A/N: This is my first fanfic, so let me know how I'm doing! Read and Review!

Dsiclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the wonderful JK Rowling does. However, the original plot and original characters are my own

Happy Reading

Chapter 1:

Hermione Granger's eyes fluttered open. She awoke staring at the blank ceiling of her apartment. It had only been three months since the final battle, and constant activity had not yet died down. Reflecting on the war, she realized that it marked the beginning of their lives rather than the end. The Golden Trio had spent so long – practically all of their lives – fighting Voldemort and expecting that they would eventually die or worse, fail. Now that they had succeeded, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were unsure how to move on and rebuild their new lives.

She thought of those around her. The Order had become famous, with Kingsley Shacklebolt becoming the new Minister of Magic. All Order members now held some kind of high position in the Ministry, and most in Kingsley's their augmented power and success, not only did all witches and wizards know about the Order of the Phoenix, but they wanted to be a part of it as well. Since the day Voldemort fell, all Order members, specifically Harry, Ron, and Hermione were constantly followed by fans and the media. Thank goodness Hermione had gotten rid of Rita Skeeter in their 4th year at Hogwarts.

There was never a quiet moment for her anymore; only the following of what seemed to be a million flashbulbs. Harry had the worst of it. He was always followed and had recently taken to wearing his invisibility cloak wherever he went. He had gotten sick of always appearing on the front page of the Daily Prophet. They used every little thing Harry did as a headline. When Harry and Ginny were photographed walking together with angered faces one day, the headline appeared as 'War Couple Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley Over!'. They scrutinized everything he did and Harry hated it. Harry was also the busiest after the war. When he was not at the Ministry testifying against Death Eaters, he was being interviewed, releasing statements, and of recently heading the Order of the Phoenix. Naturally, he had been given a post at the Ministry of Magic, working in Magical Law Enforcement and close to the Minister of Magic himself. She never saw her best friend anymore. She envied Ginny, Harry's official girlfriend since the war. Ginny was madly in love with Harry and tried to be there for him when she could, but even she saw little of the famous wizard. Harry always left early and came home late. However, the couple had an understanding, and Ginny would patiently wait for him every night, knowing that he would always return to her.

Hermione shifted her gaze to the left and look at the redhead snoring beside her. They had been together ever since his lustful declaration of love for her after the war, and their relationship since had been very fast-paced. But the honeymoon period was starting to wear off. They already knew so much about each other that talking often led to the petty arguments like they had had in school. She had also been dealing with his immaturity and love for media for the past three months; it was starting to wear on her. Whenever they went out he would always stop for photo opportunities, placing a slobbery kiss on her lips as the cameras flashed away. The next day Ron would gleam at the new headline and their picture on the front-page as though the media's gossip was a great achievement. Ron was desperate for the papers' attention and Hermione was adamant to escape it. They had been in countless quarrels over Ron's obsession with the media, usually ending in Ron going home to the Burrow for a night.

"You know how much I hate it!" She would tell him with a pained expression. He would look and her and hold up the paper for her once more.

"'Mione, I can't help this stuff. It just happens! Plus, it's not like with Harry and Ginny, they never say bad stuff about us." His gaze would return to the paper, skimming over his success.

Every single argument, Hermione would softly tell Ron, "Can this please be the last time?" and almost every single time, Ron would explode with anger, calling her a hypocrite or a hermit, making fun of her strange and foreign dislike of attention.

Even when he went to the Burrow, Ron would always come back. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that he loved her, and she loved him, but she was starting to doubt if she could really be with Ron in a romantic relationship. She sighed as she looked at his sleeping form: his face was completely relaxed, free of any stress; she liked him this way.

Looking up at the ceiling once more, she thought about her life. Ever since the war, she had become a full-fledged Order member, supporting Harry and his followers in any way that she could. She had declined a position at the Ministry, still wanting some time for herself to heal and move on. However, that did not mean that she did not frequently visit the Ministry. She testified in trials for imprisoned Death Eaters, and supported claims that they had fought for Voldemort and killed members of the Order and those fighting with Harry. She had explained how Rowle and Dolohov had accosted them in the small coffee shop in London; she retold how Scarbior the Snatcher had had the three of them to the Malfoys, which had led to her eventual torture. The work she did was fulfilling, and she felt proud that she had contributed in sending these monsters to the hell of Azkaban, but it was also draining. Spending hours each day around hundreds of Dementors had left her sad and weak. She was beginning to doubt her stardom, and starting to yearn for some peace, quiet, and solidarity. With that thought, she drifted back to sleep.

oooooooooo

Draco Malfoy's attention was directed at the wall behind Kingsley Shacklebolt's head. The walls of the large office were black with magnificent gold mouldings all around the room. Father would like this room, Draco thought to himself. Malfoy paid no attention to Kingsley's deep voice droning off in the background and just kept to his thoughts. He had never actually been in the Minister of Magic's office before, even though his Father had been a respected donor to the institution.

It was a big office with high ceilings, decorated with many pictures and artefacts. His eyes rounded the room, glancing at each picture. There were many of the Order – old and new – many were also with Remus Lupin – his old Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor from third year – and many with Dumbledore. He stared at one picture for an especially long time, clearly taken in the aftermath of the war. It was of Kingsley and Harry deep in conversation. Harry's frown etched into his skin, hair matted to his forehead, and blood mixed with his sweat. Kingsley had a proud, supporting hand on Potter's shoulder, steadying the victorious boy. Hermione Granger stood next to Potter, expression dazed, holding his wrist in a vice grip. Malfoy continued to survey the room when he noticed Harry Potter sitting in a chair in the corner. Saint Potter had aged, he thought. The deep crease of his eyebrows starting to wear beneath his glasses, and the dark circles beneath his emerald eyes clued Draco Malfoy that success had not necessarily been sweet for The Boy Who Lived. His hair was still crazy and unkempt as ever he noticed, as the young man smoothed it down nervously.

"Mr. Malfoy do you understand?" Kingsley said, pulling Malfoy out of his thoughts.

A sheepish smile crept across Draco's face as he was jolted back to reality, ""Erm…Sorry could you repeat that please. I seemed to have drifted into thought."

"Until your trial before the Wizengamot Court for war crimes against the Ministry of Magic and Defenders of the Light, you will be on house arrest at 12 Grimmauld Place, being supervised by members of the Order of the Phoenix," the Minister of Magic repeated.

"Joy," the young Malfoy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You will be escorted there straight from this meeting by Mr. Potter here, who has already devised a schedule of Order Members who will watch you for a duration of one week. Your wand will be in my possession until your trial and ruling, and a small bag of your clothing has been already brought to the house. Now Mr. Malfoy, do I make myself perfectly clear when I say that if there is any reported damage to the residence or any problems with the Order Members, you will await the remaining time until you trial in the depths of Azkaban Prison. Mr. Potter has been generous enough to-"

"I think he understands, Kingsley," Potter interjected for the first time. "Now if you wouldn't mind, I would like to escort Malfoy to the safe house as soon as possible."

"I hope I have made myself clear Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt said standing up behind his large wooden desk.

"Crystal" Draco answered as he followed Potter to the fireplace. He stared at Harry's face as the young wizard bent down to retrieve something Draco could not see. Potter then fastened a charmed chain around the blonde's waist in order to ensure that Malfoy did not escape during travel.

"12 Grimmauld Place!" Potter shouted shouted as he threw the dust into the Minister's fireplace. Gathering Malfoy's chains in his fist, they stepped into the green flames and were gone.

ooooooooooooooo

Hermione was awakened by a soft knock on her bedroom door. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand – 11:47. She paused for a moment to think of what it could be. She stumbledout of bed, sliding on her robe, as the guest knocked again. Ron stirred in bed. He grunted and turned away from the door and Hermione. She opened the door to find Harry with a balled fist about to knock once more.

"Harry! What are you doing here? Is everything alright?" she whispered as she closed her bedroom door behind her small frame.

"Yeah, everything's fine," he answered, "I just dropped off Malfoy at Grimmauld. He's staying there on house arrest until his trial. That's kind of the reason I'm here…" he started.

Hermione's eyes went dark, "Harry, if you want me to testify against him, you know it won't be a problem. That ferret has never ceased to torment me, and I would love to see the look on his smug face when I send him to Azkaban, where he deserves to be!" she said, slightly raising her voice. She was starting to get flustered remembering all the times that the younger Malfoy had evilly smirked at her and called her a Mudblood. She humpfed.

"Hermione, it's not is at Grimmauld Place because I persuaded Kinglsey to let him stay there. Neville is there with him until the end of the week, but I need more Order members supervise him. I would never ask you to do this, I know how much you hated him, but I really have no one else to ask…could you stay with him next week? " Harry started to flinch at the end of his sentence awaiting Hermione's anger.

"I have my conditions." She answered. Harry gaped – that had not been the answer he was anticipating. It sounded as though she was actually considering it. "I am doing this as a favour to you Harry, and if he steps one toe out of line I reserve the right to defend myself." She said.

"Of course. I wouldn't want it any other way! Kingsley warned him about that too, threatened him with Azkaban! From what Neville's reported, he's stayed in his room except to come down and get his food."

Hermione processed what he had just told him, but looked up with a confused stare, "Harry, if Kingsley is threatening him with Azkaban, then why isn't he there already? He's a war criminal who you've wanted to hex since you were 11!"

Harry sputtered, he had not been expecting that question, "I don't know Hermione, some Order Members think that he could help a little before we send him away," he lied, "But this little ferret shouldn't be a problem for the brightest witch of our age!" Harry ended with a smile.

Hermione started to blush but saw straight through his lie, "Oh, stop Harry! I know you're lying. Why isn't he in Azkaban?" Harry looked down at his feet embarrassed; that taught him for attempting to deceive his best friend.

"I just don't think he should be there just yet. I want to give him some time…for observation." He said awkwardly. He knew he owed the truth to Hermione, no matter how uncomfortable he felt about it. He lifted his eyes to look at Hermione deep in thought. Her eyes were narrowed and she had brought her right hand to her face as though she were kissing her knuckles.

"I'll do it because I trust your judgment Harry, " she said finally, turning her attention back to him, "But I'm glad you stopped by, even if it was on a Saturday morning. How have you been doing?" Her face became serious all of the sudden.

"I've been busy, as usual. Kingsley has loaded me with Ministry stuff, and I still have the Order to attend to. But I've been managing. Ginny and I are going on holiday this weekend…to get away for a bit. I need a rest." He answered as he leaned against Hermione's kitchen counter.

"That's great Harry! If anyone deserves a rest it's you!" She smiled at him warmly. She was honestly happy that – for a change – he was finally doing something for himself. "I really don't want to keep you Harry; I know you're busy. Just owl me the details for next week, and I'll be there! Enjoy you trip with Gin. Tell her say hello!" She replied. He grinned back at her. Hermione really did consider Harry her best friend. They understood each other so well.

"Thanks, I knew I could count on you 'Mione. Tell Ron I say hello as well." he as he lifted himself from the counter and started walking towards her fireplace. They hugged goodbye and Harry turned, flooing on to his next appointment. Hermione stood watching the empty fireplace, thinking about how Harry had changed. He was thinner and his skin more pallid, making the scars he had received over the years more apparent. He looked stressed and tired, as though he had not slept well for days. But she knew that this short vacation would be just the thing to bring him back, even if Ginny had forced him into it.

oooooooo

All Draco Malfoy could do was sleep. When he was not sleeping he was staring at the dark, boarded ceiling in his room. When he decided that he would get out of bed, he would pace the circumference of the room, sometimes stopping by the window, or counting how many steps it took to walk around the room or how many boards he stepped on. The rest of the time he was a prisoner to his thoughts.

Malfoy thought about many things. He thought about the war, about the Dark and the Light. He thought of how scared he was during the war, how his heart hurt as he saw his friends and classmates fall on both sides of the fight. He thought about the utter silence after the Dark Lord fell. Potter had just stood there. He remembered his father as his hand has gripped Draco's and he had swayed. He looked at his Dark Mark: it was slowly beginning to fade, though he knew it would never fully disappear. He gently traced the edges of the Mark, not daring to touch it. He remembered the feeling of it burning through his sixth and seventh year. He was glad that it had not burned him for three months now.

He thought about school. He remembered his jokes with Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Blaise. He recalled their late nights roaming the hallways of Hogwarts causing trouble and talking about girls. He thought about his first kiss 2nd year with Pansy Parkinson. He smiled as he remembered the dark purple love bite she left on his pale, inexperienced neck, and how his friends had laughed when they had seen. He remembered his school years quite fondly.

He thought about his family. He thought about the death of his Mother, killed by her own sister Bellatrix. He thought about that a lot. He blamed himself for the death of his mother. She had been looking for him when Bellatrix found her. Bellatrix, the psychotic devil that she was, had assumed she was trying to escape and threw a killing curse straight into her own sister's back. If Draco had not been in the Room of Requirement and fighting on the grounds, Narcissa would have never been looking for her son, and Bellatrix would have never killed her. He remembered the pain that radiated throughout his body as he carried her lifeless corpse. It had been more painful that any of the Cruciatus Curses his father or the Dark Lord could throw at him combined.

He thought about his father, Lucius. How he must be faring in the depths of Azkaban. He too had been shaken by the loss of his wife, but even more so by the loss of his Lord. Lucius had gone mad and completely receded into himself. He had barely said a word to Draco as he was carried off to Azkaban two months earlier. The eldest Malfoy had only mumbled a phrase, with a slight inclination of pitch at the end, as if his father was asking him a question or beckoning his son to join him. It was a sound that Draco had heard countless times throughout his life, "Draco".

ooooooooo

Ron Weasley practically pranced out of the jewellery store on Tuesday afternoon after he had finished at the Ministry of Magic. He eyed the tiny ring in its small box. He was so proud of himself. The ring was a simple one – he knew it would be perfect for Hermione. The goblin-made silver band was thin and shiny, and was covered with small and precious engravings that seemed to bloom over and over again. At the top of the band was a modest but still beautiful diamond stone flanked by two smaller ones. He had really chosen well, hopefully she would be blown off her feet and would answer 'Yes' to his question.

Ron knew he was to marry Hermione. He wasn't sure when he was going to do it – maybe even waiting one or two more months – but he knew he would eventually do it. And hoped – no he knew – that she would say yes.

Their relationship since the war had been a good one in his eyes, plus or minus a few arguments. They had lustfully kissed during the war, and the rest was history. He didn't want to let her go, and she was madly in love with him. He remembered the first time they were intimate. He assumed it had been Hermione's first time, and felt proud that he could welcome her into the lovely world of sex like Lavender had done for him his sixth year. He had never really had many partners in bed, but he considered himself a good partner. He tried to be gentle, placing sweet and short kisses on her neck and mouth. Hermione was a quiet lover, he remarked, she was never loud when they were intimate, she never loved being the centre of attention like he did. But didn't the Muggles have saying like 'Opposites always attract'?

He thought about their lives after the war. They were so much better together. Hermione had bought a flat shortly outside of London, and had completely revamped her image. Ron did not mind, as he quite enjoyed men drooling over his girlfriend whenever they went out. Instead of the boring jumpers and loose jeans she had wore at Hogwarts, Hermione started to sport skinny jeans, fitting shirts, and many more dresses. She had even taken to wearing incredibly high heels. He had moved in with Hermione, shortly after she had bought the apartment, even though he still returned to the Burrow at least three times a week. He had also tried to change himself, getting a hair cut and buying some proper wizarding dress robes. He had even bought himself a dapper Muggle suit.

As he walked through Diagon Alley, he let himself calm slightly. He wanted to be with Hermione for the rest of his life. As they aged together, they would get over each other's imperfections. Like how Hermione always had to work or read something; like she always talked about the war and never about what he wanted to talk about; like how she would scream at him after he kissed her passionately for the cameras. Yes, they would learn to live their lives intertwined. It was their destiny!

He smiled to himself as he reached the apparition point, and spun on the spot back to Hermione's apartment. He reached into his pocket and held the small, little box in his hand; he wasn't going to lose that.

oooooooooo

The days of the week passed rather quickly from Hermione's point of view. She had informed Ron of her assignment on Tuesday, leaving out the detail that she would be babysitting Malfoy. Ron had never liked Draco Malfoy, or any Malfoy for that matter. She assumed that it had something to do with their families' rivalry. She knew that would end badly. It was now Friday, and Harry had owled her the night before, informing her that she needed to be at Grimmauld Place by noon on Sunday. She sat at her small dining table, with her agenda and small bits of parchment, making sure that all her appointments for the week had been taken care of. Just then Ron walked out of her fireplace with a toothy grin plastered across his face. He approached the table, bent down, and gave Hermione a sweet, chaste kiss.

"What was that for?" She questioned with a smile on her face.

"I'm taking you out tonight!" He exclaimed, "Harry and Gin are going on vacation to relax, so I figured why I don't I take you out for a nice relaxing and romantic evening before your week away." He grinned broadly at his plan and awaited Hermione's approval.

"That sounds wonderful Ronald," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his bottom lip.

"Perhaps we can have a small taste of this romantic activity before we leave?" he asked with a wolfish grin and winked at her.

Hermione laughed and lightly slapped his arm, "Ron, I have to work!" she whined as his lips lowered to her neck.

"Fine! I know you'll appreciate tonight." He said squeezing her slightly, "Now finish your work, we're leaving in 45 minutes." He boomed over his shoulder as he stepped into the bathroom, towel in hand. Hermione wondered where all the time had gone, but did not protest. She closed her agenda, sent the last memos, and headed to her bedroom. She changed into a simple floral dress with modest, nude heels. Something she knew Ron would love. 45 minutes flew by and before she knew it, Ron grasped her hand and guided her out the front door onto the sidewalk. Hermione instantly regretted it. Before she could protest, flashbulbs erupted and reporters screamed – asking them their plans, how their relationship was going, and if they had heard from Harry. Ron stopped, still grasping Hermione's hand firmly, to talk to the reporters.

"Everything is going great! We're off to a quiet dinner for two before 'Mione here leaves for a week on business. Harry is fine by the way. He and my sister, Ginny, are away on holiday as well." The reporters shouted even louder. Wanting to know where they were eating, where Harry and Ginny had gone, and if either couple was getting married. Feeding off their excitement, Ron turned to Hermione. "Hopefully soon!" he boomed. Hermione throat went dry as Ron lowered himself on one knee and reached into the pants pocket. The flash of the cameras was deafening. "What do you say Hermione? Will you do me the great honour of being my wife?"

Hermione gasped, "Ronald, I can't do this. Not here."

"What did you say darling?" he answered, reaching for her other hand.

"I said I can't do this." She repeated, taking her hands out of his, pulling herself out of his grasp. His smile faded quickly and was replaced by an immediate reddening of his face and ears.

"What?" he whispered harshly. "I thought you wanted this. I thought you would have said yes!" he was raising his voice. His anger was beginning to become more and more apparent. The reporters were practically foaming at the mouth, flashbulbs starting to blind Hermione.

"Ronald, can we please talk about this inside, away from the media," she pleaded as she tried to lead him back inside. Warm tears were stinging her eyes; she really didn't want to lose her cool. She would not succumb to the infuriating photographers.

"NO! I can't believe you ever do this to me! And in front of the fucking cameras? You're low! You're fucking sick! You…you…you BITCH Hermione!" He screamed at her, shoving her back so that she almost fell onto the steps. And with that, Ron dissapparated on the spot, leaving Hermione sniffling and disoriented in front of hundreds of flashing cameras.