Chapter Three

"I guess I can see Legilimency as a Unforgivable, but Occlumency? Why would that be?" he asked.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione sighed. "Has your faith in the government somehow been restored? We never had much experience here with a Ministry that made rational choices. Why would Australia be any different?"

"Ha!" he exclaimed. "Too true! Still, how would anyone know you were Occluding?"

"I think perhaps it's the principle involved, since Occlumency is the flip side of Legilimency." She paused and began sifting through the jam jars on the kitchen table. "Or maybe they're concerned about its use in a trial? I couldn't say. It's a bit of a non-issue for me anyway, since I only need Legilimency for what I'm working on."

"Didn't you already work through all those books on Occlumency and Legilimency a long time ago?" he asked.

"Nope. That was only other kinds of Mental Magic: Memory Charms, Obliviation, and the like. Those were easier to pick up because they were related to other charms work, but Legilimency is another story altogether. I don't really know how much of this I can pick up by just reading the theory. That's why I need a teacher."

"You would willingly seek him out and become his student again?"

"If he lets me."

"You do know you're mad, don't you?"

"He may not have been kind or fair, but there's no denying he's brilliant."

"Well, as long as you know you've gone 'round the twist."

Hermione merely rolled her eyes and stirred milk and honey into her tea.

"Honestly, Hermione, I dunno... I'm not sure how you would track him down, let alone get him to agree to meet with you. Even if you could get him to talk with you once, I don't imagine you could get him to agree to however many hours of work it would be." Harry inattentively sliced a banana, periodically passing pieces to Lily as he continued his conversation with Hermione the next morning over breakfast. "I still haven't been able to have a single conversation with him, although it's been quite a few years since I've tried."

Sunday mornings at Grimmauld Place were slow and easy. There were no demands placed on the day, but the schedule kept there was clearly determined by the regular habits of a couple with small children. Having a lie-in these days meant waking up to the prodding of two toddlers gripping wiggling dragon models in their mitts rather than ringing alarms telling you to get dressed for work, but breakfast was served at the same time every day. The only difference was that of attire: was anyone already in dress robes or were all five Potters still in slippers and pyjamas? This particular morning found Ginny perusing the Daily Prophet between morning tasks, the boys prodding their father's old miniature Hungarian Horntail to try to make their baby sister giggle, and the remaining pair resuming their conversation from the previous night over eggs and toast.

"I thought I'd have my chance after he was released from St. Mungo's, but he left so quickly after he regained consciousness. You were already in Australia then, so I suppose it was four or five months after the last battle. Maybe six... it all blurs together now." Harry looked up at his friend. "Did I really never tell you this?"

She shook her head, realising again just how much she had missed from her friends' lives because of the decisions she had made. She uncapped a jar and started spreading the orange marmalade she had selected on her toast as Harry continued on.

"I sent owl after owl, but they always came back with the letters I attached. I left messages at the closed ward in case he ever returned for treatment, although I still don't know if he ever went back after his release. I suppose I thought he'd be willing to talk with me after the memories he showed me, that maybe he'd even want to talk with me after all that had happened..." Harry's voice trailed off as he tried to remember his thoughts from so many years earlier.

"Right... because he always reacted so well after each time you viewed a memory he had hidden." Her eyes twinkled as she willed herself to keep a straight face. "Had only you caught up with him earlier, Harry, you probably would have been plaiting each other's hair and sharing secrets well into the night."

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes, but his reaction was overshadowed by a spluttering of tea and riotous laughter from Ginny. She dropped the newspaper she had been holding on the table and went after her wand to clean up the mess she had made.

"Pl-pl-plaiting each other's hair!" she stammered out. James and Albus fell silent and stared up at their mother in confusion. Ginny spoke affectionately to her husband. "Do advise him on your conditioner, Harry. Your hair is just lovely to touch." She walked around behind her husband to run her fingers through his black hair, manically splayed as always, and tenderly kissed his temple.

Harry soldiered on in frustration past the chuckling women beside him. "I think I know better now than to invite Snape around for a slumber party! I just wanted..." He hesitated. "Well, I'm not sure what I would have said... asked... I wanted to apologise, perhaps? I hated him for such a long time, but in the end I was wrong about almost everything."

"Maybe also thank him?" Ginny tentatively offered.

"I dunno... something... and then when Albus Severus came along, I tried again. By that point I just wanted... well..." Harry was losing this battle as he tried to put into words the jumble of reactions they all felt after discovering the true alliance of Severus Snape. Despite Dumbledore's constant reassurance that Snape was on their side, despite the number of times Snape had protected them from danger, and despite the fact that Snape had let Harry go untouched as he ran from the Astronomy Tower that terrible night, Dumbledore's death had sealed his fate in their eyes. When they learned of his devotion to Harry's mum and his innocence in the death of their mentor a year later, their world upended itself.

Hermione cleared her throat. "As we're not going to atone for our own sins in this matter today, can we return to the original problem?"

"Final call," Ginny piped up. She wrapped up several cooled plum cakes and placed them in a small box with crayon drawings by James and Al, a handful of letters, and Muggle sweets from the vending machine at the hospital. She then pulled down one of the flaps and scribbled Teddy's name on the outside. "I'll send it off today. Does anyone have anything else to toss in?"

"Did the Aero bars make it in?" Hermione asked.

"Indeed."

"How many plum cakes?" Harry asked. "You know he shares with all the boys in his room."

"Five. One for each of them and two for Teddy. Will that suffice?"

"That sounds wonderful, Ginny," he replied. "I'm sure the young men of Hufflepuff thank you."

"I'm glad it passes muster." She tied off the box with string. "Now then... we were going to return to the original problem, weren't we, Hermione? Which was...?"

"Finding Snape," she stated. "Is there an address where I could reach him now? Where does he work? I could send a message there rather than his home and it would all be much less confrontational."

Harry stared into his tea for a long while, then looked up at the wall.

"Malfoy," he said.

"What?"

"Malfoy," Harry repeated. "Hermione, I know you've tried to keep up with what's happened here since you left, but you don't seem to realise that Snape is not a public figure. He doesn't attend ribbon cuttings or kiss babies to promote the projects of the Ministry or even teach at Hogwarts anymore. The last I heard, he sold his family house, and no one even knows where he lives. No one knows where he works either, although there have been one or two simple restorative potions he's developed for St. Mungo's, so that must be how he supports himself. The last anyone heard of him was when he had a nasty run-in with a reporter from the Prophet at Malfoy's son's christening a few years back."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Malfoy has a child? You're putting me on. Draco Malfoy. Who married him?"

Here Ginny began supplying information with a wicked grin and an affected air. "Why, the elegant and sophisticated Miss Greengrass. Pureblood, of course. And her family was neutral during the war."

"Oh, well I suppose that makes sense," Hermione responded disdainfully. "After all, she was just one of the many, many Slytherin girls we saw throwing themselves at him all seven years at school."

"No, not Daphne. Her younger sister, Astoria. She was in the year behind me. We've run into them a few times at those Ministry fundraisers and have learned to play nice. That is, Astoria and I can maintain a civil conversation while Harry and Malfoy avoid each another like a bad case of Dragon Pox. Their son, Scorpius..." Hermione scoffed, but Ginny just smiled. "I know, I know. The names Malfoys dream up are too much for any child to suffer through. Their son, Scorpius, is about the same age as Al. Just you wait – someday, when he and Lily have run off together and eloped, we'll have to suffer through grandchildren with names like Cassiopeia and Ursa and Pavo."

Harry nearly choked at this. "Don't even joke about that, Gin!" he exclaimed, wordlessly Summoning a glass of water. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Forbidden love makes the heart grow fonder," she replied sportively. "Star-crossed lovers, you know. You had better watch yourself, Harry Capulet."

"Send Malfoy a letter," Harry suggested between gulps of water, pointedly ignoring his wife. "He still owes you for your testimony. Kept him out of Azkaban, didn't it? The Malfoys' only punishment was to make payments to the Ministry and Hogwarts as reparations. I still don't think you'll get anywhere with Snape, but it's the only chance you've got."

Taking Harry's advice, Hermione warily sent one of the Potter's owls with a brief missive to the boy she hadn't seen in over a decade. Requesting a meeting, she kept the message as simple as possible to avoid the risk of saying the wrong thing, offending him, and scaring him off. A few days later, a brusque response arrived at Grimmauld Place via Owl Post. The weighty, velvety scrap of parchment was held together with an elaborate emerald wax seal bearing the Malfoy crest, and the magnificent eagle owl carrying it deigned to allow her to remove the letter with all the condescension she imagined a Malfoy owl could muster.

Granger,

I take lunch on Mondays at Café des Amis. My standing reservation is at noon.

He had given her no address, no directions. He had given her no explicit invitation to join him, but that was evidently what she was supposed to do. She had found the only restaurant in London with that name in the vicinity of Covent Garden, an easy Apparition trip and short walk away from where she was staying with the Potters. Showing up early, she tried to anticipate his arrival and tried to convince herself she wasn't nervous. After giving his name to the maître d', she allowed the man to seat her at a small table along the far wall. Settling into her seat, she checked the time.

11:42. So many things were dependent upon this meeting running smoothly. She hadn't known a Draco Malfoy who could refrain from insulting her and her blood at every available opportunity, but surely he must have changed at least a little. He had switched sides before the end of the war, yes, but he had also been living in the world that war created for eleven years. It wasn't like she expected some warm and fuzzy reconciliation scene between the two of them. She just needed him to secure her access to Snape so that she could convince him to teach her. It was an impossible task and she knew it. She was depending on someone who had always despised her to win the favour of someone who had never liked her. I'm doing this for my parents, Hermione told herself silently, fidgeting with the silver band on her watch. Doing this for my parents.

11:47. The last time she had seen him was in his trial before the Wizengamot following the war. He had been seated beside his mother, who herself was next to his father. She couldn't remember what he had been wearing or exactly what about his behaviour had called it to her attention, but she remembered thinking that he looked more like a tired little boy than a young man down in the circular courtroom. Perhaps it was the dim lighting in the stone room or the way he slumped just slightly in his chair as she described his actions during her visit to Malfoy Manor during the war, how he clearly didn't have any more choice in being there than she did and yet how he tried not to give them away when questioned by dear Aunt Bellatrix. Or perhaps it was the way he avoided looking at her as she testified on his behalf.

She checked again.

11:54. He had chosen a Muggle restaurant. A Muggle restaurant with a name he must have understood in translation. Was it a peace offering, an olive branch? No, she told herself, this is Malfoy's regular lunch spot. This wasn't directed at her. This wasn't directed at her... which meant that Malfoy regularly ate at a Muggle restaurant. What would prompt a Malfoy to venture out of the wizarding world on a regular basis? A desire for anonymity? Or a certain level of disdain for the Leaky Cauldron? Maybe it was a simple preference for French cuisine and a pitiful lack of culinary diversity in Diagon Alley. Whatever the reason, the place had a tasteful and understated elegance. Hermione realized as the tables filled up around her that the reservation he had made was clearly necessary. It was well across town from the entrance to the Ministry, she realized. Wouldn't Malfoy be working his way up in the government? It was significantly closer to another... no, she thought. That can't be.

11:59. She wondered what he looked like now. Harry looked older, she supposed, but it had come on so gradually she didn't notice anything in particular. Ron and Ginny, too. Would Malfoy look suddenly older? Would she look older to him? She glanced down at the second hand on her watch winding its way back around to 10... 11... 12.

12:00. As her gaze snapped up, the chair across from her moved backwards swiftly and tall blond man gripping it took his position across from her.

For several moments, neither spoke.

She surveyed him carefully, taking in his conservative charcoal suit. Muggle attire, surprisingly, and he looked at home in it. His shoulders were broader than she had remembered from their school days, his neck wider, his eyes more somber. He was always trying to appear aloof as a boy and a young man, but it was obvious that he was clothing himself in that detached indifference. It was obvious that he cared very much about the world he was told he ruled and the place he would have above the people in it. This Malfoy was different; the level of artifice was gone, hidden behind an impenetrable mask. As his eyes searched her face, no emotions registered on his.

"Granger."

"Malfoy."

He was what most women would consider handsome, she supposed. What most men would consider intimidating. The point of his chin had softened as he put on muscle mass, and he had mercifully chosen a less... er, eccentric hairstyle than his father. As she studied his features, she could just make out the faint scars above his left ear and across his cheekbones from the collapsing chandelier during her escape from his home in their seventh year.

Her curiosity got the better of her. "I couldn't help but notice that the entrance to St. Mungo's is less than a five-minute walk from here." There was a question in her voice as she made this observation.

"'Yes, hello, Malfoy. How have you been these long years?'" he began. "'French cuisine, Malfoy? I do love a Bordelaise.' 'Malfoy, you look dashing – out of my league, just as I always expected you would be...'"

She paused, slightly startled by his words and unsure of just how to respond. Whatever hope she had for this lunch, she had clearly set her expectations too high. She should have known he couldn't even be civil. She opened her mouth, unsure herself of what was going to come out. Their waiter used their temporary silence to his advantage as he took their orders.

"You're a blunt one, you know that?" he asked, interrupting her empty gesture. "Anyone else would have begun this conversation differently, Granger."

"You'd like me to chat with you as though we're old chums who lunch together on a regular basis?" Unaware of the rising tenor of her voice, her ire was raised by his increasingly bemused expression. "Shall we begin with the warm temperatures this autumn or would you rather I asked to see the latest photograph of your progeny? You know, the last time we..."

"Granger."

She controlled her response this time, taking a few slow breaths as she folded her arms across her chest. I'm doing this for my parents.

"Granger, I didn't mean to upset you," he offered quietly as his mask fell. The corners of his mouth turned up as his cheeks flushed. "Most people lay down inane pleasantries before going in for the kill."

Draco Malfoy apologised to her.

Apologised to her with... well, not warmth exactly, but good humour. She was stunned. She had told herself going into their meeting that she had no expectations for what was going to happen, but that wasn't quite true, since she certainly never expected this. When he hadn't hexed her, insulted her appearance, or mocked her family within the first few moments, she had been pleased. When he had cracked a few jokes, she had been suspicious, but in the moment he softened and apologised, she knew she was the hypocrite. She hated knowing it, knowing she was wrong, knowing that for all her platitudes about overlooking the past and moving forward, she hadn't totally believed in them. Not for him. No, she had been expecting a few hexes at worst and an uncomfortable propriety at best, but this? This was beyond anything she could have hoped for.

"So you were expecting me to attack?" she asked slyly. "I could promise not to hurt you, but you may choose not to believe me. Unless you've improved quite a bit in hand-to-hand combat since third year."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Malfoy! I clocked you and you were..."

He held up a hand, smiling. "If this is ever to work, Granger, we will never speak of that incident again."

"All right, then," she conceded. "You compared my asking you about St. Mungo's to 'going in for the kill'? Why do you think your work there as 'the kill'? Or perhaps you don't work there. I was only making a guess based on proximity."

"'Prelude to a kill,' then. I do work there, running one of the Potions labs. We maintain some of the hospital's supplies and pioneer new research." He narrowed his eyes. "I'll admit it, I was expecting you to pat yourself on the back for pointing me back along the noble path or some such nonsense, double checking to make sure that I'm helping others to make up for the past."

"Well then, would you like me to say that I'm glad to know my testimony served the greater good? I am glad to hear that you're doing well, Malfoy, although that wasn't why I proposed this meeting."

"What do you want, Granger?" His grey eyes bore into her again.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"To what end? You haven't wanted to talk to me in ten years, and you may have noticed that I never casually sent you an owl."

"It would have taken your owl a long while to reach me, Malfoy. I've been living..."

"I know where you've been, Granger," he said abruptly. He then paused and looked around at the man who had reappeared with their dishes. He waited until all of their needs had been attended to and thanked their server before turning back to Hermione. "You're a bloody war heroine. You're also a... a..." He stopped himself, took a deep breath, and tried again."I just wanted a... " Another pause, another slow breath. He finally seemed to have given up on whatever it was he had been trying to say. "I know where you've been," he muttered quietly to himself as he ran his fingertip along the rim of his water glass.

He raised his voice and his eyes to hers. "Now... why did you want to talk to me?"

She countered his question with one of her own. "Why did you agree to meet with me?"

"I think you know why."

"No, I don't."

"Granger, I don't think I'm in a position to refuse you anything. I'm in your debt after everything you did for my family."

"I was afraid of that." She sighed.

He paused. "I thought you said you didn't know why?"

"I suspected." She considered her words carefully. "I don't want you to do anything for me because you feel you have to. I certainly didn't do or say anything with the hope of securing some kind of compulsion from you or your family. If you're willing to start over with me, I'd like to know that you mean it. If you want to help me, I want you to help me freely. If you'd rather sit back and mock my teeth again, I'd rather you do that."

"You're giving me permission?" he asked incredulously.

She nodded, perfectly aware that this was a very bad idea.

"You do realise that it's significantly less fun now that you no longer resemble a beaver?"

"Is that a compliment, Draco Malfoy?" she asked cheekily, one eyebrow raised.

He put up one hand in protest and grinned. "I'm already taken, Granger. Control yourself."

He hesitated again. "Now are you going to finally answer me and let me in on why you wanted to talk to me?"

Now, she thought, I'm going to lose him. When he learns I've been a mercenary at heart. She briefly contemplated lying to him, telling him something that she thought he might like to hear. As she considered her words, she realized that she didn't have a clue what that would be. She didn't know what to say because she didn't know him. She had underestimated him, that she knew, but to what extent? She thought back over all they had gone through, over the ways they had cut each other down and competed with one another. And she saw someone who was willing to talk with her in spite of it all, even if it was prompted by an overblown sense of honour.

She decided to tell him the truth.

She gave him the condensed version about her parents, the failed memory modification, and her studies in Muggle medicine as they enjoyed their meal. She waited patiently as he laughed a bit at the notion that she regularly went into people's brains, and she continued on about her move back to England in order to learn Mental Magic. Topics such as Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and the war were assiduously avoided.

When dozens of moving photographs of a tiny blond boy were produced by his proud father, Hermione seized her opportunity.

"Is it true that his godfather is Professor Snape? Wasn't he yours as well?"

He sized her up as he picked up the bill. "Subtle, Granger. I'm impressed you managed to hold out this long without asking for a way to get in touch with him."

She was ill-prepared to hide her shock. How had he known?

"Legilimency, Granger, Occlumency? Who else were you going to get to teach you? Potter?"

She blanched.

"I may owe you, Granger..."

She looked down, shaking her head emphatically. "No, Malfoy, you don'..."

"Yes, I do," he cut her off. "I may be able to ask him to meet with you. Just remember that while I owe you something, he owes you nothing."

She nodded, gathered her things, and stood up to leave. "You know, Malfoy, I do love a Bordelaise. You picked a fantastic restaurant."

They began walking out of the place together. "Well, I certainly couldn't rely upon your taste, now could I? We all witnessed that unfortunate snogging incident with Weasley."

She stopped and turned to face him, gobsmacked. "Well played, Malfoy. Touché. If only I had possessed my own Time-Turner or some common sense..."

"As for Severus..." he interrupted, and they continued over to the coat check. "I'll see what I can do."

Several weeks later, she had returned to a family dinner with the Potters after meeting with a realtor to look over several properties in central London. A familiar looking eagle owl appeared at the sitting room window. Hermione removed another sealed piece of parchment, allowing James the chance to give a treat to the beautiful creature as she read her letter.

Granger,

Sunday afternoon, 2 pm, October 25th. He agreed to a meeting on neutral ground: Malfoy Manor. Use the Floo.