Recap:

"What the—" But he stopped short, unsure of what to say or do, because standing before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with silky brown tresses that curled perfectly and mesmerizing chocolate-colored eyes. She wore a fashionable black pinstriped suit with a matching skirt and plain black high heels. In one hand she carried a briefcase, in the other a roll of parchment.

"Hello, Malfoy," she said with a stiff, forced smile. And that's when he realized who she was. He knew she looked familiar!

"G-Granger?"

Chapter 2: Playing Owl

Flashback:

Hermione sat at her desk, twirling a quill between her fingers, having never been so deathly bored in her entire life. She had anticipated that life would get slow after the war, what with the lack of extreme peril at every corner—but this was ridiculous! For the first six months, she and the boys had been bombarded with work, running all over the world to round up renegade Death Eaters. Even that had been exciting; heart pounding and dangerous. But soon they became harder to find, and so more research was involved than actual action. Harry and Ron had been surprised, to say the least, when she complained about having to do paperwork instead of being out in the field.

Scanning the parchment for the fifth time, and still the words wouldn't form coherently in her head. It was a very important report about the whereabouts of a known Death Eater who'd been escaping their clutches ever since Voldemort was defeated. But, for the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to concentrate. She desperately needed a lift from her boredom. She was sure she would die from it.

"Granger?"

She looked up, her quill falling to her lap.

"Yes Mr. Scrimgeour?" She prayed she looked busy, and begged for no more busy work.

"I have a very important letter that I need to be delivered by hand," he informed her, sliding the rolled up parchment out of his pocket. "I can't risk having an owl take it, and since Auror work is slow, I was hoping you would be up for a nice carriage ride in the country."

She frowned inwardly. There must be a catch if Rufus Scrimgeour was trying to butter her up.

"Should I be aware of the contents of this letter?"

"It's not important to you," he said firmly, though still trying to sound congenial. "But very much the opposite to the recipient."

"And who is this person?" She dreaded the answer.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy."

End Flashback:

I wish he would stop staring at me, Hermione thought, annoyed, as she stood on the doorstep, the cold November wind kicking up the bottom of her cloak. But she didn't know what else to do but stand there. She couldn't very well barge in without being invited.

"What are you doing here?" Draco finally asked, narrowing his brow. They may be on the same side, but the hatred he'd always had for her still resided deep inside him. "I thought you and your boyfriends were running around playing hero."

"Well it seems that only one of us has matured since Hogwarts," she sighed, then lifted her arm, offering him the letter. "Minister Scrimgeour instructed me to bring this to you."

He snatched it from her hands, tearing it open immediately.

Hermione was about to turn away, when a blur of black hair and a pink sweater ran across the hall, disappearing into another room.

Is that her? she wondered. Of course she knew all about Farsiris, Draco's four-year-old daughter. His wife had been killed at the beginning of the war by Voldemort himself, though people were still unsure why. And Draco certainly wasn't about to say. A few weeks later he professed his loyalty to the side of good and continued to fight the war, this time against Voldemort. Everyone was skeptical at first, until, that is, he saved Ginny Weasley's life. To this day Harry has been torn with his feelings about it.

"Hello."

Hermione looked down to find the little girl at her feet, a stuffed dragon in her arms.

"Hi there," Hermione replied, and crouched down eye-level to her. The rumors were right; she was a gorgeous child. Must be from her mother. "My name's Hermione. What's yours?"

"Far-sear-iss," she laughed, pronouncing each syllable. "But my daddy calls me Issa."

"Well Issa, it's very nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

"About me?" Her eyes lit up, causing something to turn in Hermione's gut. Her only regret about her failed marriage with Ron had been that they never had children. "How do you know about me?"

"I used to go to school with your father." She glanced up, but Draco was far too engrossed in his letter to be paying any attention to them.

"But I never heard of you."

"Well," Hermione said, biting her lip just a little. "We—er—don't see each other anymore. His work for the Ministry is done at home."

"Oooooh! Ok." She grinned wide, and for the life of her, Hermione couldn't figure why. "I can do magic," she whispered suddenly, pulling at Hermione's cloak. "Wanna see?"

Hermione smiled and nodded, allowing the little dark-haired girl to lead her away from the foyer. And still Draco didn't take his eyes off the letter, his face a mask, hiding what, if any, emotion he was feeling. Farsiris dragged her past several doors, ending at one with a large metal Celtic knot nailed to it. Her little fingers had just reached the handle, when—

"Farsiris Mirabelle Malfoy!" Draco boomed, trudging towards them, his letter crushed in his fist. "What do you think you're doing! You don't know this woman!"

"But daddy!" she protested, shrinking away behind Hermione. "You went to school with her! She's not a mean lady!" She was almost too tears with fear and frustration. She didn't know what she'd done wrong, and Hermione felt the sudden urge to protect her.

"She's fine Mal—Draco," Hermione said, holding him back with her palm pressed to his chest. And the only reason this stopped him was because it was the first time she'd ever touched him in an even remotely gentle way. "She was just being friendly. No harm done."

This seemed to calm him, for his shoulders eased and he straightened up.

"You can leave now, Granger," he said through his teeth.

"Fair enough." She turned to his daughter, patting her on the head. "I had a good time talking with you, Issa."

"Me too," she beamed, showing her pearl whites. "Will you come back?" she asked excitedly.

Draco groaned under his breath.

"I don't know, sweety. I'm very busy with my job. But," she added, seeing how crushed she looked, "maybe I'll bring your dad another note from the Minister."

"I hope so!"

"Me too." She turned back to Malfoy, and gave him another stiff smile. "Malfoy."

"Granger," he mocked.

"Alright," she said, clucking her tongue once against her top lip and front teeth. She tucked her hand into her cloak and sighed. "Good-bye then."

For the rest of the day Draco didn't take his eyes off Farsiris. Not that he thought she was in any real danger, or that Hermione was the cause of it—he didn't trust anyone with his little girl. Even the babysitter—it had taken him more than a year to trust her enough to leave for even twenty minutes. Farsiris was everything he had, and he could not stand losing her.

"Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom."

Draco looked up from his book, his eyes following the line from his daughter to the bathroom door that he could see just outside the doorway to the room they were in.

"Alright," he sighed, and closed his book, watching her every move as she ran for the bathroom. I really need to get out of here, he thought. How long had it been since he'd even been out in the yard? It must have been weeks. And into town? The office? It was pushing six months.

And he had been such an adventurous, if not reckless, youth. His years of fatherhood had certainly brought about an unhealthy degree of paranoia and solitude. He wondered if he even had the right social skills anymore to be out in public. His encounter with Hermione Granger had proven that fact, though he couldn't help but blame it on the fact that she was a muggle-born and they were, and had always been, enemies.

He sighed loudly and tried to get back into what he'd been reading. But until Farsiris was sitting in front of him, it would be almost impossible.

It was late afternoon when Hermione returned to the Ministry, her hair soaked from a sudden downpour of rain. Inwardly she cursed Malfoy, because she was unable to Apparate from his house. When she reached her office, there was someone there waiting for her.

"And just where have you been?" Ron teased, twirled around in her chair to face her.

"Nowhere pleasant," she sighed, peeling off her cloak. "Scrimgeour asked me to deliver a letter to Malfoy."

"Ouch," he winced. "What did you do to piss him off?"

"Very funny. Don't you have work to do? I'm not the only Auror in this place."

"Calm down there, firecracker." He stood and patted her on the shoulder. "I just came by to tell you my mom invited you and Harry to dinner tonight."

"Since when do I need a special invite? I'm there more than I'm at my apartment."

"Geez, 'Mione!" he sighed. "What's gotten into you?"

"Sorry." She dropped her briefcase on her desk, then, with a flick of her wand, dried her hair. "I'm just miffed about having to be Malfoy's owl. There's no reason he couldn't come to the Ministry himself to get it."

"Yeah, well, you know him. He's a Malfoy. That should explain it right there."

"I haven't seen that dirty ferret in over a year. I could have gone longer." She took a deep breath, then smiled. "Whatever. At least it's over. I never want to go back there again."

"That's the spirit! I'll see you tonight. Seven o'clock?"

"On the dot."

"And he just expected me to bring it to him!" Hermione slurred, taking another gulp of wine. Since the war she'd taken to drinking red wine heavily when she was upset. And thankfully, for her and her friends, that wasn't very often. "I still don't understand why it had to be me. There are plenty more people in that office who can stand him better. I mean, for Merlin's sake!"

"Hermione dear," Mrs. Weasley said, giving her a sympathetic smile. She excused the drinking because it was Hermione, the golden girl. And besides, she'd been through so much so early in life. She was lucky she'd turned out so good. "Draco has changed just as the rest of us have in the war. And I don't doubt that that daughter of his has softened his heart some. She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"It makes you wonder about the mother," she laughed, and poured another glass of wine. Ron hastily grabbed the bottle and moved it out of her reach. "What was her name again?"

"Kanika. She was from a very old pureblood family in Egypt. I suppose we're related to them somehow. Arthur's side maybe."

"Well that explains it," Hermione said with finality, and half-slammed, half-set her glass on the table. "I was wondering about her skin tone."

"Poor dear has to grow up without a mother. And all alone in that big house with only her father. I daresay she needs a woman around."

"I would love to be there for her, if not for the fact that her father is the biggest pompous ass in the Wizarding World. Just another Lucius Malfoy."

"Now he's not all that bad, sweety. Remember what he did for Ginny?"

Across the table both Ginny and Harry's faces burst with color. Neither liked discussing that little fact.

"Yes, well," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "That aside, he's a horrible excuse for a human being."

"Here." Mrs. Weasley slid something across the table to her. "Eat this. You'll feel better."

Hermione picked up the small brownish-green object and placed it in her mouth.

"Ith bidder," she said, unable to talk normally with it sitting on her tongue. "Wha ith it?"

"Sobairian Root. Trust me, you'll feel better."

She chewed the small, bitter root, then swallowed and waited for an effect. After a moment, her hazy vision cleared and her headache eased.

"Where did you get that? I thought they only grew in Madagascar."

"I grow them myself," Mrs. Weasley said with a shrug. "I have something of a green thumb."

And for the rest of the evening Hermione didn't mention Draco Malfoy.

"Not to be rude sir," Hermione began, keeping her anger and annoyance in check like an expert, "but why am I bringing him these letters? Surely another person would be more fit for the job."

"To be honest, Miss Granger," he sighed, rubbing his temple. It wasn't an easy job being the Minister of Magic. Especially now, with all those Death Eaters (and supporters) still on the loose. "The person I had delivering his messages before has retired. And with the important nature of the letters, I can't very well have an owl deliver them. Nor can Mr. Malfoy come here, for he has his daughter to care for. Not many know this, Granger, but Draco has become rather…paranoid since the war. He hardly lets young Farsiris out of his sight. And when he does it's to someone he believes he can trust. It's a hard situation, but he is a valuable asset to our cause."

"Very well," she said, and Accio-ed her cloak. She had nothing more to say. All her questions had been answered, and there was nothing for her to argue. She loved her job too much to deny this menial task.

It had only been two weeks since she'd been in the very same carriage she was now. Only this time a whole new set of thoughts coursed through her mind. She wondered mostly, however, about Farsiris, and her mother, Kanika. Surely theirs had been an arranged marriage, a marriage of convenience. Mrs. Weasley had said that she came from an old pureblood family in Egypt. So that would make the little girl full-blooded as well. And, try as she might, Hermione could not bring herself to think ill of the child. What fault of hers was it that she was born into such a horrid family? No one could choose their parents. She only hoped that Farsiris could see the good in the world, as oppose to her father, who fed on the evil and corrupt. She doubted she could ever trust the man, even if he did save Ginny's life. That was only because he was trying to prove his loyalty to the side of good. It had nothing to do with his inner goodness.

Like he has any. Hermione rolled her eyes at such an absurd thought. But then why had Mrs. Weasley been so sure of not dismissing him as simply evil? Hermione had never known her to be a bad judge of character. Could he really have changed that much since their time at Hogwarts? Was is love for his daughter pure enough to cleanse the evil he'd done or wanted to do? And, if so, could Hermione ever see it under all the hatred she carried for him?

The carriage came to a sudden halt. Hermione pulled her cloak tight around her neck, bracing herself for the biting wind. She ran up the cobbled walkway to the front door, Malfoy's letter tucked safely in her pocket.

When he answered the door he was just as surprised to see her as last time. He didn't even bother with greetings, and snatched the letter from her hand. Farsiris stood, expectant, in the hall, her little hands clutched before her. Hermione gave her a big smile, then glanced at Draco.

"Shit," he hissed, crushing the parchment. "Shit." He looked from his daughter to Hermione, then back to his letter, his eyes darting like a cornered animal.

"What is it?"

He groaned, glaring deep at her audacity to address him.

"I need to leave," he said through his teeth. "The Ministry…" But he trailed off, his eyes glued to Farsiris. "Shit."

"What's wrong daddy?" his daughter asked, pulling at his pant leg.

"Nothing, Issa." He shot another glare at Hermione. "Granger?"

"What Malfoy?" she bit, returning his contempt tenfold. "My daughter's baby sitter is vacationing with her family."

"Why do I care about that? I have to go." She was halfway out the door when he grabbed her elbow, his chest pressed against her back. And when he spoke his breath was hot on her ear.

"There is no one else who can stay with my daughter but her, and I have no idea where she went."

"Then wait for her to come back." Hermione squirmed to get away, but he held her with an impassioned grip.

"She won't be back in time, Granger. I need to go now. This is too important to put off. Even you would agree." He took a deep breath, then released her, stepping back. "My daughter likes you for some reason. She talks almost of nothing else. How many Galleons will it take?"

"If I do this, Malfoy, I don't want your damn money," she seethed, though couldn't help her small smile. She loved the idea of Draco being angry with his daughter's affection for her. "What's so damn important that you need to leave, anyway? I thought your work for the Ministry could be served at home."

"That's my business alone," he said shortly.

"And I'm making it mine. Tell me and I'll do it."

He clenched his fists at his sides and let out a ragged, angry groan.

"Fine."

"Brilliant." She pulled off her cloak, hanging on the coat rack by the door. "How long will you be gone?"

Yes that was very fast, but I wanted to get to this point. There isn't much I could have put in between, and besides, it would have just been useless filler. Best do it this way.

REVIEW!

Farsiris-means Princess (in Persian)

Kanika-means black (in Egyptian)

P.S. Please don't be upset about Hermione's drinking. Like I said it's not often, and you can't expect her to go through a war and not have some side effects. The others have some too, only I haven't revealed them yet.