AN: I own nothing of Harry Potter. All I've got are my ideas.

Look, kids, I'm so sorry it took me (MORE THAN) a month to update this story. Things are going to pick up pace over the next couple of chapters, but I can't promise immediate updates due to s'cool (school) and life (haha, like I have one of those). I'll do what I can when I can. As always, I ADORE reviews and dedicate this to the reviewers. Still want song recommendations.

Song: Tiësto feat. Tegan & Sara - Feel It In My Bones*

This chapter is, of course, dedicated to (in reverse order of review posting):
xAngeloxPiccolax: Adorable Angel, thank you for reading more than one of my pieces. I'm glad that I am (fairly) consistently pleasing.
ginnyali: Thank you for your kind words!
jessirose85: I hope this chapter helps to clear up your Harry query. I think he just doesn't like being stuck in the middle.
twistedartist: Oh, goodness. You can always say that. Simple praise is always appreciated (because I'm incurably vain).
flamelm: Just for the record, you are my most consistent reviewer, which basically means that I love you bushels and I keep checking your page to see if you've written any stories that I can read (is that strange and stalker-ish? Perhaps. Do I particularly care? Nah). Thank you so very much! Your continued support is greatly (greatly, greatly) appreciated.
Pau-0803: Blah. I hate washing dishes, too. Thank you for your continued support, also. I have extra-super adoration for people who stick with stories.
martshi3: My pet, I will continue to give you shout-outs for as long as you continue to support my (painfully slow) work.
Thwarted Moony: My amazing Ana: Well, thank you for leaving a review even if you don't like to give them. It was greatly appreciated. Hope to have you reading me again (is that correct?)!

*Don't like my song choices? No problem! Recommend better ones in the REVIEWS section below!

A Chronological Breakdown of Monday

5:52 AM

Hermione awoke on Monday morning to a furry face knocking against her cheek and a rumbling purr. She sighed and rolled out of bed, dancing her feet against the cold floor. She glanced out the window, and her shoulders slumped slightly. It was barely light outside, and although she still had quite some time before she needed to be awake, she had never been able to go to sleep if it was light outside.

Crookshanks, either unaware or uncaring of the discomfort he had caused his mistress, curled himself around her ankles, and mewled for breakfast.

She glared down at the furry little perpetrator- more for the act of it than out of any real anger. "I suppose this means I'm supposed to feed you now, doesn't it?" She asked, her voice horse with sleep. The cat meowed loudly, raising his front paws off the ground. Well, he didn't mind her voice, at least.

She straightened her back – there was nothing like good posture to ward off self-pity – and walked gingerly across the wooden floor to her closet, in search of her bathrobe and slippers. If she couldn't go back to sleep, there was no reason not to begin her day.

6:48 AM

She was reading an old book, sunk deep in her ancient couch, with her elderly cat asleep on her lap, when she heard the tap of claws against her kitchen window. She rose to let the owl in, and dislodged her ginger feline in the process. In one last protest as he fell to the floor, he dug his nails into her skirt, piercing the skin underneath. "Ow, Crookshanks!" She scolded, but he only wound around her feet again. She looked at him, her dark brow furrowed. He had been awfully affectionate lately and she was worried that he might be sick.

Following his bottle brush tail around the kitchen corner, she found herself staring at the heart-shaped face of Harry's barn owl, Barnabas.

"Hello, Barny," She cooed as the owl landed on the back of one of her chairs, keeping a safe distance from Crookshanks, who was staring up at him with hungry-eyed interest. Hermione took the rolled parchment from his outstretched talon.

Hermione,

We need to talk. Can I drop in round 8?

Harry

Trying very hard not to feel too put out by this succinct message after more than a week of silence between them, she wrote a brief reply (still a good three lines longer than his missive had been) and sent Barny away after a bit of toast.

She watched as he grew smaller and smaller into the the distance across the thatched and crooked rooftops of Diagon Alley. She wondered where he was going. Suddenly, the apartment around her felt very empty and she, very much alone.

As if in response to her unmentioned wave of melancholy, Crookshanks leaped onto the table beside her and batted her hand with a concerned paw. She smiled and bent down until her eyes were on level with his squashed mug, taking his small face in her hands. His eyes closed and he purred. "How could I ever feel alone with such a darling gentleman here to take care of me?"

7:29 AM

Hermione walked into her office and sat down behind the desk in quite a good mood. She had gotten up early enough (thank you, Crookshanks) to really look good today, and so she was wearing a beautifully tailored set of robes and was all-in-all pleased with how she had managed to make her hair lay smoothly against her head. She had even dared to throw a little lipstick on, making herself feel absolutely lovely.

After her brief pause for pleased self-examination, she cleared her throat and said aloud, "Now, then. On to the paperwork!" She pulled Draco's file onto her desk and tried not to notice that when one had their own office, there was no one to answer when one spoke into the silence on a Monday morning.

8:03 AM

She had put her paperwork back into a file, and her annoyance was mounting with every tick of the clock. Harry had asked for her time the first thing on a Monday morning even though he knew she was invariably busy. This would have been forgivable had he bothered showing up on time.

8:17 AM

"Sorry," said Harry breathlessly as he whirled into the office, throwing his cloak across the back of his chair and slumping down in front of her, a guilty smile plastered across his face, "Got caught up with Shacklebolt out in the hall."

She smiled thinly at him, her hands clasped before her on the desk.

"Oh, don't be upset! You know how Kingsley likes to talk!"

"I'm not upset," she lied, and focused on straightening her jar of quills.

"Yes you are," he insisted, "Whenever you're mad, you get this thin-lipped look that makes you look like McGonagall."

Her head shot up and her eyes flashed with indignation, "I most certainly-" but he was smiling. A joke. There was really no reason to be angry. Harry was habitually late; it wasn't a personal affront. "Good morning, Harry," Sshe said simply.

"Morning, Hermione."

8:19 AM

It had taken Harry two minutes to finally get around to mentioning the reason for this visit.

"I haven't said that I wasn't going yet," she replied, careful to keep her voice controlled.

"Well, yeah, but you haven't said you are, either." A valid point, she had to admit, especially since she was generally prompt in her replies.

"I just don't know if I'm going to be free that weekend or-"

"Oh come off it, Hermione," cut in Harry. She hated it when people cut her off mid-sentence. "We both know why you don't want to go. But it's been a while and you two are still friends. Can't you just forgive him already?"

She silently counted to ten before responding. "Harry, I there is nothing to forgive anymore. He is the one who hasn't spoken to me, you realize, and then I get this invitation out of the blue, and what am I-"

"Hermione, I'm pretty sure that you don't want to go because, well, you know," his voice trailed off and he looked nervously around, as though he was suddenly in uncharted territory. She hadn't noticed this. She was too preoccupied with the fact that he had cut her off mid-sentence for a second time.

She glowered at him, "No, Harry Potter, I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

He shifted in his chair, visibly uncomfortable, "Well, it's just that Ron's, well, he's getting married, you know, and you're..."

"I'm what?" She asked sharply. His eyes flicked to her wand laying across her desk and then to the door.

"Well, you're not seeing anyone, you know, romantically, are you?"

For a moment, she didn't know how to respond, and gaped at him as if she had been slapped. "Are you suggesting that I'm actually jealous of him marrying that, that," she finally spluttered. She shook her head, dislodging her carefully arranged hair as she searched her extensive vocabulary for an adjective that could accurately describe Ron's fiancée, "Ninny?" She settled on finally, trying to put all the disdain she felt for Lavender into her voice.

Harry seemed to gain confidence from this, "Yeah," he said, "I think you are."

"Harry James Potter," she said, perhaps a bit too loudly, "That is perhaps the most ridiculous thing you've ever said to me. I-"

"But you've been so-"

"Would you stop interrupting me every single time I talk?" She snapped.

The room was silent for a moment. Finally, Harry said, "Sorry, Hermione, what were you saying?"

She was instantly sorry for her outburst. Harry didn't deserve it. "Oh, it's not important, I think. The fact remains, though, that I haven't made up my mind about whether or not I'm going to the wedding and you are not going to decide for me."

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but thought better, and shut it again.

"How's Ginny, then?" She prompted.

"Oh, swell," He said, obviously grateful for this more neutral topic, "Really getting on well with Gwenog Jones. She's coaching now, you know."

"Yes, I know. Ginny told me last week."

"You still doing your Monday Night Drinks thing, then?" He asked eagerly.

"Yes," She replied pointedly, not revealing any more than that. She and Harry's girlfriend had been getting drinks together every Monday night for almost a year, and while neither girl ever revealed anything they talked about on these days, Harry had been fishing for hints every chance he got. Hermione then turned the talk toward his work, and they discussed Harry's hunt for Death Eaters in Romania until Hermione looked at the clock.

"Harry, as great as it was to see you, I really do have to work to do, and so do you."

He rose reluctantly and they made their goodbyes. As he stood in the doorway, though, he turned and said, "Just promise you'll think really hard about going to Ron's wedding."

She opened her mouth to tell him that she would think about it, but didn't want to make any promises, but he cut her off before she even got the first word out. "There. Did you see that?"

"What?"

"Your face." She looked dubiously up at him. He tried again, "No, I mean, when I said Ron's – there it goes again!"

"What?" She repeated, growing more irritated by the second.

"Whenever I say his name, you flinch."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not. You're doing it and you don't even know it," he insisted.

"Whatever you say, Harry," She said, trying to push him out the door, but he was bigger than she was and so pushing was not as easy as she hoped.

Instead he turned and took her hands in his, catching her gaze in his green eyes. "You can't stay like this forever, Hermione. Ron's moved on, and you should, too." He said meaningfully.

She broke the staring first. "I've got work to do," She said quietly, and closed the door before he could say anything else.

8:59 AM

"Come in," she called.

Draco Malfoy entered as silently as a shadow. Her immediate thought was that, if someone had taken a black-and-white photograph of him, there would be no more or less color than she was seeing now. He was all pale skin and white hair, dressed in mortician black. It suited him, in some strange way. She was pleased to note that the shadows under his eyes were less noticeable and his cheeks appeared less gaunt. Life was returning what Azkaban had robbed him of, it seemed.

He sat in the chair Harry had so recently vacated, and folded his hands elegantly in his lap.

"Good morning," he said, returning her gaze steadily. His voice was more confident than it had been the previous week, but still lacked something it had boasted in their Hogwarts days. Not, of course, that she was bemoaning the fact that propriety was currently trumping racist slurs and snide remarks. It was just interesting, was all.

"Morning," she replied, smiling faintly at him. He did not return the gesture, and so hers disappeared quickly. Civility was still apparently beyond him. Well, she was thankful for neutrality, at least. She paused for a beat to collect her thoughts before continuing. "Tom sent in his first report of your performance, but before we go over that, why don't you tell me what you thought of it there." She suggested.

He did not reply immediately, instead he sized her up with a gaze, as if wondering how much he could tell her. Finally, he said, "I found it to be a most educational experience."

"Well, that's good," she said absently. It was a politic answer, if nothing else. She looked down at the paper on her desk before her. "Would you like to know what Tom said about you?"

Again, he did not answer right away. She noted that his silence was not as anxious as it had been the previous week, but it stretched on a bit too long again. He licked his lips before answering. "Yes," he finally said. Succinct. She mentally noted, not entirely sure if this annoyed her or not.

Waving away any potential vexation, she read off the paper, "Draco seems to try his best, but breaks a lot of dishes. A good boy and I think he'll be very useful, once he gets the hang of what he's doing."

A look of obvious insult showed on his face, "'Be very useful'?" He echoed contemptuously, and his face curled into a sneer she recognized immediately, "I could buy that place four times over and still not worry about money. If that old man doesn't realize what a useful addition I make to his sorry staff, then he's even more senile that I first thought."

At least she now knew that the old Malfoy was still in there. This fact, however, did nothing to improve her mood. She reminded herself that no matter how vile his personality, it was her job to teach him how to be a productive member of society, and punching him in the face was sure not to do any good. Instead, she forced herself to smile and said as sweetly as she could, "It sounds to me, Draco," she had never used his first name to his face at it felt strange on her tongue; too personal. She resolved to just call him Mr. Malfoy from then on. "Like Tom's happy to have you working for him. He had no large complaints about your performance, which is generally a good thing after only a few days of work."

His sneer didn't change, but the air between them changed very subtly. "Of course," he said, and they lapsed into silence again.

Finally, she asked, "Besides your new job, how has your first full week of freedom been?"

He blinked, obviously not expecting this question. His tongue flicked out and wet his lips before he answered, "Uneventful." Obviously, he didn't want to reveal any more than this. Well, that was alright. They had never been even remotely friendly.

She tried a different tactic. "Have you given any thought to your long-term goal?"

"Yes," He said immediately this time, "I mentioned last week that I would like to endeavor to be more philanthropic."

She wasn't exactly sure how to respond to this, but luckily, she didn't have to. He continued, unbidden.

"At first, I was at a loss as to how to proceed with this plan; there are infinite ways for one of my status to contribute to wizarding society." She felt a faint pang of annoyance at this comment, but he spoke again, oblivious to her discontent. "And then it came to me: The best way to help society as a whole is to better the lives of creatures less fortunate than I am."

'Creatures'? Was he serious?

"So, I decided that I will raise money and awareness for the house-elf cause."

Hermione almost fell out of her chair. Whatever she had been expecting, it was not this. He stared down his nose at her in obvious distaste. After a few very long and unpleasant seconds, she realized that it was her turn to talk.

"Well." She started. She paused for a moment before saying, "I thought- well – this is unexpected. Um, why house elves, if you don't mind me asking?"

He appeared to be expecting this, and indeed, a smirk began to curl up the side of his mouth. "Why, because they greatly affect the Malfoy estate, of course. In our employ, there are more than ten working elves. Should laws be changed for them, as I think they shall be in the future, it would be in my family's best interest to back such a venture. Furthermore, it would be charitable, and I am sure that you, Granger, would be the first to admit that my family's name is not the mark of royalty that it once was in wizarding society."

Before she could collect herself enough to respond, he pressed on with, "I'm going to orchestrate a charity dinner."

This was not a suggestion. It was a statement in fact. A part of Hermione wanted to knock him down a few pegs simply for coming into her office and making preposterous suggestions and then just expecting that it was so easy to take the upper hand. Still, the larger, more logical, part of her brain was whispering that this may be a blessing in disguise. Sure, holes would crop up in what was undoubtedly a poorly-thought-out plan, but in the mean time, it would keep Malfoy out of trouble and would actually bring some publicity to the elfish cause. How could she argue with that?

"Alright," She said slowly, "But it's almost nine thirty and-"

"My appointment is nearly over." He cut her off. Testily, she wondered why nobody was letting her finish her own sentences today.

"Yes." She curtly replied, "But I'll see you next Monday, shall I?"

"Of course."

"Does the nine o-clock slot work for you?" She asked politely, making a note on her calendar when he nodded. "Right. In the interim, please do keep thinking about this fund-raiser idea, and keep up the good work at the Leaky Cauldron."

5:56 PM

Exhausted, Hermione dragged her heavy feet to the Ministry's flew network. Honestly, all she wanted to do was go home and go to bed.

At least things had gone well with Malfoy this morning. Truth be told, he was showing much more promise than any of her other ex-cons had. He was even (sort of) working towards his long term goals. Well, it wasn't much and he was probably going to mess it up at some point very soon, but at least he was (apparently) trying. That was something.

6:13 PM

Hermione had just finished feeding Crookshanks when Ginny's Screech Owl tapped a claw gently against her window. Once she unhooked the latch, Bogey (the owl) fluttered onto her head and proceeded to pick at its feathers while Hermione read the parchment, only able to decipher Ginny's scrawl with years of practice.

After penning a hasty response, she sent Bogey on his way and set about trying to decide what to eat. The problem wasn't that she didn't have food, it was simply that she didn't feel like eating. It seemed like an awful lot of work.

Eventually, she made herself a bowl of oatmeal and took it with her into the living room to read the evening paper.

8:48 PM

Hermione walked into the Three Broomsticks. It was fairly crowded, as far as Monday nights went; still no more than twenty people in all. Her eyes searched for her companion, and she finally spied fiery red hair.

Ginny Weasely waved her to the little table in the corner where she was seated with two mugs. Hermione slid into the chair across from her smiling friend, returning the look tiredly.

Ginny looked slightly concerned, "Harry said you looked worn out."

"So you've talked to him about his visit?" She replied, sounding more miffed than she'd intended.

"Well, he only mentioned it in passing over dinner." Ginny took a sip of her firewhiskey unconcernedly.

Hermione sighed resignedly. "No, I'm fine. Anyway, how are things between you and Harry?"

Ginny's brows, instead of relaxing the way Hermine had anticipated, only drew further together. "Well, see, not so great."

Hermione almost spat her drink out. "What?"

"Well," Ginny bit her lower lip, "See the thing is, I feel like I never get to see him anymore."

"That's not what you said last week."

"A lot can change in a week," replied Ginny pertly and took another sip. "It's just," she looked sideways and didn't continue.

After what seemed like a polite interval, "Well?" Demanded Miss Granger of Miss Weasely.

"He's always at work! It's like he's avoiding me or he doesn't want to come home! Is there something wrong with me?" Demanded Ginny, her wide brown eyes honestly inquiring, her hands moving with such ferocity that Hermione worried she would spill her drink.

As a natural and opposite reaction to Ginny's volatile behavior, Hermione became completely analytical. "Of course he wants to be home. He's just been busy lately. And you can't make such snap decisions based off of only a few days' worth of distance. Give it another week at least, Ginny."

Ginny sighed into her drink. "You're probably right." Pause. "No, of course you're right. I'm just being silly. It's just, well, you know, with the wedding, I'm wondering if he'll ever propose. I mean, we've been together more than twice as long as my brother and Lavender. I just don't want to be thirty and still hoping to get married." She shook herself as though ridding her body of a chill and snapped her head up to Hermione, smiling again. "Anyway, enough about that whiny stuff. How are you doing? How was your weekend?"

Hermione smiled at the younger girl. Ginny was only a year out of school and the newest member on the Hollyhead Harpies' Quiddich team. The stress was seeming to be getting to her a bit. Poor Ginny. Hermione smiled and said, "Quiet. I sat home and read for most of it. What did you do? Did you spend the entire time getting ready for your brother's wedding?"

"Oh, Lavender's taking care of the entire thing, really. Ron's not doing much of anything himself, which suits him just fine." Ginny rolled her eyes.

This time, when the name was mentioned, Hermione felt herself wince. Perhaps there was some truth to what Harry had said. If this was true, it was a reality that disturbed her and left her feeling unbearably lonely. Instead of telling this to Ginny, however, she smiled and listened while her friend proceeded to complain about the puffy purple bridesmaid dress that she was going to be expected to wear, willing her mind to remain on the conversation.