- A.G. -

The first oddity was Draco being home in time for dinner. The second, albeit much less alarming, was that he slammed the door upon arrival, shouting for his mum.

"She's just finishing her bath," I say as he bursts into the study I occupy. Closing my novel, I rise and move to hug him. "How was your day? Did the meeting go well?" Draco shrugs, but wraps his arms around me just the same. Standing on tip-toes, I try for a kiss. His mind is occupied, and although our lips meet, it is quick and chaste.

"The meeting was fine," he tells me, caressing my arm before he moves to pace around the room. "The Malfoys are now the head board-member of S.H.O.R.B."

"Shorb?" My brow furrows.

"Securing Horrendously Overdue Rights for Beings," he explains.

I nod. Wringing my hands together, I say, "Is it a charity? Or a business?" I don't mean to be concerned; I'm proud of Draco, but I have a hard time imagining him interested in aiding the advanced-creature-populace. I want him to be happy and busy.

"A charity. Mother set up the meeting, ask her."

I smile; he anticipated my question.

Narcissa's presence is announced by the sound of heels and the odor of jasmine perfume. "What's the fuss?" she asks, quirking a brow. "I heard yelling."

"The charity." Draco glowers. "Did you know it was run by that mudblood?"

Narcissa is hardly fazed by her son's demanding tone. She takes a seat on a large leather sofa. A towel is wrapped around her head and she adjusts it before saying, "Yes. But, remember darling, we don't use that word anymore." I might have believed her, too, if I couldn't see the amusement on her face.

I twist the glossy fabric of my blouse between my fingers and assess Draco's face. "Which muggleborn?" I ask. "Do I know her?"

"Absolutely," says Narcissa. "She's famous."

Draco scoffs. "She's still a mudblood." His mother gives him a look.

"The times have changed, Draco, and so have we. The new Malfoys are wealthy, charitable, and pro-equality." Narcissa's obsession with image is not as absurd as Draco may believe. In this world, purebloods must embrace change or become despised relics. Many I know have chosen the former. Bitterly, I'm sure, and not without snide comments to one another continuously, but the fact remains it is no longer in style to be anti-muggle. Narcissa Malfoy has always been in style.

Our nation's values have changed, and so has what it takes to wield power in it. Influence now comes from money and name recognition, not from one's heritage. It's a shame we belong to this time.

Draco grinds his jaw. "You should have told me it was Hermione Granger."

"It wasn't relevant." The woman cocks her head, regarding her son closely. Draco bristles under her inspection, and I can see him start to fidget. My boyfriend is not without his weakness. One of the most prominent is perhaps his mother.

She continues: "You did agree to fund the charity, didn't you?"

"Yeah," he says. "And I made it clear to Granger that I'll need to be involved. That I'm interested in the press aspect, I guess. But there won't be any revenue. I don't get it. It's a charity."

"This is a step in re-crafting our look, Draco. It's not about the money – we have lots of money. And after this, it will be easy to make more money. People will be far more eager to do business with us. But we need to return to the public's good graces, first. This is the way."

I look at Narcissa with awe. There are many things I admire about her: her poise, her confidence… She truly is a regal, pureblood woman. I suspect her demeanor served a large part in keeping her out of Azkaban. Other than that, and more simply, I envy her hold on Draco. He hadn't been oblivious to her logic – he was smart enough to demand public exposure – but he depends on her confirmation. Already, I see him calming, shifting from irritation and back to resignation, apathy, and aloofness.

Flashing a smile, I say, "How about dinner? We can continue to discuss this," if there's anything more to discuss. I hope there's not. "But I'm starving."

Draco looks to his mother for approval. "Yeah. I could eat."

The two continue to chat as we migrate to the dining hall. I let my sigh out in long wistful exhales. I hope it goes unnoticed.

- R.W. -

Hermione is in a worse mood than usual this evening. I would ask her how work went, but there are several reasons not to. First of all, if I do ask, the woman will probably engage in an hour long discussion about her day. It could range from frustration with Mathias' enthusiasm to her despisal of mini-paper-clips. Secondly, I'm not the best at calming Hermione down. I can hold her hand and tell her I love her, no problem. But, I'll admit, my skills are limited. Talking about her job is a surefire way to get her upset, and when Hermione gets wound up, the smallest thing can set her off.

And it's not just stuff I do. Harry's gotten yelled at four times this week.

Last but not least, there is a very good likelihood that Hermione will bring it up anyway. At this point, I'm not sure what "it" is. If I had to guess, I'll know more about "it" than any person would ever want to by the time I go to bed. For now, I can enjoy these quiet moments. The peace before a sodding promised eruption.

Hermione sets a grocery bag down on the counter with tremendous force. She curses to herself; she may have bruised the apples, and she asks if I think we should just toss them. (Maybe her irritation has an upside – I don't really like apples.)

Tossing one to me to check, she says: "I have news."

I drop the copy of the Quibbler I'd been skimming. Luna's role as editor has done very little to normalize the paper. But she sends me free copies and Honeydukes chocolate with them, so I don't complain. To her, anyway.

"Good news?" I ask hopefully.

She considers it for a moment. "No, just… news. I have an investor."

She's been going on about this organization for months and has been obsessed with the idea for even longer. At Hogwarts, actually, I remember her raging about House Elf treatment. S.P.E.W., I think it was called. Now, she's expanded to address other creatures as well – S.H.O.R.B. I don't think she's very good with acronyms. Anyway, this is her dream. A boring, very Hermione-esque dream, but a dream nonetheless. And maybe this will brighten her mood. Maybe she'll be less involved with work, for once. (But I'm kidding myself.) Still, I grin. "That's great news, Hermione!"

"It would be," she nods slowly. "But the investor is Draco Malfoy."

All other thoughts in my head screech to a halt. "Nope." I shake my head. "That's not happening."

Her arms are folded across her chest now; I roll the granny smith apple in my fingers. "It's happened," she says.

"Then un-happen it."

"Ronald, that's not—"

"You aren't working for Malfoy." I scowl. "He's a prick."

"I'm not working for him. He's just giving money to our cause." She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. I bet she's just as uncomfortable with this whole thing as I am. She won't admit it, of course, because she wants to save her project, and she would never acknowledge something like feelings could impair her work. I'm protesting for her own sake.

"I'm telling you no, Hermione."

"I wasn't asking! And maybe this will be a good thing. I can put the silly rivalry with Malfoy to rest." She lights up at the thought. I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"You can't fix him. He's as messed up as they come. He's just going to hold his money over you and throw slurs in your face." My ears are reddening, and I'm not sure when the volume of my voice got so high.

"Stop complaining about it. It's done. I'm not throwing away the chance to push actual legislature through the Ministry because of your stupid grudge."

"Grudge? Merlin's beard, Hermione, have you forgotten everything this prat and his family has done to us? Done to you?" Taking a breath, I say, a bit more calmly, "When are you seeing him again? I'll go with you."

Hermione blinks. "Why?"

"So I can make sure he isn't a git."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm meeting with him on Friday."

I think for a minute. "No, I've got auror training. Reschedule?"

"I'm not postponing House Elves' chance for fair treatment! I'll be fine on my own. I wasn't asking your permission, by the way. Can't you be unconditionally supportive for once in your life?" I didn't expect her to get this angry. Her cheeks are flushed pink, eyebrows knitted together. Our kitchen feels incredibly small now. The walls, pale yellow, seem slanted inwards. The muggle appliances upon which Hermione insisted seem bulky. Hermione herself is simply present – there is no other word for it, the petite woman increasingly relevant to every aspect of the room. She is a giant, and she is going to pound me into dust.

"But…" I grimace. "It's Malfoy. Seriously, Hermione? Is that the best you've guys got?"

My fingernails have dug into the apple. She snatches it from me and inspects the divots with a glare. "You've ruined it, Ron. Absolutely ruined it. Congratulations."

Within a minute, Hermione is gone. She doesn't say where to, or for how long. I wince as she slams the door behind her.

- D.M. -

"My brother is an idiot, but he loves you."

"Yeah."

The voices carry, and if I cared more I might pay attention. As it is, I've got to spend my Friday with Hermione Granger, so I think it's best I conserve my energy. Mustering interest for something so pathetic would be a waste of time.

I can't refrain from one small jab, though. As I enter the room, I say, "Half of that is true. Ron Weasley is definitely an idiot."

Both girls seem sufficiently upset. I show them how little I care by scouring Hermione's rented office space with marked disapproval. It's too small. A small handful of people are buzzing about, though I'm not really sure what they're doing. A group towards the back seems to be designing a promotional poster, and even from my skewed view I can tell it is very much like the framed photos on the wall. They depict various beings: house elves, goblins, veela, giants… The images are fairly creepy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ginny give Hermione a look. "He is a prick."

"Look at that," I say, turning to face them. "Even his sister admits it." I haven't grinned a lot recently, but now I can't help myself. It feels good.

"I meant you, Malfoy." Ginny sweeps a long red ponytail over her shoulder before bending forward to give Hermione a hug. To her, she says: "Sunday dinner at the Burrow?"

Hermione's brown eyes glisten and she pats the back of her friend. "That would be lovely, Ginny. Thank you." The Weasley girl stalks past me, her shoulder knocking into mine as she does. My minimal interest in this situation has all but completely withered. Playing nice with a blood traitor and a mudblood? I understand my mother's reasoning, I truly do, but I'm not sure if it's enough. I will not – I cannot – stand to be insulted and trampled by scum. But it occurs to me that I don't have to be. Perhaps I can twist this to my advantage.

Looking back to the brunette, I snort. "No wonder your charity's not succeeding. You spend all your time gabbing to friends." She doesn't respond but instead assumes the task of slipping papers into a binder. I take the seat in front of her desk. "It looks like I have my work cut out for me." My eyes narrow; I want Hermione to look up, to acknowledge my presence. Only silence ensues.

"The first order of business," I continue slowly. "Should be to take those depressing photos off the wall."

"No," says Hermione. "They represent our cause."

"I'm funding this operation. I say we take them down."

At this, she looks up, her jaw set. "Malfoy, this is my charity. I make the decisions. While I appreciate your investment, it does not entitle you to make unnecessary changes." There's a self-assuredness in her voice that I recognize from school. It is the tone of a know-it-all, someone who's used to being always right. It's even worse in present-day Hermione's case, because now she's being celebrated for it.

But not by me. I don't find her charming. She's a fluffed up muggle born, and nothing else.

"The pictures come down or I pull my donation."

Hermione's eyelashes flutter in disbelief. "Go ahead, then. Pull the donation."

"This isn't a game you want to play, Granger."

"You're right," she says. "I'm very busy."

I lean towards her. There is, give or take, a foot between us, and I hope she finds the intrusion intimidating. Now, I get a better look at the woman than I've had in years. Her hair, while still bushy, is more carefully managed. Today she's pulled it back away from her face, though her side-swept fringe does slip forward. She's not bad looking, I'll admit. Pretty, even. She could still benefit from some of Astoria's make up, and she would also do well to lose the bossy look on her face.

I'm about to tell her this when she snaps: "Is there anything I can do for you, Malfoy?"

"Take down the pictures."

"No."

My upper lip curls. "I told you that with my money came my involvement. You're supposed to value my input."

"I value it greatly," Hermione says. "But the answer is no."

I grip the arms of my chair, my knuckles turning white. It's the principle of the thing. Hermione should listen to what I say. Hell, I should have walked through the door to a party and round of applause, celebrating my first day at the charity. It's disrespectful.

I take a moment to compose myself. "So, Granger, what's your plan?"

"Excuse me?"

"You've got my money. What are you going to do with it?"

"Oh," she nods, and begins to flip through a notebook. "I've got several plans I'd like to push through. First we need to get the word out and rally support with the public. Then, release an official request to the Ministry. I've tried that, already, but they just dismissed our case." She sighs. "But we can greatly increase our efforts now, and hire more people."

"Do people even know this movement is happening?"

"A lot do. We've been handing out flyers. I've even gotten Harry to express his support. Luna's published a spread in the Quibbler."

I lean back in my seat, frowning. "I haven't seen anything about it in the Prophet. No one takes the Quibbler seriously, so that's no good. Harry Potter's support means something, sure, but how many witches and wizards know that Potter supports it?"

"Like I've said, we've had trouble getting the word out. Or, really, getting people to listen." She is genuinely crestfallen by this fact. I nearly pity her.

"What the charity needs is something big, something huge. It needs to be on the minds of the most important people in Britain." I pause. "What if we through a Gala? We invite Potter, members of the Ministry. Potential investors. It can be the official unveiling of Hermione Granger's latest project."

Hermione stares at me. "That's not a half bad idea, Draco."

"Neither was my suggestion to take down the photos."

"That was a demand," Hermione says. "But I'll work on a guest list. I'd imagine you'd like to invite your pureblood friends?"

"They've got tons of money, and a lot are still respected members of our community, so, yeah." I shrug. "And I think we should have it at my manor."

Hermione stiffens, her skin paling. "No," she says. "I'd rather have it somewhere else."

"Don't be stupid," I tell her. "My manor is perfect. Also, you'll need something to wear."

"I have plenty of things to wear."

"No, something nice to wear."

She scowls.

"How about I have Astoria – Astoria Greengrass – take you shopping tomorrow? She's good at that stuff." Standing up, I smile. "Let's schedule the Gala for next week. Call the Prophet and tell them to put an announcement in the following editions. The fact the party will be at Malfoy Manor will surely attract a lot of attention." I look at the woman – she still seems shaken. "Alright?"

"Fine," she says.

This is a victory, I decide. I'm sure I'll be the best thing to ever happen to this ridiculous charity. I don't expect Hermione Granger to be grateful, but she should be.