The apartment was silent except for the quiet drizzle outside on the streets as rain poured into London; she was sitting in a plush chair, a huge book open in her lap. But she wasn’t reading.

Hermione was thinking about her life, playing over memories she hadn’t dusted off in years, and wondering if something was missing.

She’d taken Ron’s advice, and she’d thought about WHY she wanted to help Draco Malfoy. After careful deliberation, she’d come up with no answer. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to die.

She assumed this was because she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to die such a death.

Though, she hadn’t had trouble when Wormtail had suffered the same death a few years before.

And, really, they had both been similarly horrible to her. Maybe Wormtail a bit more so, since he’d sold Harry’s parents to Voldemort and been scumb his entire life. Draco Malfoy had only called her names; he’d never tried to physically hurt any of them.

Still pondering the life force that was Draco Malfoy, Hermione got up to pour herself a cup of tea; she was about to sit back down and go over the protection plan for Hogwarts when there was a knock at the door.

“Hey,” She said, stepping back to allow him through; she’d been expecting him, and wasn’t surprised to see his rain-soaked form on her doorstep.

“Hello,” he replied, inclining his head and stepping over the threshold and into her foyer. “What is it that was so important you couldn’t just owl me?”

Well, he got right to the point; she was glad about that, at least.

Hermione cleared her throat and motioned towards the living room. “Maybe you should sit down.”

Draco raised a curious eyebrow; he didn’t know why she was being so civil, or why she was inviting him to her actual home. Actually, he was shocked she had given him her address at all. One didn’t make it a point to give the enemy their whereabouts when they were off duty. Or on duty, for that matter.

“Why don’t you tell me why I’m here first.” He moved just slightly so she could shut the door.

Wringing her hands, she stood across from him, chewing on her lower lip nervously. “I have a proposal for you.” She tried to sound businesslike and in-charge, but she failed miserably; it was obvious she was worried what his reaction would be.

His mouth curled upwards a little, into something like a smile, she supposed. “I didn’t know you cared, Granger.”

“For God’s sake,” she let out a long breath. “Listen. You gave the Ministry helpful information. We’re prepared to protect you, in return.”

He snorted. “Protect me? How do you think you’re going to do that?”

She had expected this reaction, and was prepared with an answer; little by little she was feeling more at ease in his presence. “Whatever it takes.”

Draco looked doubtful. “I don’t know why you care.”

Instead of giving a normal answer like “I don’t care” or “It’s nothing to do with me personally,” she decided to go the truthful way and just tell it like it was. What did she have to lose, after all?

“I don’t want you to die.”

Clearly, he was surprised by this revelation. His gray eyes widened, his mouth became an ‘O’ rather than a thin line and he tipped his head towards her. “That’s a nice sentiment, Granger, but I’m afraid it’s not up to you whether I die or not.”

“I know that,” she retorted, losing her temper. “Don’t make this any harder on me than it already is. This is about you helping me…I mean, us…and when we get help, we repay---”

He cut her off. “I don’t want you to help me. I’m fine on my own. Have been for years.”

“Don’t be stupid---”

Draco leaned forward menacingly; he was so close, now, that she could feel his breath on her face. She recoiled slightly against the opposite wall, desperately wishing Harry weren’t so late; he had been slated to be there with Hermione when Draco appeared, but he wasn’t there. Instead of being worried about him, Hermione was furious.

“Just keep out of it,” he hissed. “This isn’t your business.”

“I’ve made it my business!” She snapped back, straightening up so fast that she knocked into his chin; he fell backwards against the other wall, swearing.

Draco sneered at her as he pulled himself up. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“It does now.” Huffing out a breath, she spun on her heal and stalked to the kitchen.

He would have left, but he had questions he wanted answered; he was confused, and tired, and didn’t know what the hell was going on here. She hated him as far as he knew, and vise versa, but why was she trying to keep him alive.

“If you want more information,” he called, bursting into the kitchen and startling her; she leaned against the counter, trying to look calm. “I’ll give you more information.”

“It’s not about that,” she waved her hand, pushing the statement away.

“What IS it about, then?” He requested, baring his teeth and suddenly feeling like he was about to lose control. How dare she attempt to be the bigger person and care about him all of a sudden. He hadn’t okayed this.

Hermione sighed, pushing hair out of her face; she motioned for him to sit. “Would you sit? Please?”

Reluctantly, and with a lot of mumbling under his breath, Draco pulled a chair out and plopped his tall frame into the seat, letting his legs spill out from under the table. He had gotten much taller, as well, much to Hermione’s surprise. And, without realizing she was doing it, she was noticing that his hair was no longer slicked back, but hanging loosely about his face (in quite a becoming way) and he was wearing all black, which worked for his pale skin.

She shook her head free of these thoughts and sat down across from him; she took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. He stared back, looking more bored than annoyed.

“I don’t feel you should be killed just for wanting to denounce the Dark Lord; it’s a very unfair, and terribly barbaric, practice. They‘re foolish for thinking the way they do. It’s the only answer when someone wants out, or when someone betrays them. And maybe some people deserve what they get.” Draco’s eyes widened at this. “But I don’t think you do.”

He leaned against the table. “You don’t know me.”

This didn’t trouble her in the least. “I know that,” she answered quietly, looking down at her hands. “But you’ve never done anything to me. I’d like to try and help you. If you successfully denounce, and then continue to live…well…”

“What,” he prodded, not bothering to keep the anger from his voice.

“You could lead a regular life. You’re a git, yes, but I believe people deserve second chances. I think you could have a really good second go around in life, if you want the truth.”

“You think I’m going to become Potter once I’ve gotten free of my father?” Draco snarled, sitting back in his seat, his palms placed face down on the table as if he had to grip them so he wouldn’t slap her.

“No, of course not,” she replied, looking up; her eyes were serious, yet worried, and he felt himself calm down.

“Good, because we don’t need another Do-Goody Hero.”

Hermione laughed derisively. “No, why would we want that?”

Draco ignored her sarcasm, and looked around the kitchen. “I don’t want your help,” he said after a moment; his voice was quiet, reserved, even a bit sad.

“I didn’t think you would,” she stated truthfully, watching him closely. “But I offered it nonetheless.”

He nodded very slightly, and looked up at her, his eyes emotionless. “I’ll take what comes at me, Granger. I may not want to be the next Satan Spawn, but I don’t want to be on the good side, either. I’d rather be out of it altogether.”

“There’s more than just good and evil, you know. It’s not cut like that. Good people can have a bit of evil, and vise versa.”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me. I don’t need that. I already know what’s wrong with me.”

She opened her mouth to ask what that was exactly, but shut it again. It wasn’t any of her business.

“I’m not going to make you go into hiding, but I wish you’d think about it.”

Draco shook his head, looking at her like she was something he’d never quite seen before. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

The corners of her lips turned upwards. “I don’t know either, actually.”