurate accent.

Blaise's expression didn't change. "And once your insatiable appetites have been spent?"

She sighed, and settled her cup next to Blaise's on the table. "The same as you, I guess. Be there for him. Help him have more good days than bad ones. Make him laugh when I can, help shoulder the baggage that he insists on carrying." She rested her chin on her palm, regarding him with a pointed look that caught Blaise off guard. "I'm sure you think that I jumped right into bed with him, but that's not how it happened. We were friends before anything else. I know it sounds cliché and that I sound like I'm full of shit, but I never even looked at him romantically until the first time he kissed me. When I met him, all I saw was someone who needed a friend—someone to talk to. I never crossed that line, never wanted to be anything more. All I ever wanted was to be there for him. I'm not just in love with him, Blaise. How I feel about Draco goes beyond being his girlfriend or his lover. I love him, in every sense of the word that I know."

Blaise schooled his expression into a blank one, thanking his Slytherin upbringing silently for the skill. While he was sure she was telling the truth, it was his job to prod. He didn't have it in him to let someone off the hook so easily. "And what made you change your mind? Did you know about his inheritance?"

At that, Franny laughed. "Our first apartment together was as big as this living room, and that includes the bath. We split rent between us, and I worked three jobs to meet the bills every month. You tell me."

"You expect me to believe that Draco lived in a shoebox for four years?" he challenged.

She shrugged. "We lived there for a year and a half before I got a better job at an art gallery, so we managed to get a bigger place before finally moving to Nam," she explained. "He never complained, so I never knew that he was used to anything, er, more," she finished lamely. When Blaise didn't speak, she thought back to his question.

"As for what made me change my mind. Man, I don't know. He was one of my best friends at that point, but I was scared shitless about getting into a relationship. His issues didn't scare me—heaven knows everyone's damaged in some way. It's just…I know that Draco's not the type to take these things so casually, so I knew that whatever I started with him would be for keeps. There was never any big discussion about what we expected from each other, but I knew that I couldn't go into it without knowing that he was the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I couldn't let him down like that. His life's been full of disappointment one way or the other, and him allowing you in comes with your unspoken guarantee that you will not, would never, betray his trust."

A tense silence stretched between them, both mulling over the double meaning to her words. After a few minutes, Franny finally looked up from staring at her lap to meet his intense stare.

"And is he?" Blaise asked quietly.

"Without a doubt," she answered with no hesitation.

The wizard let out a long breath, attempting to relax and yet never lifting his gaze from her. It was reassuring that the girl had proved to have deep insight into the inner workings of his friend's mind, but despite her declarations of love and devotion, he still found it difficult to believe that anyone would willingly pick up and leave everything they had ever known not just once but twice. Self-preservation may have been a distinctly Slytherin trait, but it was one present in every person.

"Why hinge your entire future on one man—a future that right now is completely up in the air?" he asked, voicing his curiosity. He knew he was being tactless, but he couldn't figure another way to ask at the moment.

Unconsciously, Franny's hand went over her stomach, where her fingers toyed idly with the bottom of her shirt. To Blaise's relief, she didn't seem insulted—merely like she was deciding how much to tell him. "I get these dreams," she explained quietly. "They're different every time, but they're always bad. Most of the time I don't remember them, but the ones that I do all have Draco dying right in front of me, and I can never help him. I don't know why, but they let me see bad things happening to him and protect him the best I can. And I feel like I can continue that. I don't know the future, Blaise, but I know that in every possible universe, he's part of mine. If I were to leave, I would lose that. I would lose my best friend and the best part of me. I know it's selfish and assuming, but if I were to leave, he would lose his best friend, too."

"He has me and Pansy," Blaise offered, for the first time dropping his emotionless mask and regarding her sincerely.

At that, Franny smiled. "Yes, I suppose he always has, hasn't he."

The statement made Blaise flush despite himself. He wasn't used to showing his emotions to anyone apart from Draco, Pansy and his family. He cleared his throat and reached for his cup of tea, downing it in one go.

Franny merely watched him, passing him the bottle of alcohol silently once he was done. He poured himself another drink, this time sans the tea. They sat in silence for a bit, each mulling over what had been said.

"What's the worst thing about him?" Blaise said eventually. This time his tone was playful.

The girl laughed. "Oh, he spends way too much time on his hair."

Blaise snorted quite gracelessly into his drink. "Still? Salazar, that man used to have a mirror that paid him nothing but compliments whenever he stood in front of it."

Franny took the bottle from Blaise and helped herself. "I'm not surprised. There was this one time…"

Hermione and Draco appeared in a long hallway, right in front of circular, carved door. Hermione shuddered involuntarily, still unused to the distinct taste of iron and nausea that Side-Along Apparition always left her with.

"Welcome to Brighton estate," Draco greeted mirthlessly as he released her and walked forward. He pushed the side of the circular door and instead of swinging open down the middle as she had expected, it merely swung round like a revolving door.

Before Hermione could say anything, he stepped through into the dark, cavernous room, leaving her to trail after him apprehensively. He clicked a few switches on a panel to the side of the doorframe and the room was suddenly bathed in light. Electricity, Hermione mused. Wasn't expecting that.

He merely rolled his eyes at her smug expression and flicked a hand towards the curtains, commanding them open. He then strode forward through the room towards the desk that was nestled in its far corner. She followed, watching with surprise as he picked up a nasty looking letter opener and pricked the tip of his index finger. He ignored her gasp of alarm and let a drop of his blood fall into the open mouth of a serpent that had been carved into the façade of the desk. At the offering, the snake became animated, swinging its jaws closed as slithered from the right hand side of the desk towards the middle, positioning its body into a circle before opening its jaws again to eat its own tail.

Hermione recognized the ouroboros, and watched as the wooden surface in the middle of the circle shimmered before revealing the pensieve Draco had told her about.

From what she recalled from Professor Binn's classes, pensieves themselves were exceptionally rare, but she supposed a wizarding family as old as the Malfoy's had one in their extensive collection of artifacts. Even the Ministry itself didn't have one in possession, and given the way that it was hidden—that is, requiring a blood offering, which wasn't always considered Dark Magic, from a member of the family—she wasn't surprised that they had been able to keep it from getting confiscated in the raid on the Manor.

She pulled herself from her thoughts to find Draco with his hand out to her expectantly. At her surprised expression, Draco rolled his eyes again.

"Your wand, Granger. How else are we to get the memories into the pensieve?" he bit out. She hesitated, and he grunted. "If I wanted to hurt you I would have left you to get fried at the perimeter wards. I'm not going to repeat myself."

"No funny business, Malfoy," she warned, passing him her wand.

He ignored her threat and pressed the tip to his temple, pulling out silver, wisp-like strands before depositing them into the pensieve, which then swirled with a riot of color. Without a word, he passed her the wand back, which she tucked safely back into the front pocket of her muggle jeans. He took a step back and sat in the leather wing-backed chair behind the desk.

"Well, Granger?" He motioned to the desk. "Have fun."

She cast him another wary look before moving closer to the desk, considering her options. They had gone this far—it wouldn't do to back down now. She took a deep breath, recalling Harry's stories of using Dumbledore's pensieve, and dove in headfirst into his memories.

Hermione floated blissfully for half a second before gliding down through a sunny, cloud-free sky, feet first, to find herself in the main courtyard of Hogwarts. She smiled, basking in the warm Scottish sky before casting a quick look around to find a younger looking Draco sitting cross-legged under a tree, a book tucked beneath a roll of parchment that he was writing diligently on. It had been easy to spot him thanks to his shock of platinum blond hair, and she had barely walked over to stand next to him before a trio of fifth year Slytherin boys sauntered over to stand imperiously before him.

"Oy, Malfoy," a greasy-haired boy called to him.

The memory Draco barely glanced up at him. "Evander," he greeted flatly.

One of Evander's goons sniggered behind a meaty fist, elbowing their little leader, while another cracked his knuckles. She frowned, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a disapproving stance. She had been out of school a while, but it was clear that they had come over to harass the older boy. She looked at Draco expectantly, wondering why he didn't immediately reach for his wand or walk away, but he simply dipped his quill back into the inkpot on the grass next to him and continued his essay.

Evander looked annoyed by the other boy's lack of interest in him, and nudged Draco's leg with a booted toe, causing him to smudge the sentence he was working on. Still, the wizard didn't pay him any mind and simply reached for his wand to erase the blot.

"You think you're going to get off easy? You were warned not to spend any time in the common room, and yet Parkes over here saw you reading there last night."

Draco hands didn't even pause in their task. He didn't say anything to defend himself. Evander then grabbed the ink pot and poured its contents over the parchment, ruining the foot and a half that had already been written beyond the help of magic. He then waved his wand, causing the leaves hanging overhead to fall on top of the older boy. The younger Slytherins guffawed at the sight.

"That should teach you," Evander hissed menacingly. "That's where you belong, Malfoy. In the dirt and mud, along with the other blood traitors."

The trio spun on their heels and walked off. Draco sat half buried under the leaves for another minute before crumpling his parchment with shaking hands. He brushed himself off, packed up his things and stood, ignoring the stares and laughter from the other students loitering about.

Hermione stared as she watched him walk away, but before she could decide how to feel about the knowledge that Malfoy had gotten bullied at school by his own Housemates, the courtyard around her melted away and she found herself-

…

-at the Malfoy family cemetery, standing behind Draco, who was now dressed in what she recognized as Hogwarts graduation robes. He was kneeling in front of a gravestone, a bouquet of stargazer lilies in his hands.

Narcissa Malfoy, the marker read. Beloved wife, loving mother.

The wizard placed the flowers next to the stone and took out his wand, waving it to change the engraving on the headstone.

Narcissa Black, it now read. Fearless warrior, never forgotten.

He remained kneeling there until the sun set, unmoving, before finally leaning his forehead on the cold stone, his shoulders shaking with sobs. By the way he was crying, it was clear that it was the first time he had cried in a while, and was trying valiantly to restrain himself from the perceived weakness. "Je serai toujours votre fils, maman," he whispered, the tips of his long fingers caressing the cold stone as his other hand balled grass and soil into a fist.

Hermione wasn't fluent in French, but she recognized his words to mean "I will always be your son, mama." He leaned back on his haunches, gripping the length of his wand in mud-stained fists, snapping it in half with a crack that echoed around the empty cemetery. He then took those pieces and snapped them into more halves until his hands were bleeding with splinters. His movements were methodological, almost calm. If it weren't for the tears streaming down his pale face the entire time, he looked like he was simply going through his mail.

Her breath hitched in her chest at the emotional display before her, watching as the broken boy in front of her used wandless magic to dig a hole in the roots of an elder tree next to the grave site. He rose and dumped the pieces of his wand into the hole, using his bare hands to refill it and pat it down.

He returned to the grave, standing in the fading light of the sun. She couldn't see his expression from where she was standing, but she had been too caught up in the scene to consider moving. "Merci pour ce cadeau, maman. Mon sort est maintenant ma propre. Je ne vais pas vous manquer."

"Thank you for this gift, mother. My fate is now my own. I will not fail you," Hermione whispered to herself, translating quickly. The sun had almost completely set before the scene shifted yet again, and suddenly she was-

…

-standing in the soft glow of sunrise next to Draco on a stone balcony overlooking a placid, blue-green ocean. Hermione recognized the view as the same one from postcards her parents had sent her from their vacation in Punta del Este, Uruguay, before noting that the man beside her was dressed in inconspicuous muggle clothes. A closer look at his expression, however, revealed that he wasn't as moved by the beautiful sight before her as she was. Draco scowled, leaning on his elbows as he stared into the seascape. For a few minutes, Hermione merely watched the 18-year-old version of him stand lost in his own thoughts before she decided to explore the room. It was a regular hotel room, as opposed to a suite as she had expected. The bed was still fully made and looked immaculate, his trunk resting shut and fully packed against the foot of the bed, but a marked calendar on the bedside showed that he had been there for the better part of a month. She gasped with surprise as Draco followed her in, passing straight through her, to sit on the bed. He pulled a folio out from the dresser drawer.

She watched as he rummaged through a passport and spread old boarding passes and ship tickets on the mattress. Paris, France; Omsk, Russia; Milan, Italy; Capetown, Africa; Antofagasta, Chile; Buenos Aires, Argentina, she noted, all within weeks of each other. If her timings were correct, she was in a memory five months after he had graduated from Hogwarts.

The Draco in the memory had picked up the phone and was speaking to who she assumed was a travel agent.

"Somewhere busy, with a lot of people," he said into the receiver. "No, maybe not there. Yes, New York sounds fine. For this evening, yes. I don't mind. Mm-hmm. Business class will do. Thank you." He returned the handle to its cradle and looked hopelessly around the room.

With a start, Hermione realized that he was showing her what he had been up to before he had moved to the States. Before she could wonder any further, Draco had begun to speak to himself.

"You're going nutters on your own, mate," he muttered darkly. "What's the point of freedom if you're going to spend every second reliving everything you're trying to get away from." He swept all of his passes up and returned them to the folio before pressing them to his stomach like a queer sort of comfort and lying down to stare at the ceiling. "No more running, you sodding lunatic. You're going to settle down in this next place whether you like it or not."

The hotel room melted away, leaving her-

…

-in a small, dingy alley on a blustery winter night. Her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dim light, especially coming from the sun-bathed room she had been in seconds prior, but they widened at the familiar sound of leather hitting flesh and bones cracking. She spun around to find George Weasley standing over Draco, who was slumped against the wall, clutching his side.

"That was for Hogwarts, you pathetic excuse for a man," George spat before walking back to a noise-filled side door, where Katie Bell was waiting. The door swung shut, leaving them in an eerie quiet.

Hermione moved to Draco, who spat out a mouthful of blood and wiped the back of his hand against his split lip. He didn't react when Hermione pressed a hand to his bruised cheek only to have it glide right through him as though she were a ghost. The sound of rushed footsteps crunching through the gravel and snowy muck alerted them to the presence of someone else in the alley, and they both looked up to see a teenage Franny kneeling over him, her pixie-cut black hair a tousled riot against her pale, pensive face.

She watched as Draco's grey eyes struggled to focus on her, realizing that on top of having been beaten down, he was also piss drunk. His warm, panting breaths escaped as mist in the cold, dark alley.

She reached a hand out and brushed a lock of stray hair away from Draco's forehead, causing him to tense up and then subsequently groan at the pain his fractured ribs were surely causing him. Franny bit her lip.

"Well, pick yourself up. No point wallowing in self-pity. Get up," she demanded, her tone far more authoritative than she looked. "Let's get you to a hospital and home." She straightened up, pulling her jacket down, and looked to the end of the alley, presumably to check if the redhead was going to return. From her defensive stance and the way she was positioned, it was clear that she was shielding Draco from anyone else entering the small space. "Hitting someone while they're down," she mumbled. "Fucking coward."

Draco gave her a wary look, giving her small frame a once over before his features finally melted into one of resignation. "What else do I have to lose," he muttered to himself. Franny didn't hear him, but Hermione did. He made to stand, hissing with pain, and Franny whirled around to help him up. He got up from the floor with a groan and a string of colorful expletives, making the muggle girl's bright green eyes widen with surprise then amusement, before allowing him to lean on her as she supported him out towards the street.

Hermione followed, but halfway down the alley Draco paused. She moved so that she was in front of them. From there, she had a clear view of how close their faces were to each other, with one of Draco's arm around the small girl's shoulders and one of hers encircling his waist.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked. From the look on his face he seemed genuinely confused by her intentions.

Franny leaned back, placing more distance between their faces, and readjusted her hold on him. Setting her eyes back onto the street in front of them, she answered, "Because no one deserves to be friendless on Christmas Eve."

The pair resumed their walk, stepping right through Hermione, who turned around and found her surroundings shifting to-

…

-a bright, noisy room packed with people. Some of the women had tinsel in their hair, and most of the men were wearing party hats that read "Happy New Year!" The music was loud and rowdy, and most of the party-goers looked either drunk or high on something else entirely. They were all well-dressed and good-looking, and Hermione had to search for a bit before finally finding Draco leaning against a wall at the far end of the room, as removed from the festivities as he could get. His hair was now dyed a dark brown, and he was holding a flute of champagne. The wall clock above him read that it was about a half hour until midnight.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," she heard him say. Hermione turned back to find that Franny was now leaning on the wall next to him, smiling amusedly as she pinned a silver serving tray to her side.

"Well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas Eve," she quipped. "You look good with dark hair," she complimented. Draco raised an eyebrow at her, then took in her black skirt and white collared shirt. She ignored his assessing stare, pressing her shoulders into the wall to face the room instead of him. "Having fun?"

"Oh, loads," he answered sarcastically, polishing off his drink.

"You know," she said conversationally. "That blonde in the skin-tight red number has been giving you googly eyes for the last two hours. Why don't you go over there and talk to her?"

Hermione looked around to find that indeed, a gorgeous woman with cascading blond curls was making bedroom eyes at him, occasionally giving Franny a dark look. She grimaced, then turned back to their conversation.

He deposited his flute on a passing server's tray and grabbed two fresh ones. He handed one to her as she nodded at her co-worker. "You make it a habit to stick your nose in everyone's business?" he asked, although there was no malice in his tone, simply curiosity.

"Not really," she answered honestly. "People are more trouble than they're worth." She took a sip of champagne and sighed contentedly. She tilted her face to him, eyeing him. "You really should be out there having fun," she stated.

Draco gave a dry chuckle. "I don't know anyone here. It's kind of difficult to have fun in a room full of strangers."

Franny pushed herself off the wall. "But that's exactly the kind of fun you should be having," she insisted, grinning. "Go on. Live a little." She raised her glass to him, looking at him expectantly.

He regarded her for a few seconds before returning the smile. "Right. Life. That has the unfortunate side effect of having to be lived," he said wryly. He clinked his glass against hers, and they downed the rest of their drinks in unison.

"See you around," he called after her as she took his empty flue and turned to leave.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, flashing him another warm smile. "Go," she mouthed. "Have fun!"

Hermione watched as Draco shook his head with amusement, then turned back to the room. He took another few moments to compose himself before pushing himself off the wall as well and vanishing into the crowd to mingle.

Just as Hermione lost sight of him, the room slowly began shifting to-

…

-a small apartment. Hermione found herself standing in a barely furnished living room, most of them still bearing their protective plastic covers. It was night time and snowing outside. Draco was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, a box of brand new dishes next to him along with a half-empty bottle of expensive scotch.

The apartment was deathly quiet, nothing but the steady ticking of the clock echoing around them.

Draco took a deep swig before reaching for another plate and hurling it at the wall with a resounding crash, making her jump wtih alarm. Hermione recognized the look on his face; sheer and utter hopelessness. He reached back into the box, a mug this time, before leaning forward and repeating the motion with a grunt. Pieces flew in every direction, flying straight through her. Looking dissatisfied, he got up, cradling the box to his side and proceeded to hurl the remaining china in rapid succession at the wall.

By the time the last piece of porcelain hit the ground, he was panting from the effort and looked completely spent. The box fell to the ground, and beside it Draco crumpled, cradling his head in his hands as he sobbed.

The memory didn't last long, and before she could get her bearings she was-

…

-in a doctor's empty waiting room. Draco was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his arms crossed against his chest and frowning at the fern across him. A quick glance around at the plaques on the walls told her that they were at a psychologist's office. His psychologist, presumably.

Exhausted from everything that she'd witnessed so far, Hermione collapsed into the chair next to him, watching as he toyed with a bandage around his left hand. She only got about a half-minute's reprieve, however, as soon the non-descript brown door next to them opened to reveal Franny and a friendly-looking middle-aged man.

"Thank you again for agreeing to continue seeing him, Dr. Althaus," she said. She gave Draco a warning look, and he merely scowled at her.

Dr. Althaus gave Draco a warm, albeit apprehensive smile. "I'm glad to hear that you're still open to resuming therapy with us, Daniel."

"Not willingly," Draco muttered, and Franny gave him a sharp kick to the shin. "Merde, woman!" he hissed at her. She shot him a warning look and inclined her head towards the doctor. Draco sighed, the expression on his face similar to that of a man resigned to his fate, and stood up, his hands shoved into his pockets. "I'll be here tomorrow," he murmured. "The usual time?"

"Nine o'clock sharp," Dr. Althaus said with a smile, reaching forward to shake his hand.

Draco stared at it for a second, seeming to consider his options, before taking it with his good hand and giving him a curt nod. "See you."

"Thank you again, doc." Franny said, waving over her shoulder as she grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him outside.

Hermione jumped into the lift with them just as the doors closed.

"No more meds," Draco warned her quietly as they stood in opposite corners of the elevator, subconsciously as far as they could get from each other as possible.

Franny nodded. "No more yelling at him. He was only trying to help you," she countered.

"Yes, well I never asked for it. Or for you to keep sticking your nose in my bloody business." Draco snapped.

Franny finally turned to face him, hands on her hips. "I don't know how things work over in England, buddy." She poked him in the chest. "But over here being friends means having people in your life even when you don't want them around!"

"Then you can bloody well take your friendship and shove it up your arse!" Draco pushed past her into the lobby. "I never asked for this life, you know. I never wanted any of it," he seethed, pulling on his jacket and stepping out into the spring afternoon.

"You really are nuts if you believe your life to be half as terrible as you think," Franny said quietly, trailing behind him as she struggled to put her jacket on against the brisk spring air. Draco didn't speak to her for the rest of their walk towards a subway station, Hermione struggling to keep pace as the two expertly moved through the busy crowd.

"Why are you still here," Draco asked as they stood on the platform waiting for a train to arrive.

"Because you can't just walk away when things get too inconvenient for you," Franny answered flatly, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. She sniffed. "I don't care how uncomfortable I make you. I'm not giving up, and neither should you. You've made so much progress. You can't walk away just because you had one bad day." He raised an eyebrow at her, and she sniffed again, looking away. "Fine, a seemingly endless series of exceptionally bad days. A bad week, a bad month, a bad fucking life. Happy?" She sneezed.

Draco reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She accepted, blowing her nose into it. He grimaced. "You aren't an inconvenience, you know," he finally stated, staring blankly at the tracks. People jostled around them. "Thanks for being a pain in my arse," he added, so quietly that Hermione could barely hear him.

Franny, on the other hand, seemed to have no problems catching it. She gave a dry laugh. "Consider me your personal tumor."

"That's disgusting,"

"So is your outlook on life." She raised her chin at him defiantly. Hermione quietly applauded the girl's spirit, seeing her own friendships mirrored in her refusal to let someone drown in the aftermath of a war she didn't even understand.

Draco turned away from her, frowning again. "Could you not be so bloody chipper all the damn time?"

"Can't help it," she grinned. "It would throw our team dynamic completely off balance." She side-stepped closer to him, looping her arm around his. "That's what we are, you know. We're a team. I've got your back," she said quietly, pressing her cheek against the fabric of his jacket.

Draco looked down at her, placing an absent-minded kiss on the top of her head. "A team," he murmured against her hair.

The sound of an approaching train roared around them, and Hermione spun around to see bright headlights racing towards here before tumbling through a series of flashbacks-

…

Draco sitting his jacket in the middle of a park, leaning against a tree and reading "Macbeth," oblivious to the world around him-

…

-in a small apartment kitchen, pots and pans simmering and smoking around him as he chopped vegetables and studied a recipe from a French cookbook, jazz tinkling in from the open doorway.

…

-on a subway platform with Franny, dancing ridiculously along with a small crowd in front of a busker playing a hang drum, laughing-

…

-behind the wheel of a car, driving through the interstate in the middle of the night, Franny asleep in the passenger's seat, the windows down as he sang out loud to the radio, his long hair flying around him-

…

-paddling out into the ocean on a surfboard, ducking under a wave and coming up for breath behind it to find Franny already on the line-up, clapping and whopping at his success-

…

-sitting on a cliff face, a thermos in his hands as he watched the sun rise over the ocean-

…

-walking down a sidewalk in the middle of fall, pausing and then doubling back to leave his bag of groceries next to a sleeping homeless person before taking off his own jacket and tucking it around the man-

…

-with Franny sitting on a couch, watching a movie and laughing as they tossed popcorn at each other, trying to catch each kernel in their mouths-

...

-to iceskating at Rockefeller Center as fat snowflakes fell around them in a flurry-

…

-on a couch, a college textbook on physics on his lap as he sipped his tea-

…

-sitting on the front steps of the Museum of Natural History, a shawarma sandwich in his hand and a can of rootbeer next to him, watching the crowd around him go about their business, oblivious to his attentions-

…

-behind the counter of a soup kitchen, ladling helpings into the waiting bowls of the people in line, pushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead-

…

-to waking up with a start on a couch, sweating buckets, his eyes wild as they darted around the apartment. Franny emerged from a doorway, dressed in pajamas, a look of worry etched in her face as she strode across the room and enveloped him in a fierce hug, murmuring reassurances into his shoulder as she massaged his back. Draco slumped into her arms, panting, gripping the back of her shirt desperately.

"My fault," he murmured. "All my fault."

"Shh," Franny hushed. "It's okay now. It was just a dream, D. You're okay now. You're okay."

Their whispers faded around Hermione as the scene spun again and she was-

…

-standing in front of his apartment windows next to him. He had a mug of coffee in his hands as he watched rain pouring outside, his eyes as grey as the city outside-

…

-with Franny again, laughing as they ran through the Coney Island Boardwalk in the middle of a bright summer afternoon, stopping to massage the stitches in their sides. Hermione ran after them, watching as they ducked into a photobooth and emerged a few seconds later, wiping tears from their eyes as they continued to roughhouse-

…

-sitting at a diner, "H is for Hawk" open in front of him as he watched a family and their little boy laugh and tease each other over their meal. He called the waitress over, whispering something in her ear before passing her a couple of bills and packing his things to leave-

…

-at a skatepark, jumping off his board and sitting on the ledge of a pool as people skated around him, the contentment evident on his face-

…

And suddenly, Hermione was stumbling out of the pensieve and out of his memories, landing with a hard thunk onto her butt, graceless sprawled on the floor of his library. She gave a loud oomph, pressing a hand to her chest as she tried to get her bearings.

Draco was still sitting on his chair, looking amused at her graceless exit. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Have fun in my head, Granger?"

She scowled at him as propped her weight against the side of the desk to pick herself back up, needing something stable to keep her spinning head from throwing her back off balance. "That was it? But you didn't show me anything!"

He tutted. "Now, now, love. If that was nothing then you weren't really paying attention."

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated for reasons that she couldn't explain. "You just showed me flashes of your life!" She collapsed into one of the antique chairs in front of the desk. "That was…that wasn't showing me how you've changed! That was just showing me how you spent your time in the muggle world! There was no big event that made you different, there was no secret to how you got over everything that happened!" she said bitterly.

"You wanted to see how the last four years changed me, didn't you?" he countered, impossibly calm in contrast to her frustration. "That was precisely what I showed you."

"No!" she yelled angrily, feeling cheated. "No," she repeated, lowering her tone and willing herself to calm down, clenching her fists into the fabric of her trousers. "You were supposed to show me what changed you, how you went from being a Death Eater to…to…"

"To someone who isn't who you expected," he finished for her, his tone flat. "I don't know what you expected, Granger. That was it. That was how I, as you so aptly put it, 'got over it'."

"But you just…you just lived." Hermione finally looked up to meet his eyes, desperately searching his face for a way to make sense of it all. She didn't understand, couldn't wrap her head around the fact that it hadn't been Franny or some big event that had changed the man sitting in front of her. He had spent his last four years much in the same way she had—except he had come out whole as compared to the tightly wound mess she considered herself on most days. How? How was that possible?

Draco seemed to read her mind as he walked around the desk and leaned against it, arms crossed as he regarded her. "There was no trick to it, Granger. I lived. I showed you everything I could. That was my life and how I want it to continue for the foreseeable future."

She gave an exasperated cry, her headache back in full force. "Give me time to think about this," she mumbled, cradling her head in her hands. After a few moments, she looked up to find that he was crouching in front of her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm. She watched him warily.

"I'm sorry, but we don't have the luxury of time. I know that it must have been a lot to take in and a lot to wrap your head around," he said kindly. "But I need to know if you're going to help me. If you're going to help us. I need to protect her, Granger. Wouldn't you do the same if you were in my position? If you had to keep Potter or Weasley safe?"

She leaned back into the chair, uncomfortable with his proximity and the warmth that was spreading through her at his touch. "That's low, Malfoy, and you know it."

He smirked, seemingly unperturbed by her pulling away from him. "Alright," he conceded. "So I'm not above a little manipulation to get what I want."

She scowled at him, but she knew it was nowhere near half as vicious as she wanted it to be. "Three months, you said?" she finally prompted. While she would need the next week to properly process everything that had happened, she knew that she couldn't stand idly by if someone was being threatened.

He nodded, looking at her solemnly. "Three months. No funny business, as you said."

With one last guarded look at him, she finally nodded. "Alright, Malfoy. You've got yourself a girlfriend."

A/N: So what did you guys think? I had to restrain myself with the memories. There's so much more of that part that I want to tell, but I wanted to stick to the important parts, the little things that helped him. I'm considering writing a series of one-shots from Draco's time in the muggle world as a separate fic, so please let me know if any of you would be interested in reading something like that!

Also, not sure if the French I used was correct. I used Google Translate so I'm sure it sounds stiff, but it was the best I could do.

As always, please leave me a review and let me know how I'm doing! Thank you all! Til the next chapter!