Authors note: Well… I don't really have anything to say about this chapter. I'll admit, it's a bit patched together, but I'd like to think it turned out all right in the end. Unfortunately, I had to rush it a bit. So, here it is, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter characters, blahdiblah.

Hermione Apparated to her flat, shared with Ron in a quaint corner of London. She rushed to the bathroom and splashed a few handfuls of water onto her face. It did nothing to slow her pounding heart. She couldn't for the life of her explain why she felt the way she did, but it could only be described as the most intense sort of exhilaration. Like when she'd ridden on a rollercoaster for the first time as a child.

That's it! She thought with a combination of awe and confusion. I feel like I'm a little girl again.

She glanced at the Muggle clock on the wall in the kitchen. Ron would be home soon. Yet Hermione couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. Her mind was still on the Manor, Draco's translucent face… it was like he'd entrapped her mind with his existence.

It's scary. She thought to herself… because she'd never allowed herself to think of Draco Malfoy beyond him being a Death Eater, or being a bully at Hogwarts. A threat.

She poured herself a cup of water from the tap and sat on her couch. Minutes passed, then an hour… and Hermione really wasn't aware of how much time had passed. And strangely, she didn't care. She was taking the time she needed to come back to reality, and settle back within herself.

"HERMIONE!"

She gave a start at the sight of Ronald Weasley's red hair in the floo flames of their fireplace.

"Welcome home, Ron."

Ron wrapped her in a hug when she stood up, smoothing down her unmanageable hair.

"Fantastic day at work, it was. We haven't had such a party since Fudge was shipped off to Australia. Is dinner ready?"

"Oh! Erm… I'm sorry Ron. I completely forgot. I'll make something now! It won't take me more than twenty minutes."

Ron gave her a concerned look. Hermione was nothing if not organized. Her couldn't remember the last time that she'd ever forgotten something that was so regular in her daily routine, and more than often reminded Ron of little things.

"You know what... I'm not that hungry. I ate loads at the party, anyway. But what about you?"

"I'm not very hungry, either." Hermione said quietly, her mind drifting to Malfoy again.

"What's wrong with you, 'Mione? Ever since the paper this morning…" He took Hermione's face in his hands and his thumbs ran over her cheeks.

"It's nothing you have to worry about." She lied. She knew that Ron wouldn't read the hidden meaning in her words. Just because it was nothing for him to worry about didn't mean that it was something she was worried about. Ron took thing at face value. But it was one of the reasons she loved him.

"Promise?"

"Promise." Hermione nodded, avoiding his warm chocolate eyes. They would only make her feel worse.

Hermione lay in bed next to Ron, who'd fallen asleep after an evening of love-making. He snored softly, and Hermione couldn't resist a smile. It was one of the many traits she'd discovered of the young man, after the war.

How he snored when he slept. That he could hardly function without his cup of coffee in the morning, a habit he'd picked up after he'd left Hogwarts. That Ron couldn't stand watching the news, and left the room when Hermione turned it on. He was also terribly territorial about the Christmas sweaters his mother sent him, for as ugly as they were, they were knitted with his mother's love. And Ron couldn't resist her own mother's chocolate chip cookies. Of course, she'd run in to some parts of his personality that she had successfully ignored when they were younger; his temper and stubbornness, how he was often far more close-minded than she was.

If I'd gotten to see Draco before he killed himself… could things have changed? Would I have discovered parts of him that I hadn't seen at Hogwarts?

More than anything, Hermione felt a sense of loss. A young life had been extinguished from the world, and that made her very sad. But the sadness was overshadowed by outrage at the article about her childhood tormentor. She could hardly stand the knowledge that his sacrifices and his accomplishments were being left by the wayside, replaced by a bunch of lies. By people he'd considered friends, no less. It was unfair, and Hermione wanted the truth to be known. Draco Malfoy had never been perfect… but there was certainly more to him than being the youngest Death Eater, following in his father's footsteps.

She remembered him as so much more than that.

And she wanted others to remember him as more than that, too. Perhaps the only way that could come to pass was if she knew him. Truly knew him, for his fears, his aspirations, and his reasons for his past actions.

So Hermione used McGonagall's fireplace to Apparate to the Manor again. She half expected Malfoy to appear out of nowhere… something a ghost would do, right? But he wasn't in sight. She took a few tentative steps onto the grounds, like she was walking on glass. In a way, she was. The glass road of her subconscious. She knew that Bellatrix Lestrange was dead… along with Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy… but the Manor still left an ominous chill weighing down on her.

"Back again, are you? Just can't get enough of me, can you Granger?" Draco Malfoy stood before her, a confident smirk on his face, his arms crossed over his chest.

You're not too far off there…

"Would it kill you to announce your presence without sneaking up on me?" Hermione asked exasperatedly, her gaze falling within the Manor doorway.

"It's not my fault your aren't observant." He argued.

Hermione stared at him stubbornly. He sighed, his expression looking pinched.

"You'd might as well come in, Granger."

"C-Come in?" She squeaked, and was appalled at the sound.

"Yes, come in. Unless you don't want to, of course. I'm only trying to be polite…"

"Um, thank you. I guess I'll take you up on that." She said nervously. Draco made no comment at her odd twitches, or the fact that she was biting her lip. Hermione was scared, there was no doubt about that. The last time she'd set foot in the Manor, she'd been tortured and branded a Mudblood. Not her fondest memories. The horror and humiliations had lasted for years. She rubbed her arm absently, following Malfoy down the entrance hall.

Everything was different now. The empty coldness of the house was apparent, and she didn't know how Malfoy could stand it.

I suppose he has no choice.

From the little that Hermione did know about ghosts, it was that they were nearly always chained to their place of death. But beyond that, Hermione knew virtually nothing. And that bothered her.

Malfoy turned into a small doorway, and Hermione was surrounded by heat.

"Magical Fire." Malfoy explained, motioning to the fireplace to their left. "It never goes out."

Hermione nodded and glanced around, eying the portraits on the walls. Strangely enough, not a single one moved. The room was decorated by old-fashioned décor and depressed sorts of colors, mostly black and dark cherry tones. The armchair and couch had small amounts of dust on their coverings. The parlor of the Malfoy Manor was merely a hollow representation of its former grandeur.

Hermione lowered herself gingerly onto the couch, feeling quite out of place. Draco took the armchair to her right, a sour look descending on his features. Hermione wanted to ask what was wrong, but kept her mouth shut. The uncomfortable silence seemed too much for the Malfoy heir, and said, "I suppose you married Weasleby and have 14 kids by now, right?"

Hermione laughed. "It's not physically possible to have that many children in

two years!"

"But you didn't deny that you're married. And here, some part of me figured you'd end up with Potter."

"No, no. I'm not married to either of them. I just live with Ron right now."

"Not surprising. We had a little bet running in the Slytherin house. Whether you'd end up with Weasle or Potter. I personally said the two of them would learn to share, and you'd remain the Golden Trio forever."

"Oh, ew! Definitely not! Besides, Harry and I have never been like that."

"Not ever? You've never once thought the Boy-Who-Lived was shaggable? Not even a tiny crush?"

Hermione made a face. "Never."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and she caved.

"Okay, just once. When we were hunting for Horcruxes, Ron took off and I stayed with Harry. I was really upset then, you have to understand. Harry was just trying to be kind to me… and things got a little weird. But it never went anywhere! Oh, why am I even talking to you about this!"

"Because I'm a fantastic listener."

"Who would've thought?" Hermione smiled.

"You're the first to take advantage of my gift. Well, I suppose there was Pansy too, bawling her eyes out when she got pregnant during our fifth year. Like I could do anything about it. Best I could do was call Severus to help her out."

"That's a shame, really. I doubt the troll appreciated it."

"You might be right, there."

Hermione felt like a warm glow had taken place in her body. Bickering with Malfoy just felt so normal. She could almost forget that he was dead, and that they'd been enemies their entire childhood. In fact, she hadn't felt this normal since when she'd first met Harry and Ron on the Hogwarts express. In the reality of the unspoken truth, Hermione decided to take a leap and test their boundaries.

"Wait." Something obvious had occurred to Hermione. "You said that you parents were killed a month ago?" She asked cautiously.

"Yes. More than a month ago, actually. It was May 3rd." Malfoy glanced away, a faraway look in his eyes.

"But then... why wasn't their murder in the papers? It wasn't reported at all."

"Come on now, Granger. I thought you, at least, had a decent head on your shoulders. I can't say the same of the other two Muskateers, but I thought you had figured it out by now. Why do you think that the press would have such a field day at my death, and yet are so hush-hush about my parent's murder?"

She took in a sharp breath. "You mean that the Ministry had something to do with it?"

"They had everything to do with it, Granger. They investigated the very same night. But they never spoke a word of it. Why? After all, wouldn't the public rejoice at the deaths of an ex-death eater and his wife? But they didn't report their deaths because that could incriminate them. My parents were pardoned, after all. They were under the protection of the Ministry, fat lot of good it did them. The Ministry sent the very Aurors that killed them." He snorted.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Hermione said lamely.

"Who would believe me? Besides, I had more important things on my mind than picking a fight with the Ministry."

Of course he did! He'd just seen his parents killed!

"I remember that fat toad Umbridge had quite a few run-ins with Potter during our fifth year. That's why I knew that you would believe that the Ministry is every bit as corrupt as the Dark Lord himself."

"I do believe you." Hermione said. "I'm just sorry this happened to you. That petty revenge lead to all this." Lead to you taking your life.

Malfoy seemed to read her thoughts. "It wasn't the first time. My parents dying just sped the process along, really."

"What?" Hermione asked breathlessly. She was having a hard time taking in so much at one time.

Malfoy swallowed. "It wasn't the first time that-that I've tried to kill myself."

"When? Why?"

"Are you sure you want to know, Granger? I mean, you hardly even know me. This doesn't seem like the best topic for casual conversation. And, to be honest, I don't really know why you're here at all."

In other words, it's really none of my business.

Hermione couldn't really blame him. She was asking dreadfully personal questions… things that she would be hesitant to answer in the best of situations. And Hermione was virtually a stranger, despite their colorful history. She wasn't Malfoy's friend. She didn't consider herself to be his enemy anymore. She wasn't his anything.

But, do I want to keep it that way…?

"I… I do want to know." Hermione announced, meeting his eyes. The blue-grey depths were clouded with emotion before hardening again.

"Why? Why would you care about what happened to me now?"

Hermione flinched at the accusation. Mostly because it was the truth. "I wish that I'd tried to get to know you then. Perhaps I'm just as close-minded as Luna always told me I was. I thought I was forgiving… but obviously I couldn't see past my own hate. I didn't even think about trying to help you."

"I didn't ask for you help, Granger." He sneered. "And I wouldn't have accepted it, regardless."

"I still would have offered it." She replied, insulted. "As it is now, I…"

"You couldn't have known, Granger."

"Even so.. I.. I just feel like I should have done something!"

Like it's my fault.

"Developed a hero-complex just like Potter, have you Hermione? You can't save the whole goddamn world! Some things just can't be fixed." Draco raised his voice.

"I don't have a hero-complex." Hermione sniffed. "But is it so wrong to want to help people?"

"And that's the difference between you and me, Hermione. You Gryffindors, always trying to save others. You feel guilt over people you hardly know. That's the exact opposite of the Slytherin way. We take care of ourselves, and accept that some things are beyond our control... and that sometimes, it's not any of our bloody business to go meddling in other people's lives!" Malfoy spat, but there was really no venom in his voice.

"That's not true. And you know it." Hermione said softly. "You just care more than you want to admit. Because you Slytherins are all afraid of losing the things you care about, if you love them too much."

Malfoy stiffened. "Don't act like you know everything, Granger. And especially don't act like you know me!"

"Oh, stop pretending, Malfoy! You're not the cold, heartless Princee of Slytherin. If you were, you wouldn't have—" Hermione cut herself off suddenly, horrified at what she was about to say.

"I wouldn't have what?" He asked threateningly.

"You wouldn't have killed yourself when your parents were murdered." She finished. She didn't want to see his reaction, and glanced away.

Malfoy didn't speak for over a minute. Hermione could feel his gaze on her, like a cat fascinated with a particularly interesting mouse.

Finally, he said, "You Gryffindors are a presumptuous bunch, aren't you?"

Hermione just smiled weakly.

"Tell me honestly, Granger… why are you here?" Malfoy asked.

"I want to tell your story. The real story."

Hermione didn't know where the idea came from… it was like a flash of lightning, inspiration. Something inside her was driving her to do this. Perhaps it was the Gryffindor in her; the need for justice. Or perhaps it was just her thirst for knowledge. But she knew that Draco Malfoy deserved more than the article in the Daily Profit.

She had some confidence in her writing ability; more than adequate to complete outstanding essays at Hogwarts. But writing about a real person was a daunting challenge.

Malfoy's eyebrows knitted together. "You want to write about me? Whatever for?"

"Because I want to."

"That's a stupid reason." He snorted.

"I didn't think you'd want to listen to my high-handed explanations."

"You know me so well."

Not as well as I'd like to. And I can't stand standing by while vultures from the Profit tarnish the memory of you.

"Even if you did write about me… or anything about my life, you couldn't get it published. The Ministry will put a stop to anything written about their hand in my parent's death, or the details of my time as a Death Eater. And without the truth, there's no point to it."

"Don't worry about the details, Malfoy. Just trust me. I will publish every word, and the Ministry won't be able to do a thing about it."

A plan was forming in her mind… and the Ministry would know what was coming until it was far too late.

Malfoy gave her a faint smile. "I really don't know how you do it, Granger."

"I'm called the brightest witch of my age for a reason."

Hermione decided to call it a day, and Apparated to the Ministry. Luckily, if she pulled a few good strings, she'd have no trouble dealing with the complications.

It looks like I'll be paying Rita a visit.