Chapter One: Sides

Draco Malfoy glowered at himself in his bathroom mirror. He fingered at his bleach-blonde hair, mentally deciding to grow it out over the summer. He supposed that he could use a spell to grow it out, but he didn't feel like putting in the effort. Grown out hair would definitely change his image. That's what would kick him into a get-off-your-fucking-ass mode.

But probably not.

He straightened up and smoothed out his robes, made by an up-and-coming robe designer, of course. He didn't even need to wear robes, but the made him feel important. As long as he felt important, he had no reason to try to be anything else.

Draco pulled out his wand and made various menacing poses, looking in the mirror. There was a soft knock on the door and he immediately straightened up, tucking his wand back into his robes.

"Draco?" His mother's voice drifted through the door. She had a nasal voice that grated on your nerves the more you listened to it.

"Yes, mother?" He asked, inspecting his teeth in the mirror. Flawless, of course.

"Are you okay? What are you doing in there?" Her voice was grating down on Draco's patience. After twenty years of listening to it, he could barely stand three-minute conversations with her.

"What do you think?" He asked, rubbing his jaw. He should probably shave soon, but that would require effort. So, he could wait longer. It had only been three days. "What else is there to do in the bathroom?"

"Well, you're taking a while." She sounded annoyed now. Just brilliant. Her voice got even worse when she was annoyed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of using the toilet by myself, Mother."

He heard her high-heeled footsteps clacking away. He sighed in relief and stepped outside, breathing in the clipped and refined smell. Home, sweet home. After standing there for a moment, he wandered to the hall of pictures. After walking past all the boring people in his ancestry, he reached his father. Lucius Malfoy glared down at Draco.

"What are you looking at, Draco?" Lucius snapped.

"What are you glaring down at, Father?"

Lucius scoffed. "Touché. Tell me, why do you always wonder here to talk to me?"

Draco sighed. "Because being by yourself gets tiring after a while."

"You still have your mother."

"Yes, Father, but she gets so tiring after awhile. I honestly wish that she was the one who died and that you survived. At least we have something in common."

Lucius looked down at his son skeptically. "To be honest, son, I wish you took after her more. She has a kinder, gentler heart."

"Yes, father, but a kind and gentle heart didn't get you high in the Ministry or in the Dark Lord's mind. You got where you were because of your cunning and deceitful heart."

Lucius didn't even blink at the comment. "Yeah, son. But it also got me where I am now. Dead."

"Goodbye, Father," Draco said, rolling his eyes, and slinking away. He could tell that his father was in a lecturing mood. He walked through the maze of his house until reaching his desired point. He descended down a stairwell into one of his living rooms. Shit, he thought as he saw his mother waiting expectantly on one of the leather couches. Out of all of the living rooms in the house she had to be in the one he wandered into?

"Draco, we need to talk."

"I'm starving. Where's Matilda?"

Narcissa sighed dramatically. What a diva, he thought to himself. Not that he wasn't rude and demanding; he just liked to think of others badly. "You can't just keep avoiding the subject-"

"I can do whatever the hell I want," He snapped, rolling his eyes. "Now, my question. Where is Matilda? I want a fucking sandwich. I'm starving."

"Language, Draco," His mother sighed, rubbing her temples like he was giving her a headache. "It's unhealthy to just avoid the subject Draco. I've been patient, but-"

"Jesus Christ. I'll just go find the witch myself."

He started to leave, but he was rudely interrupted by his mother's voice. "She quit, Draco."

He turned around. "Huh. She lasted a whole month this time. Why did she quit? Did your annoying voice finally get to her?"

Narcissa rolled her eyes and ignored her son's ungrateful comment. She turned and looked at herself in one of the mirrors, adjusting her dress. "Well, for starters, you are a slob. Seriously, Draco. A toothbrush just randomly floats in your toilet?"

He didn't use his toilet, he used another, so he didn't care about it. He had dropped it in there once, and he hadn't felt like taking it out. Now it was just too gross to get out. "Is that not normal?"

"Draco! That's just gross hygiene."

"You're the one rubbing God-knows-what all over your face. Seriously, why do girls do that? It just makes them look even more pathetic."

"Secondly,you apparently always cussed her out?"

"She would touch my stuff."

"That was her job, Draco. Since your father got rid of our house-elf, we have to hire people to clean and cook everything. That includes your stuff, too."

"She believed that Mudbloods were equal to us," Draco added, raising his chin.

"At least she wasn't one herself. But, in our state, I wouldn't deny a Mudblood from working here," Narcissa added, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at her son. She of all people was the most surprised when her son dropped out of society and never left the manor. "Thirdly, you never leave."

"Never leave what? My clothes in the hamper?"

"You never leave the manor! You always lurk about! You're officially a widow, Draco. It's been three years-"

"Shut up, Mother! Just shut up-"

"Draco! The Dark Lord lost! He's dead! You're father got murdered during the war! Harry Potter won! But, Draco, you got off the hook. You should be living! You should-"

"I should what? Get drunk every night? Rape some sorry prostitutes? Gamble away all of our money-"

"Anything's better than just sitting in your room, staring at the wall or talking to your father's painting. I know you do that, Draco."

Draco's snide comeback was interrupted by another booming voice from the hallway. "What's going on in here?"

"Oh fucking joy. Step-shit's returned. I thought he left for good this time," Draco grumbled.

A tall figure stepped in from the hallway. "Shut your sorry-ass mouth, boy. I own you two, and I'm never gonna leave." Draco rolled his eyes, not pointing out that he did just that at least once a week.

Narcissa winced. "Now isn't a good time, Oliver."

"It's a good time when I say it's a good time, Narcissa!" Oliver boomed, slurring his words together. He was obviously drunk, but that always made him more vicious.

"Looks like this dickhead's gone and gotten himself drunk!" Draco exclaimed, pointing a finger in Oliver's face.

"Draco, language. Please. Oliver, how about you just go lie down."

"I don't want to. I want to beat the shit out of your ungrateful son."

Narcissa put a restraining hand on his chest. "Please, don't-"

"Don't defend the little bastard!" Oliver growled, whipping the back of his hand across Narcissa's face.

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF MY MOTHER!" Draco pulled his wand out and aimed it at Oliver's throat, breathing deeply. He may wish his father was in her place, but no one hurt his mother.

"Draco, go to bed. Just please, go to bed," Narcissa murmured, bringing herself to stand between the two red faced men. When Draco didn't move, she gave him a harsh look. "Draco."

"He'll kill you mother. I swear it, he will kill you someday. And you'll let him. At least Father treated you right." With that, Draco strolled away, feeling the anger pump in his throat. When he made it to his room he slammed the door as hard as he could, but he doubted his mother and her beast of a husband could hear it.

Angrily, he rummaged through his sock drawer, looking intently. He sighed in relief when he found what he wanted.

An old razorblade.

Leaning against the wall, he held his wrists up to his face. They were covered in scars. He shrugged off his robes and shirt, then stood up and looked at himself in a mirror. His chest was covered in scars, too. He found a clear spot on his right wrist and gripped the blade in his left hand. Without hesitancy, he slid the blade across his flesh in practiced grace, exhaling in relief as he felt the burn.

He sat on the floor, closing his eyes and smiling from the high the pain gave him. He never cut deep enough to really cause himself any danger, although he had considered it once or twice. Ever since that terrible night three years ago, he'd slit his skin whenever his mother's husband made him want to kill something. Frankly, he cut himself whenever anything made him want to kill something.

He had a lot of scars and a major anger issue.

But he didn't care. It's not like he left the house to take it out on anyone or anything. Though, he thought it might have been funny to watch their terrified faces.

His stomach grumbled and he remembered the absence of Matilda, and, most importantly, his sandwich. "I DIDN'T GET THE FUCKING SANDWICH," He shouted to no one in particular.

When the expected silence came, he swore under his breath. "Accio Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans," He murmured, smiling greedily when the package flew from under his bed and into his lap. The sting from his cut was still burning, and he had candy. His head buzzed with happiness.

He bit into a jellybean, and then spit it out immediately. "Ash," He murmured to himself. Again he bit into another jellybean, spitting it out. "Soap." The next half hour passed with him biting into the jellybeans and muttering their flavors. He had been doing this almost everyday for the past three years, and he had yet to get the same flavor.

Sighing, he looked at his watch. Five-thirty. Brilliant. Sighing, he climbed into bed, kicking off his shoes. His sleeping pattern had been screwed up for a while, and he found himself falling asleep at various hours in the day. At least this night was closer to normal than usual.

Draco glared at the ceiling, trying not to think of his pathetic life but failing miserably. He wondered what his classmates would think if they knew he had widowed himself into his own manor. Or if they knew he talked to his father's painting to keep himself company. Or if they knew that he had an abusive stepfather that beat his mother.

"Kill me," He muttered to himself, then rolled over in bed, falling into restless sleep.

Hermione Granger scurried around her office, trying to look for a certain piece of parchment. "Where is it?" She muttered to herself, digging through her desk, overturning inkbottles and knocking parchment on the floor. "I know I had it somewhere…."

"Are you looking for this?" A voice from the hallway called. She looked up, spotting Ron in a pair of purple-checkered boxers holding a piece of parchment, wearing a sly grin on his face. She smiled in relief.

"Thank you, Ron." She smiled, walking around her desk and retrieving the paper from him.

"Anything for you," He murmured. Thankfully, she had been putting the parchment in her briefcase and he hadn't seen the repulsion in her face. Ron had been a nice childhood crush, but that's all he would ever be. And, as little as she would like to admit it; she found his company rather dull. Unfortunately, Ron didn't have his own place, so Hermione let him use a spare bedroom, which morphed into making a complete pigsty out of her whole house. Recently, though, it had become obvious that he wanted more than just a spare bedroom and a messy house.

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, she looked at her watch. "I'm going to be late!" She exclaimed, rushing to her chimney. Automatically, she reached to the top right corner of her bookshelf, but found an absence of her floo jar. "Oh no! This can't be happening!" She set her suitcase down and looked around the room. "Ron, where did you put my floo jar? You used it last."

"Well, it was empty," He replied absently.

She turned around facing him, only to find he had been staring at her butt. "Ronald, what happened after it was empty?" She asked agitatedly.

"I refilled it on the kitchen counter."

Hermione scrambled and found the floo jar indeed on the kitchen counter. "Ronald, we have to talk about the cleanliness of my house after I get back."

"You're going to be late. Have a nice day," Ron murmured leaning in. Hermione realized what he was trying to do and turned her head, letting his kiss fall on her cheek.

"Bye, Ron," She called over her shoulder. "The Ministry," She announced, then walked into fireplace. After stumbling into the Ministry chimneys, she scurried toward the elevator.

She saw that she was in luck as the doors opened. "Harry!" She exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him in a friendly bear hug.

"Hello, Hermione," He chuckled, returning her hug graciously. If one thing hadn't changed over the years, it was her sisterly instinct for Harry.

"You're back from America. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I wanted to keep it a surprise," Harry answered sheepishly.

The elevator's voice announced her stop. "Oh, this is me. I'm visiting Kingsley. He says he has a new assignment for me."

"Good luck! We'll catch up later," He called, and she practically ran down the hallway, stopping at the Minister's door.

She softly knocked, then opened the door. Kingsley was leaning back in his chair and watching a basketball game. He was one of the only wizards she knew who was familiar with muggle electronics. He spotted her and smiled. "Hermione," He greeted warmly, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. "Please, sit."

"Good morning, Minister. I hope all is well."

Kingsley laughed. "All is well, now that all that worry of Voldemort returning is gone. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Kingsley?"

Hermione smiled, opening her briefcase. "Sir, I did as you asked, and made a list of all of the known Death Eater families." She handed it to him and nervously watched as he reviewed the list.

"It's smaller than I thought it would be."

Hermione cringed at his obvious disappointment. "Well, see, it's only a list of the known-"

Kingsley chuckled. "I'm aware, Hermione. This is a very good list, and we'll be able to use it and survey the families. Thank you."

Hermione smiled, relieved. "You said something about a new assignment?"

Kinsley nodded. "Ah, yes. We've rounded up all the surviving Death Eaters, and they are where they should be- rotting in cells. All except one."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, confused. "Who is this person?"

"Draco Malfoy."

Hermione groaned heavily. Memories of being bullied and called a Mudblood filled her head, but she quickly shoved them away. "So do you want me to catch him?" She asked, wondering if this was her mission. It would be easy enough. Her Auror training had made her an even better witch and she would be able to overpower him easily.

"No," Kingsley replied, surprising Hermione. "Draco Malfoy has been widowed in his Manor since The War, and has posed no threat."

"You're certainly not saying that you're going to overlook what he has done-"

"Of course not. But, maybe instead of going to Azkaban, he could give us information on the unknown Death Eaters still in hiding."

"I remember Malfoy, sir, and I know that he would rather go to Azkaban then help the Ministry."

"I'm aware. But, let's go, as the muggles call it, undercover." Kinglsey said, chuckling. "We need that information, Hermione, and he's the only one who can give it to us. And, since you pointed out, he won't tell us, then we'll simply have to figure out a way to get it out of him."

"How are we going to get an Auror undercover into the Manor?" Hermione asked, trying to think of an Auror that Malfoy already didn't know.

"There's a job opening at the Manor. It appears that the Malfoy's need a new housemaid."

Hermione nodded. "So, who's going to be the undercover Auror?"

Kingsley smiled in response.

Draco paced aimlessly around his room, looking for something suitable to do. He had already roamed aimlessly around the Manor, talked to his father's painting, and magicked himself a bowl of cereal. Running out of things to do, he stepped in the shower and let the scalding hot water turn his skin red. He rubbed the scars on his wrists and smiled to himself.

After wrapping a towel around his waist, he padded over to his dresser. He pulled out a pair of black slacks and a green dress shirt, laying them out on his bed. He then found his hair gel and ran it through his hair, messing it up skillfully. He then turned back to his laid out clothes. Changing his mind, he pulled out flannel pants and a long sleeved shirt, slipping them on.

That's when he heard the insistent knocking on the door. He waited for a few minutes too see if his mother was going to get the door, but it appeared she wasn't home. Sighing loudly, he walked down a set of stairs and to the front door. He hesitated at the door, wondering how it would feel seeing someone after three years. Would it be someone he knew?

He swung the doors open, and inspected his nails, pretending to not care that a visitor was at his door. "What do you want?" He asked, sounding annoyed on purpose.

"Well, I'm the new housemaid." The voice was familiar, but he didn't look up.

"Brilliant," Draco sighed, looking at the woman on his doorstep. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the bushy haired, brown-eyed complexion of one of his former classmates. His noise wrinkled up, and a whirl of memories clouded his head.

Her?

Hermione stood on the Manor's doorstep, watching Malfoy glare down at her. Maybe he had matured over the past three years.

"You're the new housemaid?"

Hermione sighed. "That's what I said earlier, so yeah."

"Don't get sassy with me, Mudblood. I'm your boss now," Malfoy scoffed.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the insult. Looked like the mature idea was out the window. "Sorry for my attitude, sir," She replied sarcastically. If he wanted her to treat him like a king, she was going to fight him the whole way.

Malfoy moved over, sneering. "Oh, I have a long list of things for you to do." He walked down the hallway, motioning for her to follow him.

Hermione sighed, carrying her enchanted purse with her. "Where's my room?"

"Why do you need it right now?"

"Well, I obviously need to put my stuff in my room so I don't have it in your way. Sir," Hermione said, motioning to her purse.

"Just carry it around all day, I don't care. Now, first things first," Malfoy jeered. "Make me a sandwich."

Hermione followed him to the kitchen, not believing she had to do this. Kingsley thought she was the only one who could convincingly pull off the tactic they were aiming for. Still, it sucked. A lot.

When they reached the kitchen, Hermione spotted an apron hanging in the corner. She walked over and wrapped it around her waist. "What do you want on your sandwich?"

He laughed cruelly. "You look ridiculous in that apron. It's so Mudblood."

"Looks like your maturity level is just as rock-bottom as it was three years ago, Malfoy."

"Turkey, cheese, mustard, tomato, lettuce, onion," Malfoy said, ticking off the ingredients on his fingers. "In that order." Hermione walked to the fridge to retrieve the ingredients. She put the on the counter and started chopping up the tomato. "Aren't you going to wash that?"

"Do you want me to wash them?" Hermione asked, silently praying her cover would be blown so that she could just go home.

"Uh, yeah. Do you think I want dirty vegetables?"

"I think there's plenty dirt in you," She muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," Hermione said, washing the vegetables carefully. "Happy now?"

"Not even remotely, Mudblood."

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued chopping the tomato up, then moved to the onion. It seemed like he called her Mudblood just to say it. She placed a turkey slice on a piece of bread. "How many slices do you want?"

"It'll tell you when." After the fourth slice, Malfoy said, "That's too much." Sighing, Hermione took off a slice. "That's too little."

"It's three or four, Malfoy. Pick one."

"Three and a half."

Rolling her eyes at his immaturity, she ripped the slice in half and threw it on the sandwich forcefully. "Now are you happy?"

"Once I get the fucking sandwich, I'll let you know."

Hermione finished making the sandwich, she shoved it in his face. "Here."

Malfoy took a hesitant bite then shrugged. "It's edible."

Hermione sighed, taking off the apron and placing it where she found it. "Anything else? Sir?" She added sarcastically, taking her bag from where she placed it on a counter.

"I'll let you know when something comes to mind, Granger," He said around his sandwich. Hermione sighed and leaned against the counter. "So, why are you even here?"

Hermione blinked. "Because you said you didn't have anything else for me to do. I'll gladly leave."

"That's not what I meant, dumbass," He scoffed, rolling her eyes as if she had just told him they lived on Mars. "I meant, why do you work here? You used to be nerdy and gross back at Hogwarts. Suddenly, you need a job cleaning up people's crap to scrounge up money? You should be able to get a low job at the Ministry at the very least."

"First off, the 'people's crap' I'll be cleaning up will be you and your mother's crap. I don't have to do a very good job to get paid. Second off, I was not nerdy and gross. I was intelligent, thank you very much," Hermione articulated, flicking a piece of hair behind her shoulder indignantly. She took a deep breath before saying what she had rehearsed the night before. "Finally, after we won the war, I was bombarded by people, asking questions about me, Ron, and Harry. It was so much pressure. I just couldn't handle it. I dropped the idea of becoming an Auror, and just have been searching for jobs to get by. People forgot about me." She shrugged. "This is just another job." In a way, the words she was saying were true. There had been a lot of pressure, but she'd been able to override it.

"That's probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Draco announced, raising an eyebrow. "It's incredibly pathetic, as well. The Mudblood Granger couldn't handle the pressure? Even after I prepared you by making the first six years of your Hogwarts career living hell?"

"You did not make it living hell-"

"What? So I made it a stroll in the park?"

"You were the smudge in the background that I didn't care about. I had friends, family, and something worth fighting for."

"Oh, and what was that?" Malfoy sneered, leaning into her face.

Her vision turned red with rage, and she wanted to throw something. "I had the hopes of millions of people on my side. I had the dreams of children born into Muggle parents who realized that they could be something more than what they were. Most importantly, I had the vengeance of all of the families Voldemort destroyed."

"How pathetic-"

"Call it pathetic all you want, you lowlife, but I know that my cause was way more important than you'll ever be," She snapped, gritting her teeth.

"You're so ridiculous. You think you're insults maim me? I know that the only reason you even fought was to help your insolent friends-"

Hermione whipped her hand across Malfoy's cheek. He stared at her with wide eyes, as he reached up to touch his cheek. "Don't call my friends insolent, Malfoy, or you will regret it."

With that, Hermione stormed out of the room.

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A/N: Hello, Readers. Thanks so much for reading The Help. It's my first fanfiction, and I hope you all enjoyed it. Please review with constructive criticism, critiques, and/or compliments. Thanks again for reading, and I'll get the next chapter up ASAP. :)