Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters presented here and am not making any profit off of this whatsoever.
Title: Weekly Visit
Rated: PG-13
Focus: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger
Word Count: 2,138
Notes: This is not compatible with Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows, as it was written before those were published. Comments and criticism gratefully accepted.
Summary: Draco doesn't like meeting with Hermione once a week, but he does it anyway.

They met like this once a week. It was never the same place twice in a row, though they did revisit the same place once in a while. It wasn't something they were trying to hide. It just happened. Maybe it was leftover effects from the war, or from school, when talking to each other would've been cause for alarm no matter which of their year-mates found them out. Not that they'd done this back then, of course. But if they had, it would've been like that.

He took a long pull of his firewhiskey, enjoying the burning taste as it went down his throat. "So what was it going to be this time, Granger? I think we already covered the 'house-elves have rights too' last week."

"Very amusing, Draco," Hermione sipped elegantly at her own drink, some Muggle concoction no doubt. He'd never bothered to ask. "But we did talk about that last week. Have you thought about it at all?"

Slender shoulders shrugged slightly. "What does it matter? It's not like I have any house-elves any more. Part and parcel of losing everything." Old and thick bitterness filled his voice and he put the bottle back down on the counter. He wasn't going to run through it too fast. He was on a budget. He hated even having to think the word.

"That's not the point. The point is, they have rights, privileges, and desires, just like witches and wizards do." Hermione tapped her fingers for a moment, thoughts almost visibly going through her mind. "You do accept that, don't you?"

The former Slytherin rolled his eyes. "Do I have a choice? They've got one of the blasted things on the Ministry of Magic now! That was something you did, wasn't it?"

"Of course." She was proud of it, of course. She was proud of everything she did, no matter how much of a pain she made of herself to do it. In fact, he was quite certain that the more of a pain she was, the more proud of it she was. It reminded him of himself sometimes.

He took another drink. That wasn't something he wanted to think about right now. "Fine, so, they've got rights. I'm thrilled for them." They also had a lot more freedom, and some of them even more money than he did right now. Wonderful for them. He could crush them all. The Black family had had the right idea on how to deal with house-elves. At least most of them had.

"Now, for this week, I'd like to talk about Muggleborns and their integration into wizarding society."

Draco rolled his eyes, taking a long drink at that one. "Granger, you've been talking about that for as long as I've known you. Don't you ever think about anything else?"

"Yes, I do. I don't think it's anything you'd want to talk about, though."

"What makes you think I want to talk about this?"

She placed the ever-present appointment book she had been carrying in one hand on the counter and stared right into his pale eyes. "Draco, don't you think it's past time you gave up on all those old school day grudges? We're adults now. The war's over, and it's time to rebuild. To start fresh. You can do that, too, not just us."

"That's because you're on the winning side, Granger. You get to do things like that." Draco cast a look around the bar, not really wanting to look at her right now. Her smug certainty that virtually anything could be conquered if you just had the right answer for it really got on his nerves a lot. If that were true, then so much wouldn't have happened. She was living in a dream world.

A dream world that she was working hard to make into a reality, some part of him whispered. What was he doing, on the other hand? Nothing but working himself into an early grave at Eeylops Owl Emporium at Diagon Alley, cleaning up after the inventory. That was really not what he'd thought he'd be doing once he had left school. Then again, he also hadn't expected Lord Voldemort to wind up his career being destroyed beyond all hope of rebirth by Harry 'Scar-head' Potter. It wasn't even as if Potter were all that great.

But that was old territory, and he'd had enough of going over that. What mattered was what had happened, and what it had done to him. The entire Malfoy fortune had been confiscated by the Minister of Magic not long after Lord Voldemort's defeat, once the full extent of his father's involvement had been revealed to the wizarding world at large. That meant after he'd finished school, instead of going to the comfortable and homey mansion he wanted to go to and relaxing with a wild party with the rest of Slytherin House, he'd had to find a new place to live, and a job. A job that didn't involve large amounts of Galleons.

This was all Potter's fault. And Weasley's, for helping him. Any Weasley, he wasn't that particular on which one he blamed. They were all alike, anyway. And of course, Granger had helped out. Not that he could really blame her for doing that, the more he thought about it. She was a Mudblood. Oh, excuse him, a 'Muggleborn'. She didn't know any better.

In fact, the whole reason she had to support Potter and his perfect world was because she was like that. She hadn't been raised in the wizarding world. She didn't know of the grand old traditions that he knew the way he knew how to breathe. These things had existed for centuries and they'd worked just fine. Who did she really think she was, trying to undermine something that went back farther than she could imagine?

Someone who is doing it. That annoying part of himself that he'd done his best to crush out over the years whispered. It was true, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Hermione Granger might've just been an assistant to the Minister of Magic, but there were few people who knew her who didn't know that was a job she would have herself in a few years. She'd probably set a record for the youngest one ever, if at all possible.

A sudden strike to his shoulder got his attention and he glared over at her. "What was that for, Granger?"

"You weren't paying attention. I can leave if you've got something else to do with your time." She started to reach for her appointment book. Before she could move away, he had her wrist held in a light grip. "Was there something you wanted?"

He said a word that tasted of the most bitter fruits. "Sorry."

Hermione blinked slightly, disbelief at what she'd just heard all over her face. He rather liked that look on her. She needed to be startled out of her complacency a little more often. Maybe he should also start accepting some of her offers to join those organizations she had. It wasn't a matter of caring about her 'causes'. It was causing her to look so flabbergasted, so dumbfounded that he enjoyed.

"Excuse me?"

Pale eyes narrowed briefly at her. There was being shocked, and then there was being stupid. He adored causing the former. He wasn't very impressed by the latter. Hanging out with Crabbe and Goyle had given him his fill of that. He couldn't even remember where they were right offhand. They hadn't even been able to get jobs after Hogwarts, even something as menial as his. It was fairly bad when you couldn't get a job sweeping up owl droppings because your grades weren't good enough.

"I said it once. I'm not saying it again. We're not done yet for the week." He settled back, picking his firewhiskey up once again. "So, Mudbloods...Muggleborns..." That word just didn't taste right in his mouth.

"Yes." Hermione resettled herself and nodded, the familiar gleam that came from discussing a favorite topic flaring into her eyes. "In quite a few places still, they're treated without quite the same respect as purebloods or even half-bloods, and too many wizards and witches think that this is perfectly all right. However, if it weren't for marrying those of the non-magical persuasion, or those who are Muggleborn, then there would be no wizards or witches at all left by this point in time."

"I could argue that," Draco retorted quickly. "And even if you were right, it wouldn't matter. There might not be as many of us, but we would be more powerful, and more likely to be organized properly to defend ourselves in the event of Muggle discovery. What could we do now, have a house-elf bat them all away or something?"

Hermione shook her head. "The governments of the world know about our world, remember?" He really didn't like the way she said that. But he also knew she was right. He hated that about her. A lot. "They're simply enspelled not to be able to tell the world in general about us. It's how schools like Hogwarts can function without non-wizarding families having to worry about what to put down for where their children go to school and such things."

"And if we were more organized, with a real leader instead of that...person..." Draco refused to even think the name of the Minister of Magic. "Then we wouldn't have to bother with that at all."

"Why not?"

Draco paused briefly. That hadn't really been something he'd thought about a great deal, really. It had been part of his family's philosophy for as far back as he could remember, and he knew there were reasons for it. Oh, yes. He remembered now. "Because we would run everything. They would have to register with us instead of us with them, and it would be our laws that govern everything."

Funny. He'd never known someone could turn that particular shade of green. It almost looked as if she wanted to throw up. "I think that's enough for this week, Draco." She sounded like a therapist or something. He was almost surprised she hadn't gone into that, working at St. Mungo's. Guess poking into everyone's life is more fun than just one person at a time. That was like her. Nosy in the extreme.

"Leaving already? And we'd really just gotten started." This wasn't the first time this kind of thing had happened, though she usually didn't turn this green at the thought of a world run only by the true pureblooded wizards. Of course he hadn't brought it up all that often.

"I've got things to do." Hermione snapped just a little, snatching her appointment book up a shade too quickly. The edge of the book caught on the cup she'd been using, and dark liquid spilled everywhere as it tipped over, drenching her robes. "Blast it!"

Draco chuckled in amusement; it wasn't as good as some of the hexes he knew, but sometimes something just happening was quite amusing enough. Hermione shot a dirty look at him, that might've scared him if he hadn't seen his father in some of his rare rages, then pulled out her wand and quickly cleaned everything with a flick or two.

"I don't see how you can like the Muggle world when you can do things like that." Draco shook his head, tossing down a couple of Sickles to cover his bill. "You'd have to do it with...I don't know what if you weren't a witch."

"I never said I wasn't proud to be what I am. I just don't think I should have to be ashamed of where I come from."

Draco looked at her slightly, one eyebrow raised. "Funny. That's exactly how I feel."

The two of them stood there for a few moments, just looking each other, then Hermione started away. "I'll let you know when I'm free next week."

"Maybe I'll tell you this time." Draco grinned slightly as he headed for the door. He had no idea why he kept doing this, week after week. Meeting with her, that was. But he knew that he'd do it again next week, and the week after. Maybe part of it was the talking. He knew she wasn't going to change his mind, and he wasn't going to change hers. She would've said it didn't matter, as long as they talked.

He shrugged to himself, casting a look over one shoulder and seeing her heading off in the opposite direction, the familiar far too busy look all around her. Maybe he liked seeing her relax, if only for a little bit. It was kind of amusing to know that she could do that around him, simply because she knew he wasn't going to change his mind.

Yes, he'd be back next week. Somewhere, with her. But for now, there were owl droppings to sweep up. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't what he wanted to do.

But it would kill time until next week.

The End