A/N: I love this chapter, hope you love it too! Sorry for the wait. Hope you had a great holiday! HUUUUGE THANKS TO ALL MY REVIEWERS! I LIVE OFF YOU GUYS!

&

The Travesty of Human Fallibility

&

He stared. She stared.

Finally, "Granger. Tell me this isn't happening."

Hermione stood up, placing Ophelia behind her so that her body acted as a shield. "Mom, Dad," she said calmly, looking at her parents. "Would you mind taking Ophelia for a walk? I'll meet you outside by the fountain."

"Momma?" Ophelia asked curiously, poking her head around Hermione's knees, and Draco sucked in a breath.

Hermione turned around, kneeling down. "Just have to talk to a friend from work, baby!" She cooed, coddling the little girl atrociously. "I'll see you outside soon after you have a nice walk with Grammy and Grampy, okay?"

"Otay, I like the fountain" she agreed, and Draco felt his heart do a funny little flip-flop at the way she mispronounced the 'k' as a 't.' This was quickly replaced with outrage as the girl and her grandparents disappeared down the hall, leaving him alone with Hermione.

"Do you mind not harassing me when I'm trying to have a moment with my family?" Hermione demanded sharply, breaking the silence. "I'm just out of the hospital—must I deal with you adding insult to injury?"

"Oh no," Draco said, advancing. "Don't you dare pretend you don't know exactly what this is about." Hermione visibly blanched. "You think I didn't notice? What, like no one else would ever realize that she's practically my copy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione denied weakly, but Draco knew he was winning.

"What the fuck Granger?" He yelled. "What did you think you were doing? What did you think you were playing at? You think you can just have my daughter, have my child, and not let me know? Did you honestly think I'd never find out?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "It's not like you really cared, Malfoy!" She said shrilly, her voice steadily climbing octaves. "All you wanted was a one night stand! You wouldn't have given me a monthly stipend if I'd had quintuplets, for Merlin's sake, so let's be realistic here. And don't call her your child. You donated half the genes, that's all. She's my child, because she's the result of my love, dedication, hard work, and a couple other words you won't know the meaning of, Malfoy—commitment and honor."

"Don't you dare accuse me of being dishonorable! You, who lied for five years."

"Don't presume you know anything about me!" Hermione shrieked. "You know nothing! You didn't even know you had a child until you found out by accident!"

"Only because you were hiding her from me!"

"Only because you didn't care enough to try and find her!"

"Stop being such a simpering idiot, Granger, and explain to me why you decided to have a baby, which happened to be partially mine, and neglect to mention that minor detail to me!" Malfoy hollered. "What's her name?" He suddenly demanded, and when she was silent he asked again. "What is my daughter's name!?"

"Ophelia!" Hermione finally snapped. "My daughter's name is Ophelia."

Draco was so shocked that for a moment he literally couldn't speak. "Ophelia? OPHELIA? You named our daughter after the psychotic character in a Shakespearean tragedy, who ultimately commits suicide? Granger, I knew you were a maniac but…!" A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to escape him.

Momentarily taken aback by his knowledge of muggle literature, Hermione could only respond with an abrupt "She is a child born of tragedy."

"So that's what they're calling it these days," Draco snorted, and Hermione marched up to him and slapped him smartly across the face. For the second time in a minute, Draco was so shocked he almost couldn't react. But he still managed. He snatched her wrist on the downswing, dragging her closer. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he growled, his voice deep, low, and dangerous.

Hermione wrenched her wrist from his grasp and thrust herself away. "Stay away from me, Malfoy, and stay away from my daughter. We've managed for five years and we'll continue to manage. We're quite happy and would appreciate no interference."

Draco smirked. "As if."

"We've done extremely well, thank you very much," Hermione retorted smartly, doing an admirable job of holding on to her temper.

"And now I can do extremely well with her," Draco finished. "She's half Malfoy by blood, she shall be raised accordingly."

A nurse walking down the hallway glared at them and made a shushing sound. They stopped abruptly, realizing that they looked amazingly childish, standing five feet apart in the middle of a hospital hallway, with their hands on their hips, shouting at each other.

"You shall do no such thing," Hermione said, in a more normal tone of voice, though still poisonous.

"She's half mine," Draco countered, lowering his voice as well. "And I'm still waiting on the explanation as to why I've only just been enlightened as to her existence."

"Because," Hermione paused, glaring, "in case you hadn't realized yet, I loathe your presence."

"The feeling is mutual, Granger dearest," Draco sneered. "But that doesn't give you free license to go around popping out my babies."

"Well, it was all your fault," she hissed, drawing closer and literally poking him in the chest. "If you hadn't gotten me drunk, seduced me, and forgotten contraception, then I wouldn't exactly have needed to, would I?"

He smirked. "Granger... you know you wanted me."

She smiled sweetly at him. "I'll remind you, Malfoy, that you are the one who stuck your penis inside of me, thus impregnating me."

His mouth opened, and then closed.

"For some reason," she continued, "I found it logical that because it had not been my choice to engage in sexual intercourse—it had been yours—that you would also be knowledgeable regarding the consequences of such things, and therefore relinquish all claims over any products of the union."

"I—"

Hermione turned smartly on her heel. "Conversation closed, Malfoy. You have no custody rights. You relinquished those when you took advantage of me and then left." She walked away.

Malfoy watched her walk down the hallway of the small private hospital, almost too stunned to admire how her butt looked in her jeans.

Almost.

(They were pretty tight jeans.)

&

"You know, Hermione," Harry was saying, as the previously named woman was glaring daggers at him. "He's really not all that bad."

"Beg pardon!?" Hermione cried, leaping off the sofa. "You're not serious, are you? He tried to steal Ophelia! Who is not even rightfully his! He's been nothing but an ass to me and he will only continue to be!"

"Well, we've been thrown together a bit, working in the Ministry, and he's," Harry paused, looking edgily at Hermione's bulging eyes, "well he's really been nice." He finished hurriedly.

"WHAT!?" Hermione shrieked, hair flying everywhere. Harry privately thought she looked vaguely like Medusa—her cheeks pink with rage, wild curls, furious face. "You're taking his side!? Against ME?"

Harry stood up. "I really can't deal with your dramatic streak right now, Hermione," he said with more confidence than he felt, as her face turned purple. "I have to get back to Ginny and the kids. I wasn't taking anybody's side—"

"So now you're neutral in a battle between one of your oldest, best friends and your worst enemy?" Hermione interjected snarkily, but Harry ignored her.

"—I was just suggesting that you give him a real second chance. I know I haven't always taken my own advice, but a couple of us in the Ministry are starting to believe that there may be more to Malfoy than meets the eye."

With that, he left the apartment, leaving a stunned and enraged Hermione to sit on the sofa, alone, with his words pounding through her head. Her dramatic streak? Malfoy not that bad? We're all going to the dogs, Hermione thought wryly.

After a few minutes of silence, Hermione decided to call on Ron. He'd reassure her with his solid hatred of Malfoy, and maybe together they could talk some sense in to Harry. If she thought for a moment that she was being unreasonable in her persistent hatred, she ignored it. Grabbing her coat, she apparated to his doorstep.

"Ron?" She knocked, and there was a clatter from inside. It was evening, and the streetlight didn't give off much of a glow, but she pressed her nose to the glass anyways. "Ron?" She called again, knocking, and then tried the handle. The door was unlocked, so she stepped inside. "Hello?"

Ron's face appeared from the kitchen, but he looked strange. "Ohhermione," he said, but it sounded vaguely slurred.

"Ron, are you alright?" All of Hermione's anger with Harry evaporated, replaced by confusion and concern. He hadn't been able to make the dinner party Ginny had wanted to throw, so she really hadn't seen him in quite a while. What if he were ill?

"Yeah 'm fine," he replied, but there was definitely something wrong with his speech delivery. Hermione frowned, and marched over to him.

"Ron!" She cried, and staggered backward. For a moment, she thought she might faint.

Ron's kitchen was a disaster. Grubby, dirty, and small, it was littered with liquor bottles: open, closed, cans, glass, firewhisky, butter beer, muggle beer—to name a few. Interspersed with these were discarded clothes, packs of cigarettes, and rubbish from meals. Unwashed dishes piled out of the sink, and his cupboards were filled with more alcohol. It looked like a scene from the movies. Amidst it all, Ron sat, unshaven and grimy, in his bathrobe, holding a can of beer and a cigarette.

He was clearly extremely drunk, proven when he attempted to stand and greet her. "Herm—" he began, then stumbled and crashed in to a pile of cans, causing a huge clatter. Hermione lunged forward, gripping his arm.

"Ron," she said firmly, "we're leaving." Adjusting her grip, she apparated to the first and only place she could think of—Harry's house.

Ginny opened the door, and when she saw Ron, her jaw dropped. "Hermione—wha—?"

They stood there in silence together, until Ron lurched forward with a mumbled "Ginny," and awkwardly stroked her cheek. Ginny shoved his hand away roughly.

"Who are you?" She whispered, her voice raw. "Ron, Ron, what have you done?" She looked at him for a long moment, then turned to Hermione, who was still standing on the doorstep. "I have kids," she said slowly. "They can't see him like this. Do you—d'you think, this, this has happened…" she gulped "..before?"

Hermione looked down, then up. "I saw his kitchen. I think it's been going on for a while."

They shared another long look, and knew that they were both remembering the hurried note Hermione had sent, seemingly so long ago.

"A while," Ginny repeated, and then opened the door further. "I suppose you'll have to come in." Noticing Hermione's hesitation, a shadow of smile graced her face. "Don't worry—Harry told me about your conversation. It'll be fine."

"I don't want to intrude…"

"Nonsense!" Ginny snapped, her empathy used up. "We need to decide what to do with him, and Merlin knows we have to do something! I'm certainly not going to tell mother, unless you're volunteering!"

Hermione blanched. "Inform Molly? Good lord, no." She scurried inside, pushing Ron as Ginny tugged his arms.

The three of them stumbled haphazardly in to the living room, where they layed Ron (sideways in the safety position, in case he booted, Hermione imperiously told Ginny) on the sofa. Hermione then sat in the kitchen, dazedly sipping a glass of water as Ginny rushed about, shooing the kids to their rooms and locating Harry.

He entered the kitchen before her, looking confused when he saw Hermione. "Hermione? Ginny said something about Ron—" Hermione pointed mutely at the connecting family room, and Harry gave her a short nod and entered.

"Ron?" His voice came clearly through the open door. "Ron, what the hell?"

"Harry, mate…"

There was a crash, as if Ron had tried to get off the sofa and then fallen over. Or had been pushed back down. "What the fuck, Ron!? What are you thinking, huh? How long has this been going on?" Harry's voice ricocheted off the walls, coming to Hermione in a garbled, jumbled fashion.

"I'm totally sober," Ron attempted to assert, but Harry was already striding from the room, his face like a thundercloud. "How long?" He demanded tersely of Hermione.

She shrugged, hair falling about her shoulders. "I don't know, but from the looks of his kitchen—too long."

Ginny came in to the kitchen. Her hair was dragged back from her face in a tight ponytail, accentuating her age-sharpened features. We're all growing up, Hermione thought, noticing the crow's feet beginning to form around Harry's eyes. Life isn't so perfect and carefree anymore. "Well," Ginny said, and again Hermione was forced to notice the absence of her traditional flippant tone. "what should we do?"

Harry pulled out a chair from the plain wooden table, collapsing into it and placing his face in his hands. Ginny climbed onto the counter, hugging her knees, and Hermione leaned against the wall, watching them. They heard another crash from the other room, and then a snore. Hermione sighed.

"Does he need some sort of rehabilitation?" It was Harry speaking, using a muggle term, and his question was directed to Hermione, who had seen the evidence.

She chewed her lip. "Speaking impartially as a medical professional, unquestionably. Speaking as a friend, yes, but knowing Ron…"

"You hate to sign away his life," Harry finished, and Ginny nodded. "But it's necessary." It wasn't a question.

Hermione nodded.

"Then the only question that remains is where," Ginny said. "And who pays."

"I—" Hermione and Harry began at the same time, but Ginny shook her head.

"I will pay. I have money of my own, and it seems appropriate that I pay for my brother."

"Ginny," Hermione began, "I'm a single mother, I have an extremely lucrative job, and my wants are few. Please, let me—"

"No." Ginny staunchly replied. "This is how I want it to be done. You've already done more than enough, Hermione."

"Then you must heed my suggestion as to where you send him."

"Of course," Ginny sounded surprised. "I was just about to ask you."

Hermione hesitated. "Luna's practice is basically St. Mungos mental health wing…" She said slowly. "And I've heard very good things about her practice in general. I know she runs several rehab programs and even a separate post-rehab alcoholics recovery program…"

Harry laughed. "Oh, Luna. But, if anyone were going to counsel me, I think I'd enjoy having her the most. Except maybe Trelawney." Ginny managed a smile.

"If you both agree, I could take Ron over there right now," Hermione suggested.

"You've done quite enough for Ron already," Ginny told Hermione firmly. I'll take him over while Harry watches the kids. You need to go and relax and enjoy the vestiges of your Sunday.

Recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, Hermione smiled, and nodded, and left the Potters after extracting a promise from them to owl her at the slightest hint of news.

&

Needless to say, Draco Malfoy was more than marginally surprised when Hermione Granger marched up to his office in the Financial Wing of the Ministry of Magic and threw open the door.

His first thought was 'why didn't Erwin detain her!?' followed closely by 'she knows where I work! What else does she know?'

The fact that she began with "I don't know what you did, Malfoy," was marginally reassuring.

He smirked. "Granger, what a pleasant surprise. How did you find my office?"

"I don't know what you think you're doing, Malfoy," she hissed again, pointing her finger at him in a mildly threatening manner. "But it won't work. You may have somehow convinced Harry that you're a changed person—you can convince the goddamn minister that you're Dumbledore reincarnated for all I bloody care—" Draco found this rather disconcerting, as he had attempted this very feat just yesterday, "but you'll never be able to hide from me. I know who you are. I know your true colors." He wasn't quite sure what his colors were, but he hoped they weren't something pansy, like baby blue.

He was seriously beginning to think that she would finish with a "and I also know where you sleep, and will not hesitate to kill you while you engage in the aforementioned activity," but instead she merely shouted "I WILL ALWAYS DESPISE YOU, YOU STINKING SACK OF SHIT," and left his office.

Draco acknowledged to himself that Hermione Granger was completely and utterly unbalanced. "I think you're completely and utterly unbalanced!" He shouted at her retreating back.

"And I think you're a lying, scheming scumbag," she retorted over her shoulder. "C'est la vie."

Draco was determined to have the last word. "Oh Granger," he called, "I have your dress from the other night. If you want it back, it'll cost you!"

She growled under her breath, and he (maturely) resisted the urge to growl back. "I hated that dress. That's why I wore it on a date with you."

"But it looked so badly on you, I thought you'd be sure to wear it again."

"Grow up, Malfoy," she snorted.

"Touché," he drawled sarcastically. "This coming from the—thing—I hesitate to call you a woman—that just stormed in to my office like some mentally deranged maniac."

Hermione huffed at him, shot him a death glare, and left.

"Well." Malfoy said to the empty room. "What in the world was that about?"

The lunatic woman had mentioned something about his attempts to subvert Potter. The only instance of communication between himself and Potter he could remember was The Coffee Pot Conversation, occurring two weeks prior. It had gone like this:

"Malfoy."

"Potter." Draco had then nodded, acknowledging the other man, as he waited for his turn to pour coffee in to his mug. To his surprise, Harry passed him the mug he had just poured. "Thanks," Draco had said stiffly, and then left.

In conclusion: Hermione Granger was unhinged, delusional, and psychotic. Generally speaking, she had lost her nuts, marbles, and rocker.

But then—he had already known that.

And in the interest of full disclosure and all, he had probably stolen the last two.

(The marbles and the rocker, that is. He wasn't that interested in her nuts.)

&