The Manor. It had been such a central figure in Hermione’s nightmares for so long, and at times she wasn’t sure what was real and what her mind had embellished, or simply repressed to keep her sane. Fenrir alone starred heavily, but Bella… Bella was the stuff of phobias. Knowing that Draco had been there wasn’t new, not at all. But knowing that the other man sincerely felt something about the event, that was something else. Just because purists and the DA members had a common enemy, that didn’t mean a damn thing about any of their other politics. Draco could still hate her for her blood, think Hermione should have died in the last war. She knew that wasn’t the case anymore, not really. Then again, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the man still found her muggleborn status uneasy.
“I know,” Hermione said, not sure what else to say. ‘It’s alright’ wasn’t at all true- Draco had showed cowardice in Hermione’s eyes. It was a fact she would always deal when they spent time together, and Hermione was trying hard not to compare to Draco of that day and the Draco of the manor. Not because it would show a better man, but rather because there were still similarities. He hadn’t shed his entire personality- and he could never shed his history.