Disclaimer: I don't own Harrry Potter, and I don't make money from this story. Just a fan.


June 22, 2002 London, England - Draco's Flat

Draco awoke with a light pounding in his head to the sound of the shower running. He quickly reran the events of the previous night, and groaned as he realized Blaise must be taking a shower. Well, at least he's functional, Draco thought. He threw back the blankets and padded out into the living room to inspect the damage. The empty glass from the night before stood on the coffee table, but otherwise there was no evidence Blaise had even been there the night before, other than the rumpled couch cushions. Draco's stomach rumbled, prompting him to move to the kitchen to see what he had; he was sure Blaise would be hungry, as well. Merlin knew he'd eaten his fill during their time at Hogwarts.

Draco grabbed the carton of eggs, ham, and cheese from the fridge and set about making a couple omelettes for himself and his guest. He hadn't had to cook before moving out on his own, and his first couple endeavors had been a nightmare. He'd stuck to take away for the first several months, but after a while it began to wear on him. He now knew how to make simple things, and stuck close to the recipe for everything else. While his omelette was frying, Draco prepared some toast and readied two plates. He'd heard the shower cut off a few minutes before, and smiled as he saw Blaise pop his head into the small kitchen.

"Morning, sunshine." Draco said as he maneuvered the omelette onto the nearest plate.

"What's all this then?" Blaise looked at Draco like he'd grown an extra head. "When did you become a house elf, Malfoy?" Blaise smirked, but accepted the plate of food Draco shoved into his chest.

"Necessity, Zabini, I'm sure you're familiar with the concept, yeah? Got sick of take away and being helpless, so I learned. Might do you some good to pick up a marketable skill." Draco taunted, buttering his toast before sliding his omelette onto the second plate. He pulled out his wand and summoned two glasses and a jug of pumpkin juice from the fridge and followed them into the dining room, where he and Blaise tucked into the meal.

"Draco, I daresay, these eggs are better than my house elf's." Blaise said between bites.

"That's probably the hangover talking." Draco smirked. Protein was always a sure-fire hangover cure. Blaise allowed that, and the conversation lulled again. That is, until Blaise pulled a letter from the waistband of his pants and laid it in front of Draco.

"So when were you gonna tell me about this, mate?" Blaise eyed the space between Draco and the letter accusingly.

"Tell you about what?" Draco took the letter and instantly paled. "Since when do you intercept my mail, Zabini?" Draco turned on him.

"I asked first, Draco. Why didn't tell me you were talking to her? I could have given you advice long ago!" Blaise said, frowning at the blonde.

"Firstly, I'm not 'talking' to her in the way you obviously think I am, Blaise." Draco said, taking Hermione's letter and moving it away from the man who seemed like he'd give anything to tear it open then and there. "Secondly, even if I was, why would tell a nosy git like you?" Draco sneered, only a little ticked the man was taking so much interest in his love life, or lack of one, as the case may be.

"So then why is she owling you, Draco?" Blaise raised his eyebrows expectantly at him. Draco groaned.

"Probably because I've neglected to owl her about getting together to compare research notes." he said honestly, mentally kicking himself. He'd been so caught up with the new document, he'd completely forgotten to write her and arrange things. Blaise's eyebrows shot even higher.

"Wait. You were going to arrange a research session with Granger? Mudblood Granger?" Blaise questioned, but Draco tensed, recalling the screams of the girl on his ballroom floor.

"Don't call her that." Draco growled. His eyes darkened as he clenched his fist under the table. Blaise was visibly taken aback. He hadn't known Draco had witnessed anything that could have changed his relationship with his school rival. Blaise took a new approach.

"Listen, Draco, if you need to talk about it-" Blaise left the invitation open, knowing that both of them knew what offer was on the table. Draco sighed.

"She was tortured by my Aunt Bella right in front of me. She looked to me for help, she looked into my eyes and pleaded with me to stop her pain and I couldn't. They would have killed me for such a display of weakness. I dream about it to this day." Draco confessed. He'd never told anyone about the way she'd begged him. It felt strange to confess how much he hated himself for not being able to help her.

"I hurt her by not helping. I could have -"

"What? You could have what, Draco? Hexed Bellatrix? Taken out a room full of Death Eaters, your own aunt and father, among them, to save a girl you hated most of your life?" Blaise spat, and Draco felt the truth in his words. There was nothing he could have done that would make sense. Even now, nothing he was doing made sense. Why the sudden compassion for her? Why the sudden interest in her research? If Draco was honest with himself, he knew the answer to that one: she was a means to an end. Another source to site in his bibliography. But, that moment in the library, when they had been sharing their knowledge, he'd felt a sort of camaraderie with her.

"I've got to figure this out." Draco whispered, staring at his hands in his lap. "My head's all messed up, and I haven't the faintest idea why."

Blaise stood and clapped Draco on the shoulder. "If you need me, mate, I'm only an owl away." He nodded to him before taking his leave, and Draco sunk lower in his chair, eyeing the letter warily. He grabbed it and pushed himself to his feet, resigning himself to his fate, whatever that may be.

He padded to his study and sank down at his desk before carefully opening the letter.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Hope this letter finds you well. I'm writing for a couple of reasons. The first, of course, is because I haven't received a letter from you yet to schedule a meeting time. My research is piling up, and I could really use another head to bounce ideas off.

The second reason, though, is because I found a rather unique bit of loose parchment within an old tome in the library at the Ministry. I wouldn't think anything of if it didn't have Armand Malfoy's initials on the bottom corner beside a triangle inside a circle. I don't know if you have any more knowledge about this than I, but I figured at the very least I should make you aware of it.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

Draco's mind whirred faster than he could comprehend. Could the parchment Granger had found be part of Armand's hidden notes? He'd only know for sure once he saw the document. And perhaps the two of them together would be able to decipher the maddening shorthand his great-grandfather prefer to encrypt his notes with. Draco grabbed a quill and unstoppered his ink, reaching for a sheet of parchment.

Dear Miss Granger,

Thank you for writing, I'd found myself caught up with a rather stubborn document that seems to be written in shorthand that seems to be similar to the one you described, as well. We'll have to add comparing notes over these documents to the schedule.

As for a lining up a time to compare our notes, I am available any weekday, from 10 am until I can't hold my eyes open any longer. If it pleases you to choose a date, time, and location, I'd being perfectly willing to oblige.

Awaiting your reply,

Draco Malfoy

Draco carefully folded his letter, sealing it with his Slytherin green wax and the Malfoy crest. He took the letter into the sitting room, where Lyra had her cage in the corner next to the bay window. He stroked her feathers gently, then tied the letter to her right leg carefully.

"Hermione Granger, Lyra. And wait for a response, she'll likely write back quickly." He whispered to the bird. She nipped at his finger affectionately before hopping up onto the window sill and leaping into the air.

To Draco's surprise, Lyra returned twenty minutes later. As he untied the note attached to her leg, his heart sped. He opened it to find Hermione's neat handwriting.

Tuesday, June 25. Meet at the Leaky, we'll come back to my flat after.

Draco felt his stomach tighten and scolded himself internally. This was certainly not a date. This was a business matter. She's a means to an end, Draco. Remember that. But the more he scolded himself, the more butterflies seemed to gather in his gut.