A/N: So I forgot to put a disclaimer up last time – this is the third time I've posted this story... I haven't got the hang of all this yet :P

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

...and on with the story

Hermione Granger was having a bad hair day. Well, more like a bad everything day. She had been stopped by no less than seven of her colleagues on her way to her office, who all wanted to talk to her about the fact that she was covering the War Tribute edition of the Daily Prophet, and ask her what her plans were, and tell her that she'd better do a good job after last year's issue, and how they were looking forward to seeing it.

She, however, wasn't. Hermione hated this time of year, and the memories it brought back, and pretending to be enthusiastic about covering the year's biggest event was not helping her current situation. Which was the fact that she was late. Damn.

By the time she finally made it to her office, Hermione was so desperately in need of coffee, she thought she might faint. Luckily, her assistant, Susan, had anticipated her plight (which wasn't hard – Hermione was addicted to caffeine) and had taken the liberty of leaving a huge, steaming cup of the stuff on her desk.

"Thank-you," yelled Hermione in the general direction of Susan's desk, taking a large sip and sighing in content.

Susan poked her head around the door and grinned.

"No problem. I figured you'd need it. Boss came down about ten minutes ago, so I told him you were stuck in the loo-"

"Gee, thanks," muttered Hermione.

"-and he gave me these briefs, plus a copy of last years' War Tribute edition – don't roll your eyes, it's useful – and your 12:30 appointment," finished Susan, still beaming, and waving a large bunch of papers, which Hermione grabbed and dumped on her desk. Susan shook her head and turned to go back to her desk.

"Make sure you actually read them," she called over her shoulder as she left.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Susan's back then sighed. She did have a bit of a tendency to overlook some of the briefs that Susan left on her desk, but there were always so many of them. She looked at her desk ruefully then shook her head. She would never get any work done if she procrastinated. She sat down, picked up the first of the papers - a sheet letting her know what she was expected to report at the staff meeting the following afternoon - and, taking a large gulp of coffee, let herself become absorbed in her work.

So absorbed, in fact, that when Susan knocked on her door three hours later, she almost jumped out of her skin. She looked up to see her, grinning as usual, standing in the doorway. Hermione felt a sudden, irrational flash of irritation at Susan. Could the girl never be subdued, unhappy? She dismissed this thought as quickly as it had come. Susan had had her fair share of unhappiness during the War, just like the rest of them. She shouldn't take her bad day out on Susan just because she was perpetually cheerful.

"What's up?" she asked, unable to cover the slight note of somberness that was in her voice. Susan gave her a slightly puzzled look and raised her eyebrows.

"Your 12:30 is here," she replied.

"Nonsense. It's not 12:30 yet..." Hermione's voice trailed off as she glanced down at her watch and saw that it was indeed 12:30. Her eyes flicked from her watch to the still large pile of papers that hadn't looked at yet with a growing sense of horror. She could have sworn that the stack was the same size – bigger, even – as it had been three hours ago. At this rate, she was set to be reading briefs for the rest of her life. She looked back up at Susan.

"Send them in," she said faintly. Susan gave her a look that may have been sympathetic – or may have been indigestion. They tended to look the same on Susan.

"As you wish," she replied.

As Susan turned from the doorway, Hermione wondered vaguely who her 12:30 actually was – unsurprisingly, she hadn't reached that particular brief yet. A politician, perhaps, or some kind of celebrity. Maybe a foreign figure, like the French Minister of Magic. She had it on very good authority that the man was crazy.

Whoever it was that she was expecting, however, it was not Blaise Zabini.

Blaise shook the soot out of his hair and wondered, yet again, if the world was still so paranoid that they couldn't take down the anti-apparition wards that still protected every well known building in Britain. Arriving by floo was just not stylish.

Blaise smirked to himself, reflecting that that was a very Draco-ish thing to say. The two of them definitely needed to get out more, since Blaise appeared to be thinking like his best friend. A cough brought him out of his musings, and he looked up to see Susan Bones staring pleasantly back at him with a twinkle in her eye.

"Bones!" he said with some surprise. "It's been years."

"Yes – the same amount of time it's been since anyone called me 'Bones'", she replied. "I know thirty-seven ways to kill a person, Blaise. Without magic. Call me that again, and I'll use one."

Blaise's eyebrows went up, and he suppressed the slight shiver he felt at Susan's tone, not because it was cold, but because it was the same cheerful voice he remembered from the War.

"Well, Susan, I didn't expect to see you here," he said, as if her words hadn't affected him at all. He smiled charmingly. "I didn't know you worked for Granger."

"With," corrected Susan as she rose and moved over to a door that said "Hermione Granger" on a brass plate, and "World Genius" on a scrap of parchment underneath. Blaise smirked as he recognized the surprisingly neat loops of Harry Potter's handwriting. Susan knocked on the door and poked her head around it without waiting for a reply. He heard Granger say something, and Susan reply, but he tuned them out until Susan turned from the door and said to him, "In you go."

He nodded and stepped through the door as Granger looked up at him. She opened her mouth, then stopped, looking at him in surprise, eyebrows up.

"Granger," he said smiling in a way that had always pissed her off during the War. "Long time no see."

Her eyes narrowed as he sat, uninvited, in the chair across from hers. He smirked as her brown eyes snapped with anger in way that was very familiar. Although, he thought, pausing to look her over, not much else was. Her hair had de-frizzed considerably, and her face was more mature – though whose wasn't, after the War? He shook his head and smirked at her.

"I see you've managed to tame your hair," he drawled at her. Granger's eyes widened for a moment, and then she glared at him and opened her mouth. However, the sharp retort he was expecting never came.

"Suze," she called instead, looking at the door. Blaise twisted slightly so he could see the door.

"Yeah?" said Susan, appearing in the doorway.

Granger gave her look that said explain.

"What? He's your 12:30," said Susan. "It was in the brief." She paused. "You did read the brief, didn't you?"

"What, the one about the catering witch on the fifth floor who thinks pink and silver is a nice theme for the page layout of the War Tribute, or the one about the intern who thinks that today's most pressing issue is the fact that the Weasley twins are taking over the world with their chain of joke shops?"

"I wouldn't say taking over - "

"Shut up, Zabini," snapped Granger.

"I'll take that as a no, then, shall I?" said Susan cheerfully. "Have fun."

Blaise watched with amusement as Susan turned and shut the door behind her, then looked back at Granger, who was shuffling through a large pile of parchment, eyes still snapping, grumbling under her breath.

"Quite a bit of work you've got there, Granger," he smirked.

"You know, Zabini, anyone would think you point out the obvious just hear your own voice," she retorted as she pulled the page she needed from the pile. She scanned it over, and Blaise watched as she frowned and her eyes darkened. Uh-oh, he thought, as she pressed her lips together and looked up at him.

"Zabini, how much did you know about this article?" she asked, her tone light and her face composed. Blaise raised his eyebrow.

"Your hand is twitching," he replied. She narrowed her eyes. Maybe not so composed, thought Blaise.

"Wrong answer," she snapped. "According to this, I'm to accompany you for a week to get a full picture of the work you do, and to better the Wizarding community's understanding of the person who has given so much..." she read from the page. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, but her eyes almost resigned. She massaged her temple with one hand, and all of a sudden she looked exhausted.

A smirk spread across his face.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, Granger."

"Just what I always dreamed of," she muttered sarcastically, but there was no real bite to her tone. She shook her head. "Any one would think I have nothing better to do than to follow you around noting your every move."

"Come on, Granger. Girls would be dying to be in your position," he teased.

"Quite," she replied, pulling out a piece of blank parchment and a quill. She dipped her quill into the ink pot on her desk and looked up at him, eyes almost amiable.

"Tell me about yourself, Zabini."

Hermione had been writing for almost an hour, and her hand was killing her. She had decided that knowing a bit about Zabini would cut back the work for her when she "accompanied" him for a week. What she hadn't known was that his life was so... extensive.

"...and, as you know, I was a bit of a loner at school, so I decided that I should get there a bit more and be – well, me, I suppose," he said, looking thoughtful. Hermione groaned and dropped her head on her desk with a thump.

"Granger? Something wrong?" asked Zabini, and Hermione couldn't quite tell if he was being sincere or not. She chose to glare up at him anyway.

"I think I know enough about you now, Zabini, so let's just work out when I'm going to accompany you," she said tightly. She was this close to exploding, and she really didn't want to give Zabini the satisfaction.

Zabini's smirk fell from his face almost comically as Hermione hauled her enormous diary onto her desk.

"Merlin, Granger! How do you manage that thing?"

"It's a little thing called a feather light charm, Zabini. Aren't you meant to be a wizard? And, you know, use magic?" she asked, amused for the first time that day. He scowled at her.

"Funny, Granger."

"Oh, I thought so," she said, almost cheerful, flipping through pages of her diary. She paused suddenly and frowned. That's odd...

"Suze?" she called, still staring at the page she'd stopped at.

"What's up?" asked the perpetually cheerful girl, appearing in the room.

"Is there a reason why this week is entirely empty?"

Both Susan and Zabini leant forward and looked at the page Hermione was pointing at.

"That's odd," said Susan. "The spell's not meant to work that way."

Hermione gave another of her "explain" looks.

"Erm...well, I don't really understand it myself, but it's basically cleared your week so you have time to follow – I mean, accompany – Blaise."

"What happens to the rest of the appointments?" asked Zabini.

There was a small silence, then Hermione turned the page.

"Shit," muttered Zabini, but Hermione barely heard him. She felt faint, and her head was spinning. There was absolutely no way she could take on that much work, and still organize the War Tribute. She dropped it into her hands in an effort to stop the room from going round and round and round...

Okay, so that obviously wasn't going to work. Shit.

Blaise's mouth hung open as he and Susan stared at Granger's diary. It was full. Literally. He peered closer.

"Hang on," he said. "It says here that you have three people scheduled for 9:00, and two for 9:15. And another at 9:30. How're you going to manage all that?"

Granger gave a little whimper and shook her head, which was still in her hands.

"Shut up, Blaise. Merlin, Mya, I'm sorry!" said Susan, sounding far more serious than usual. She moved around the desk and carefully pulled Granger's hands from her face. "I really didn't think that would happen. Boss just told me about it...maybe I did the spell wrong!"

"Well, I did know you were all trying to get rid of me, but I thought you'd be a bit more inventive than over-exhaustion," she replied morosely. Susan snorted.

"Not funny, sweetie," she said.

"Who said I was being funny?" asked Granger. Susan took one look at her face and shook her head.

"Oh, no, Hermione Granger, not this time! You are going to take a deep breath, which would actually require you to breathe, and then you are going to admit, very calmly and very rationally, that you cannot take on this much work, because you will over-exhaust yourself, and you are going up to tell Boss that right now!" she said vehemently.

Blaise's mouth was open in shock, his eyes flicking between the two women. He'd honestly had no idea that Susan was that strong minded. He'd always thought Hufflepuff's were a bit – well...puffy, really. He watched as Granger's mouth opened, probably with some sharp retort, but before she could say anything, a loud tapping came from the window.

Both women started and looked towards the window.

"Hedwig!" said Granger, leaping up to open it. Potter's snow white owl soared in and landed on the table, looking at the three of them almost haughtily – which was odd, because Potter was many, annoying things, but haughty he was not.

"I swear, that owl is going to start making Harry fetch all the post soon," said Susan, rolling her eyes.

Granger snorted and gave Susan a pointed look as she untied the letter on Hedwig's leg.

"Whose fault is that?" she asked archly. Susan just smirked and shook her head. Blaise watched Granger as her fingers deftly broke the seal on the letter and un-rolled the parchment. He'd always had a thing about hands, and Granger's had particularly fascinated him during the War. They were average in size, but her fingers were longish and slender. Her palms were slightly roughened with scars and burns from days of fighting, and her nails were always short and blunt. She used her hands a lot when she was talking, capturing his attention, though never quite distracting him, since he'd always

had that handy ability of being able to do two things at once – something of a rarity in men.

Like now, he thought, as he flicked his eyes up to study Granger's face as she read her letter. Watching Granger's hands while still keeping some sense of mind. He shook his head – why was he thinking about Granger's hands anyway? – and looked closer at her face as she frowned.

"What's wrong?" asked Susan, her voice laced with concern. Granger just shook her head, glancing up distractedly.

"I've got to go," she said.

"You sure?" Granger nodded as she dropped the letter on the desk, and picked up her bag.

"What about the diary?" said Susan, gesturing it.

"I'll deal with it later," muttered Granger, moving towards the door. "I'll see you next Monday, Zabini," she said over her shoulder as she left the room, "tell Boss I've gone home sick, Suze."

"Sure thing, Mya," murmured Susan to her retreating back.

Blaise stood there for a moment, slightly confused, then turned to Susan.

"Um?" he asked.

Susan was darting her eyes between the door and the letter. When she was sure that Granger was gone, she reached out and plucked up the sheet of parchment. Blaise paused for a moment, deliberating, then moved forward and leaned over her shoulder to read.

Mya –

You'll have gotten it by now, I s'pose. Depressing, isn't it? Nev had to open it for me – couldn't quite bring myself to. Two years. And what have we got to show for it? Bloody nothing.

Can you believe they've asked me to do a speech? Me being a hero and all. Asked them why they didn't ask last year (Nev didn't much like that). Apparently my mental state was still in deliberation. What the hell do they know about that? They're not Healers. I could still be bloody mental. Stupid prats.

It's not as if I'm angry or anything (so your Mum's china is safe). I just wonder. About all these people who think that by getting rid of Voldemort, the world is suddenly a happy, cheerful place with sunshine and rainbows. They should know better. The sun never shines in Britain.

Bet you a galleon Ron'll get here before you (but I don't, cos we all know he will. Did we ever figure out how he manages to do that?).

- Harry

Susan made a sound that was halfway through concern and amusement. Blaise struggled to remember why he hadn't taken his adviser's advice (after all, what was he there for?) and left the invitation for Potter to speak at the tribute Ball 'til next year. The bloke was clearly still mental.

"Poor Harry," murmured Susan.

"'Poor Harry?'" said Blaise. "More like poor Granger if she has to rush of and stop him from topping himself -"

Susan whipped her head around and fixed him with a glare, and Blaise suddenly remembered that she knew thirty-seven ways to kill a person. Without magic.

Maybe he shouldn't have said that.

Hermione appeared in Harry's garden with a soft pop. She took a moment to collect herself and admire the new breed of tulips Nev had discovered (although they could just be normal tulips – Hermione knew nothing about flowers), then started down to the end of the garden where the bench was.

She spotted Ron's hair and the glint of the sun catching Harry's glasses, and pushed the branches of the oak tree that Harry was meant to prune (but never did) away to see them both, Ron on the bench, Harry on the grass, waiting silently for the third member of their group.

She paused, looking, then Ron turned his head and gave her a half smile and she moved towards them. She sat down on the bench next to Ron, a small sigh as she leant against him and soaked in all that was Ron.

"You just lost yourself a galleon," said Harry.

"Thought we weren't betting on account of Mr. Speedy here," said Hermione, poking Ron in the side and making him squirm and smirk.

"Hey," Ron admonished, "watch it. I'm delicate. I've had a crap day, just like our resident Boy Wonder. No poking allowed."

Hermione snorted, and Harry said, "Man Wonder, thank you very much."

"I bet mine was worse," said Hermione.

"Maybe you could win back your galleon -" Ron moved out of the way, anticipating Hermione's jab.

"Go on, then. Tell us your woes," said Harry, sniggering at his best frend. Ron rolled his eyes and rested his head on Hermione's shoulder to listen.

"I," said Hermione, being slightly over-dramatic, "have to spend a week following Zabini around to do a bloody article on his work for the community -"

"What work?" muttered Harry

"- and because of that – because of him, I have twice as much work to do in less time and my boss is an unreasonable prick and Susan's too damn cheerful!"

To her surprise, Hermione found she was close to tears. Damn Zabini, she thought. She didn't cry – not in public, anyway. She sniffled a bit against Ron's shoulder and noticed that Harry was leaning up on his elbows, looking at her in concern. Asking her about her day was no longer a diversion tactic – he was worried.

"Do I win?" asked Hermione after a moment.

Ron let out a breath of air, almost a sigh.

"You certainly win on the emotional part," he said. "But I have to work with Malfoy."

Hermione's lips twitched, and Harry stifled a snigger.

"I'm sure that's rife with sexual tension," he said. Ron glared, albeit half-heartedly, and gave a huff.

"It is not," he snapped. "It's bloody annoying. Thank Merlin I've got Lav there to play peacemaker."

"Lav? Peacemaker? Who'd have thought," smirked Harry.

"Don't tell Nev. He thinks he's marrying a spitfire," said Hermione in amusement.

"That was ever so slightly catty," murmured Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Only you, Ron," she said affectionately.

"What?"

"'Catty'? Who says that anymore?"

"Buggar off," said Ron.

Harry just rolled his eyes at the two of them.

"You two haven't changed a bit."

"Thank Merlin," Hermione said softly.

Harry smiled at her, knowing she knew that he had again successfully dodged questions about how he was feeling, how he was coping. He also knew (and so did she) that he couldn't keep hiding forever.

But all the same, it was a relief to hide.

Blaise escaped Susan with barely a scratch on him. His mental state, however, was about on par with Potter's. Totally screwed.

"You're being melodramatic," said Draco, that evening in the pub.

"Says the resident Prima Donna," retorted Blaise.

"At least I'm convincingly dramatic. And when I'm not, I'm quite endearing."

Blaise gave him a look that said, 'Why in the world would a grown man want to be endearing?'

"Forgive me if that isn't my life aspiration. And who's ever said you were endearing?"

"Pansy," said Draco, and the friends paused a moment to remember their old friend.

"So Granger's following you around for a week?" asked Draco.

"Yes," said Blaise, smirking evilly.

"You know, you look kind of evil when you do that."

"You don't say," Blaise drawled, rolling his eyes. It wasn't that Draco was dim, or slow, he just had a tendency to point out the obvious. "How's Weasley doing?"

"Piss off," growled Draco. Blaise sniggered. The two men had been dancing around each other since Draco had been transferred to the Events Planning Division of the Ministry to help plan the up-coming War Tribute Event. Admittedly, it had been Blaise who had suggested that Draco be moved, but he figured it was all for a good cause.

Pity Draco disagreed.

"I bet you won't last," Draco said suddenly.

"Last what?"

"A whole week without shagging Granger."

"Prat," said Blaise. "Granger and I aren't sleeping together, so lasting a week wouldn't be a problem."

"So you're saying that you could spend a whole week with Granger and not sleep with her?"

"Of course," said Blaise. Draco raised his eyebrow at him and said nothing.

"Don't raise your eyebrow. You look creepily like your father," muttered Blaise. Draco shot him a dirty look, and signaled to the bartender for another drink. Blaise glanced around the dirty pub and waited for Draco to get sick of the silence.

"How did we end up here?" he asked suddenly.

"We apparated."

"Funny," said Draco. "I mean, Potter saved the world, Voldemort is dead, my father is dead, your father is dead, all is right and at peace, but we're still sitting here, same pub, bloody depressed."

Blaise looked at his friend for a moment.

"You're pissed," he said, slightly amused. Draco sighed and nodded.

"I know. Isn't that sad?"

"Not really," said Blaise. "If you weren't pissed I'd have been worried. You sounded scarily un-Draco like then."

"Maybe I'm getting in touch with my thoughtful side," said Draco, swigging his beer.

"I wasn't aware you had a thoughtful side," Blaise drawled, considering whether it was worth the effort to take Draco's beer off of him.

"Don't even think about it," snapped Draco, holding his beer close to his body, "or I'll set Granger on you."

"Scary," muttered Blaise sarcastically, but he couldn't help think that, yes, spending a week with Granger was a bit scary, and, maybe Draco had a point.

He wasn't sure if he could last a week without shagging the girl.