A/N: This chapter's just a little bit shorter than the previous ones, but I needed to end it where it did, because it's the last real exposition chapter before things pick up.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine. It's JKRs.

Hermione didn't go home right away.

She quickly realized she had zero idea on how to deal with a drug addict and had made a beeline for the nearest bookstore, heading straight for the self-help section. She'd purchased the most promising book she'd skimmed through, and the clerk who checked her at the register had given her quite odd looks that did not go unnoticed.

Well, Hermione mused, they probably didn't get a lot of clean cut, bush-haired nerd types purchasing books on drug addiction.

After stopping at her favorite pub to have a bracing glass of wine and a nice chat with the owner (who was an old friend of her dad's), Hermione took a leisurely stroll through the park to clear her head. She needed to order of shipment of books for her wizarding bookstores, and she'd really like to get her Malfoy-drenched thoughts out of her head before dealing with that task.

He really was something.

She felt uncomfortably out of her league at the moment, and she didn't like it. She also didn't like that it was him who was the cause of it all – how was she supposed to work with someone she could barely be civil with?

Hermione was definitely going to have to work on that. She had every intention of going through this ordeal like a mature adult, but could Malfoy? Would it be asking too much of him to be able to work through his issues and be nice to her about it?

Eh…she'd work on that later.

Unfortunately for Hermione, 'that' was waiting for her at her apartment door, slumped against the wall and smoking a cigarette.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, shocked to see Malfoy waiting by her door.

"You left the cigarettes," he said, taking a long draw for emphasis.

"Yeah, so?"

"Why?"

Hermione shrugged as she pulled her keys out. "I don't know that much about withdrawal, but I thought it might help you from going completely mental."

He stood up as she unlocked her door. "I think you're right – you don't know much-"

"Sod off, I got a book about it," she grumbled, already wishing she'd taken longer strolling in the park. Or better yet, had stopped by the bookstore for a few hours.

"A book? Really, Granger?"

"What are you doing here?" she asked again as she stood in her doorway.

"Well, I wanted a drink but you got rid of all of that, too. Without being asked, I might add."

"Oh, I'm sorry. When said you wanted me to get rid of all of it I thought you meant all of it," she snapped, walking into her apartment and irritably noting that Malfoy followed her in, sadly not put off by her sarcasm.

"Very funny, Gran – ARGH!"

Hermione couldn't help but cackle. Crookshanks – that loveable little scamp! – had leapt atop Malfoy's pale head from his perch on top of the refrigerator and was purring contentedly as he scratched at Malfoy's ear.

"Get it off! Get it off!"

"Crookshanks doesn't like strangers," she said through her laughter.

"I can see that!" he said through gritted teeth, trying to pry the ginger cat off his head. After a few moments of playfully sinking his claws into Malfoy's hands, Crookshanks finally leapt to the floor and meandered over to rub against Hermione's ankles, looking up at her with a self-satisfied smug look on his face. After receiving an approving smile from Hermione, the cat sauntered off towards the couch.

Hermione looked up at Malfoy, who was glaring at her as he pulled out a fresh cigarette, the last one having fallen to the floor in the struggle. She noticed his chin was now sporting a large bruise, and she felt rather pleased about it.

"This is a non-smoking building," Hermione said disapprovingly, Vanishing the cigarette on her floor with a wave of her wand.

Malfoy just glared at her some more, blowing a puff of smoke in her face.

"How'd you know where I live, anyway?" she asked, stepping away from the cloud of smoke.

"Looked it up."

"Right," she replied. "Well, I've got business to take care of, so if you'll just be on your way, that would be great."

"Rubbish."

"Excuse me?"

"I need to talk to you."

Hermione sighed. "Again? Or were you not finished?"

"I came to apologize."

"Apologize? For what?"

Malfoy rubbed his chin. "For being a temperamental dick."

"I wouldn't have expected anything more from you, especially under the current circumstances," she said honestly.

"Fair enough," he shrugged. "Anyway, I'm sorry."

Hermione absentmindedly wondered how many times she was going to hear that word in the coming…weeks? Months? Years?

"So you're sorry for being a terrible person. Anything specific you'd like to apologize for?"

Malfoy blew another puff of smoke at her face. "Specific?"

"That's what I said."

He stared blankly at her.

Hermione tapped her fisted hand against her chin.

"Oh," he said as comprehension dawned on his face. "Sorry."

"For what, specifically?"

"Fine. I'm sorry for calling you a Mudblood, alright? It's a reflex," he said irritably.

"Apology accepted."

Malfoy just scowled at her.

"Okay, Malfoy. Feel free to let yourself out," Hermione said waspishly. His presence really was quite draining.

"I wasn't done," he said wearily, stamping his cigarette out on her counter before settling into a chair at her kitchen table.

Hermione mentally counted to ten as she Vanished his cigarette. "What now?"

"I need a favor," he said.

Hermione eyes him skeptically. As pitiful as he was, slumped at her kitchen table in days-old clothes, she wasn't too keen on the idea of doing too many favors for Draco Malfoy.

"What's that?" she finally asked.

"Can you act like you don't hate me?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"I know you can't stand me, but it would be nice if you could just try and pretend to not hate me when I'm around."

"I don't hate you, Malfoy," she sighed, sitting down at the chair across him. "I think you're a bastard who's made a lot of rotten choices, but I don't hate you."

He looked at her sadly, clearly not really believing her. "Really?"

"If I hated you I would have never allowed you to enter my home, trust me."

Malfoy snorted before crossing his arms on the table and laying his head on them. "That's…comforting," he mumbled.

Hermione frowned at his rather greasy hair. "Speaking of comfort, maybe you should start this whole process by embracing personal hygiene."

He lifted his head and rested his chin on his arms to scowl at her.

"I'm serious, Malfoy. And eat a few burgers – you look like a Thestral."

"Is this you being nice?"

"I consider honesty to fall under the category of 'nice,' yes."

He just stared at her.

Hermione, yet again, found herself marveling at how different he was.

He was already so different from how he was at Hogwarts…could he be even more different – could he be good?

"Malfoy?"

"What?"

"Do you – do you still care about pureblood superiority?" she asked tentatively.

He looked at her like she was incredibly dim. "Granger, I'm living as a muggle and sitting at your table. Does it look like I still care?"

Hermione considered him for a few moments. "I guess not…"

"You don't believe me."

"Well…" she trailed off, thrown off by the disappointment in his voice. "Not yet."

Malfoy finally skulked out of her flat citing a headache, leaving Hermione worried. He really was quite a mess, and she wasn't sure if her recently acquired book would be very helpful.

Deciding to put off her shipment orders for a night, Hermione was currently curled under the covers in her bed, absentmindedly watching Crookshanks happily attempt to eat her shoes.

Watching Malfoy leave her flat in just as pathetic a manner as when he came in, Hermione had come to the ugly realization that this was going to take a long, long time. She'd already assumed as much, but the ugly part of the realization was that it meant she was going to have to tell Harry and Ron sometime in the near future.

The prospect of having that conversation was very distressing indeed, and made Hermione's head spin so much that she had retreated to her bed.

She knew they weren't going to like that she was helping their old enemy, even if said enemy was pathetically weak and about as intimidating as a kitten. Hermione wanted to believe him when he'd said his attitude on blood had changed, but she still wasn't so sure. If Hermione wasn't sure there was no way Harry or Ron would be sure.

Harry would be more apt to support Hermione in this new project than Ron. As much as he'd despised Malfoy, Harry's testimony is what had kept Malfoy and his mother out of Azkaban. Harry knew Malfoy wasn't all bad. No, it wouldn't be too much of a problem to gain Harry's support. He'd probably ask if she was sure about a million times, but he'd come around soon enough, but not without telling her to be careful about three million times.

Ron, on the other hand, would probably blow a gasket. Sure, he hadn't advocated for the young Malfoy to go to Azkaban, but he'd been more than happy to quietly step back and let Harry and Hermione defend him. Hermione was sure that Ron would eventually calm down and support her new endeavor, but it wouldn't happen without a rather lengthy fit initially.

It was weird to think about, but Ron also had the tendency to get jealous when Hermione spent time with other men whose last name didn't end in Weasley or Potter. Even though he had no reason to be jealous in this case, there was a strong possibility he would be anyway. Ron was a hothead, after all.

Actually, Hermione thought with a smile, it would be rather cute watching Ron get all worked up over her spending quality time with another man, even if it was only Malfoy. She would never admit it to anyone, but it thrilled her whenever Ron got overly protective of her, because it was proof of how much he cared about her.

Hermione sighed. Even though she knew that in the end they would both support her, she really wasn't mentally prepared to have this discussion anytime soon. She was going to the Burrow for George's birthday in a couple of weeks, and as she was staying the whole weekend she would have plenty of opportunities to pull her two best friends aside to fill them in.

Until then…well, she would have to tell Malfoy she was going to tell Harry and Ron. That conversation wasn't going to be easy, either.

Hermione ended up filling out all of her forms for her wizarding bookstores while sitting on the couch in her muggle bookstore the next day. It was rainy, so she wasn't worried about anyone catching a glimpse of the order forms for "Willow Para's History of Witches: Feminism in the Magical World" and asking odd questions.

After sending Chelsea home early because it was such a slow day, Hermione had settled behind the counter to crack open her new book on combating drug addiction.

A lot of it was stuff she could have guessed using common sense – adopting a healthy lifestyle was definitely a no brainer. Some of it was information Hermione wouldn't have thought of, such as simply reducing the amount of drugs to levels that didn't negatively affect someone's life. Hermione didn't like that idea at all, though she supposed she hadn't been wrong to leave the cigarettes after all.

She did have to admit it made a little sense, as the book mentioned that withdrawal could sometimes be fatal if too abrupt.

The option that made the most sense, of course, was rehab. The only problem with that was there was no way in hell Malfoy would ever go rehab. Even broken, defeated Malfoy had too much nonsensical pride for that, though that wouldn't stop Hermione from running the idea by him. She selfishly wished he would go with that option, seeing as it would make her life much easier. But she knew he wouldn't.

She would have to call him sometime soon.

Not today, of course. She needed to finish her book, and naturally she would need some time to plan out how she was going to deal with Malfoy the next time she saw him.

And, of course, she wanted a day or two to herself. She had a feeling she wasn't going to have a lot of those for a while, so she was set on taking advantage of them while she could.

As if on cue, Hermione's mobile phone rang.

A/N: Yes, I am a raving feminist, which is why the books Hermione orders in this chapter are about feminism. No, this fic isn't going to be preachy. I was having a hard time thinking up magical book title, and that's just what popped into my mind. Just FYI.

Annnd that's it for exposition! Things will get a little more exciting from here on out, promise. I know it's felt a little same-same with all of Hermione's worrying, but I'm trying to keep her as in character as possible and that means some extensive worrying and analyzing was called for. But the story is moving forward, so there will be less inner worryings (though this is Hermione, so she'll still have some). Unfortuntely for me, that means lots and lots of dialogue, which I hate (yes, I said it: I hate dialogue. That's why writing this fic is going to be a huge, huge challenge for me). Fortunately, that means lots and lots of Draco and Hermione interactions! Woooooooo!

And yes, Draco and Hermione will eventually fall in love. Some of you were worried about the validity of their future feelings for each other, but there's no need for worrying. This is a tale that calls for a strong friendship that eventually (i.e., slowly and realistically) evolves into a relationship - there won't be any pity love. Trust me.