I'm so, so sorry that this update is so late.

Okay, so my laptop broke and I lost my plan for this story. So, I had to rewrite it all from memory and make sure it all fit in with what I'd written so far. I've had so much work for college that I've hardly had time for anything else. And I've been ill. These are my excuses for why I'm so awful. I'm sorry.

I won't make any more false promises about updating. I'll update when I can. I hope it was worth the wait and thank you so much for being patient.

I don't really really like this chapter, there's not enough Draco/Hermione interaction for my liking. But, next chapter there will be plenty. And I'm going to start writing it tomorrow, so watch this space.

I own nothing.


13th June 1998

Hermione's day had been gruelling.

It was Wednesday, which meant that she was to initiate her weekly visit to the Wizarding prison, Azkaban. Such a task was far from appealing at the best of times, but her mind appeared to be drifting all too frequently that day. To Malfoy, no less. And her lack of attention had resulted in her return to the prison, almost immediately, for the second time that day. She had forgotten the reports – the one, sole reason she had entered Azkaban in the first place.

Hermione deemed her rare ignorance to the rest of the world much more worrisome than the thoughts causing it. It was only natural that Malfoy would be playing on her mind, surely. He was her main priority when it came to her career. Not to mention the little, insignificant fact that they lived together. His presence was enough to drive her to the brink of insanity, for Merlin's sake! Yes, inevitably she would think of him. It was normal. Completely rational.

And whenever Malfoy did cross her mind, deliberately or not, Hermione aimed to include keywords such as 'arse' and 'ferret' amidst her usual internal ranting. And these keywords were safe. They ensured that he was Draco Malfoy and she was Hermione Granger. They ensured her hatred for him and his unending arrogance that irked her on a daily basis. They ensured normality.

However, today's thoughts weren't normal. No, they were – dare she say it – good. Pleasant, even. In fact, she hadn't had a negative thought about the Slytherin all day. Quite the opposite. She had been unable to pick a fault with Malfoy lately. He was doing everything she had hoped he would do. He was civil, sometimes even friendly. He stayed clear of her when she needed space, he didn't insult her without reason and she could almost always hold a half decent conversation with him. They hadn't fought once since his birthday last week! Merlin forgive her, was she actually becoming to think of him as a friend? Surely not. An ally, maybe, but a friend? Was that really possible when it came to the likes of them?

So, maybe she didn't hate Malfoy as much as she was accustomed to at Hogwarts. But, they weren't at school any more. They were adults. And maybe that meant-

"You can go."

"What?" Hermione asked, blinking rapidly as the rest of the world made its way into focus.

"I said you can go." Fletch smirked, dragging each word out for emphasis as if he was addressing a small child.

"But, it's only two o'clock."

"Well, Alice showed up. Apparently, she wants more work. Something about designer robes, I don't know. But, she needs the money, so I thought I'd give you the honour of an early get away."

Hermione bit her lip in response. Her work was hardly captivating her today, but she still had a lot to get through. She couldn't afford to fall behind otherwise she would be doing overtime for the rest of the week. Not to mention she had promised Ginny that she would drop by the Burrow after work, and she had been postponing that visit for as long as was politely possible. Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what Ginny wanted to talk to her about and today's train of thought hadn't particularly encouraged her to broach the topic.

"Oh, Fletch, I can't." She sighed heavily, dropping her head into her hands which were resting upon the desk. "You know how much work I have to get through on Wednesdays. It's two o'clock for Merlin's sake. I can't leave work so early, what if-"

"What?" Fletch asked sceptically, raising an eyebrow. "Your boss finds out?"

"Your humour never ceases to amaze me, Fletch, honestly."

"Go on." He chuckled, grabbing her coat and bag from the hook on the back of her office door and moving to pull her out of her chair. "Besides, you look as if you're having way too much fun for my liking. You might pull something if you carry on like this. It's not healthy."

"Sarcasm is awfully unattractive."

"I'm aware. Now go on, get out. Otherwise I'll be legally obliged to suspend you."

"I'd love to see you try." Hermione laughed. "This whole department would fall apart without me and you know it. I'm your best asset."

"Whatever you want to believe, Hermione." He sighed, dragging her reluctant form into the corridor and locking the office door behind them with a wave of his wand. "Now go home."

"But-"

"I insist."

"Fletch, I-"

"I'll see you tomorrow." He chirped, backing away towards his own office.

"Fine." She huffed, glaring at him as he rounded the corner. "But I'll get you back for this!"

Hermione let out a small whimper from under her breath as she forced herself towards the apparition point. She wasn't looking forward to this particular confrontation, but she had held it off for far too long. Ginevra Weasley wasn't very well known for her patience. When it came to gossip – particularly that of the male variety – she would often rival Lavender and Parvarti whilst they had been at Hogwarts. And after spending six years sharing a dormitory with said duo, Hermione could only imagine the difficulty that imposed. It was far from wise to keep the youngest Weasley waiting for much longer.


Within minutes, she had appeared outside the Weasley's home with a crack. Her feet had barely grazed the gravel beneath her when the back door was thrown open with an almighty crash and Ginny came rushing out to embrace her in a bone-crushing hug. Hermione could have sworn that her eyes were physically twinkling with mischief as she pulled back to grin at her.

"No Harry. No Ron. No excuses." She declared proudly, grabbing Hermione's hand and dragging her over the threshold and into the living room. "I want detail. And Merlin knows there has to be plenty of it."

"Oh Ginny, I don't know what you want me to say." Hermione groaned as she fell back onto the sofa. "We've been over this so many times already. I've told you everything there is to tell."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I am not."

"So, you are lying about something?"

"What? No!" Hermione exclaimed, trying desperately to beat back the blush that she could feel rising upon her cheeks. "You're just twisting my words. Stop it."

"You're blushing like a banshee on heat!" Ginny cried exasperatedly. "Now spill."

"I-"

"Merlin, you're sleeping with him, aren't you?" Ginny gasped, her grin managing to stretch a further inch or too across her face.

"No, I bloody well am not!" Hermione choked out. "What on earth would make you even consider the idea? Ginny, this is Malfoy! Draco Malfoy. He hates me and I hate him and- look, it would just never happen, okay? Not in a million years. Merlin help me, how could you think such a thing?"

"Oh, but it would be amazing! We'd finally have something to talk about. And you've always been a fan of the whole idea of inter-house unity. It would be perfect." She gushed.

"Gin, I hardly think me sleeping with Draco Malfoy, of all people, would be my – or anyone else's with an ounce of sanity for that matter – idea of perfect. And inter-house unity hardly matters to me any more. Of course, it would be wonderful if Hogwarts students could pull together after the war. But we've left school now, so it's completely irrelevant to Malfoy and I."

"Oh, so there's a Malfoy and I?"

"For Merlin's sake, Ginny!"

"Well, there must be someone you like." She sighed. "Hermione, you're eighteen! How can you have an almost non-existent sex drive at eighteen years of age?"

"Are we really going to do this?" Hermione whined.

"Do what?"

"The girl talk."

"Yes."

"And you're absolutely positive that there is no way out of this?"

"Nope. Look, Hermione, you're a girl. Malfoy is a boy – well, man now, I suppose. And it doesn't take a genius to conclude that he is, in fact, a rather attractive man. You live together. He doesn't see anybody else – including girls – from the Wizarding world, you're single, he's single. I mean, why not?"

"I'm not even going to bother providing that remark with a response."

"Come on, Hermione. Humour me."

"He's not actually that attractive. Not when you really look at him. His face is unnaturally angular and he's so pale that he looks anaemic."

"So..." Ginny had that glint in her eye again and Hermione instinctively recoiled from her gaze. She had an inkling over what was coming next and it wasn't good. "You've been really looking at him, have you?"

"Oh, for heaven's-"

"You know, I meant it when I said about seeing him in a towel when he comes out of the shower."

"Yes, I know. However hard I may try to forget, I can't."

"Have you?"

"What?"

"Seen him in a towel?"

"No, I haven't! And I think Malfoy has enough common sense to not strut around the house half naked whilst I'm there. I don't think he especially entertains the idea of me seeing him out of his garments, surprisingly enough."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm muggleborn."

"He's still absorbed by all of that blood status mania? Even after the war?"

"Of course he is." Hermione explained. "It's going to take more than a war to cancel out a life time of beliefs. They've been drummed into him ever since he can remember. Just think, if Voldemort had won the war, you wouldn't begin to hate muggleborns simply because it was deemed acceptable, would you?"

"No, because it's a stupid belief to hold anyhow."

"Well, Malfoy doesn't see it that way. It's all he knows, all he's ever known. It's going to take a lot of time to change his mind – if it changes at all."

"Why are you defending him?"

"Because I know him better now. Maybe I understand him better too. I don't know..."

"You said you hated him."

"I-I don't hate him, per se." She stammered. "I don't particularly like him, but I don't hate him. I don't know, Gin. I don't think he'd be so bad if he just opened up and let people in. I think he's scared, mostly. He just needs a bit of encouragement."

"To what?"

"To see the light, I suppose." Hermione smiled sadly. "It must be hard, don't you think? To spend your whole life, your childhood, being taught to hate."

"You're softening up to him."

"No... I'm not, I-" She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling in a nervous gesture. "And what if I am? Is that such a bad thing?"

"It depends on him, I guess. I mean, is he softening to you as much as you to him? You can't afford to let your guard down if he's not willing to do the same, Hermione. He might not be all bad, but he's still a Malfoy, he's still a Slytherin and, willing or not, he was still a Death Eater."

"He was never willing."

"Are you sure about that?"

"No." She let out a humourless laugh. "I believe that."

"Just be careful."

"You were telling me to sleep with him five minutes ago."

"I never told you to trust him."

"I never said I did."

Hermione had never seen such a serious side to Ginny before. It was somewhat unsettling. What Ginny was saying made sense. It made a lot more sense than what she, herself, was saying, what she was thinking. Was she beginning to trust Malfoy? No, she couldn't be. She never would. It was impossible and, more to the point, dangerous. She couldn't afford to make herself vulnerable, especially to him.

And, so what if she didn't hate him? That simple fact didn't mean that she had to trust him? She didn't hate the boy who worked at the corner shop that she used to visit every Saturday morning when she was sent out by her mother to buy milk. That didn't mean that she would trust him. She hardly knew him. And yet, she still spoke to him, they still said hello and managed to pass small talk without endangering themselves. Distrust and hatred were two completely different terms. Hermione just had to be sure of which was which. She had to sort out her priorities.

They stayed like this for longer than Hermione thought was necessary. Her head was beginning to ache from the never-ending interrogation. It appeared as though Ginny was about to say something else, when a giggle broke through the silence, followed by the slam of the back door hitting the wall. Both girls whipped their heads around to be greeted with Ron and...

"You have a girlfriend?" Ginny cried.

Well, so much for subtlety.

"Um, sorry, I- I didn't know you'd be here." Ron stuttered, his face quickly beginning to match the shade of red covering his head. "This- this is Eva. She's a co-worker. From work, you know?"

"Really?" Ginny asked, sarcasm lacing her tone. Ron didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah. We, er, we met a few weeks ago and-"

"Hello Ronald." Hermione cut short his painful speech. Apparently, he had been blissfully unaware of her presence until she had finally spoken up.

"Merlin, 'Mione." He choked. "I didn't- I didn't know you were here! Ginny, um- I-"

"It's fine, Ron." Hermione assured him. "I need to leave now, anyway. It's my turn to cook and I don't think a second serving of beans on toast would settle so well with my, er... house-mate."

Reluctantly, she allowed her gaze to trail over to the young girl hiding behind Ron. She hadn't been at Hogwarts with them, of that she was sure, though she seemed to be of their age. She was... pretty. Prettier than Hermione, that much was obvious. She was a red head too. Her and Ron looked good together, she had to admit. It was a positive thing though, wasn't it? This showed that Ron was over her. And she was over Ron, right? So, this was great. Brilliant. She couldn't have wished for anything better. Besides, she – sort of – had Fletch now and, well, this was how it was meant to be. This was right.

"It was nice to meet you, Eva." Hermione welcomed the girl who everyone seemed to have forgotten, forcing this new round of thoughts to the back of her mind until she was out of the shelter of the Burrow and away from Ginny's scrutinizing stare. "I'll see you all soon."

She made a quick dash towards the door, heading out of the range of the Burrow's anti-apparition wards, vanishing with a resounding crack. When she appeared in the foyer of her – their – home, she let out a breath she hadn't even been aware that she had been holding.

What, in Merlin's name, was all that about?

Firstly, she was over Ron. And Ron was over her. They had made that perfectly clear when they had called off their barely there relationship after the Battle of Hogwarts. Secondly, she had – sort of – dated Fletch. She hadn't told Harry or Ron, so she hardly had any right to feel betrayed that Ron had kept Eva from her. And thirdly, she didn't even like Ron! Not in that way, at least. So, she certainly had no right to feel the way that she was feeling after seeing him wrapped up in someone else.

But, what was she feeling? It wasn't jealousy. Heartbreak? Definitely not. Regret? No, it was something else, something she couldn't quite place. But, it was there. And it was going to irk her for the rest of the night, of that she was certain. She took a glance at the clock; half past three. She had time. She could throw a pizza in the oven tonight, Malfoy could either like it or get stuffed. But, right now, she needed what any other self-respecting, overly stressed witch needed; a butterbeer.


"Granger, tell me you have finished cooking. Another second without food and I'm going to pass out." She heard him call as the sound of the front door being slammed shut echoed through the kitchen. "Fucking Clarice. Is it that difficult to understand that the sandwich box with 'Draco Malfoy' written on top is, surprisingly enough, my lunch? Is it a muggle thing to go around stealing other people's food or is this woman just insufferably thick?"

Hermione didn't answer him. She was used to his usual ranting by now when he arrived home from work. Besides, she didn't think she had it in her to move. She was surprised that she had successfully managed to make the pizza, despite the fact that it was a frozen one, Hawaiian, no less.

Malfoy strolled into the kitchen, he seemed to be following his nose more than anything as he walked straight towards the pizza cooling on the work top. Suddenly, he stepped back, turning to face Hermione's form that was currently slumped awkwardly over the kitchen table.

"Okay, would you care to explain the crater of butterbeer or should I just take the pizza and leave?"

"Second option." Hermione groaned into her folded arms.

"Who died, Granger?"

"Nobody. But, I do appreciate your sympathy."

"You could have sliced it. I hate slicing them." He muttered.

"What?"

"The pizza."

She hadn't even noticed that he had moved back to it. She was still to lift her head from the table.

"You look pathetic."

"Thank you."

"Seriously, what's the matter with you? It's almost painful to watch."

"Is this your way of expressing concern for my sorry well-being?" She asked, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes as she sat up to look at him. He was leaning against the counter, holding what looked to be half a pizza in his hand. "You're supposed to cut the pizza into slices, Malfoy. Not halves."

"I'm a growing boy."

"That excuse expired the moment you reached seventeen. You're just a pig."

"An attractive pig."

"If you say so."

"Your half's going to get cold."

"You can have it. I'm not hungry."

"Passing up the opportunity to eat pizza is wrong, Granger, and you know it. So, I'm going to go with my infallible gut instinct and ask you what Weasley did this time."

"Am I so translucent? Honestly?"

"Afraid so."

"He hasn't done anything, for your information. That's the problem. He's got a girlfriend."

"Ah, trouble in paradise. I see."

"You're such a cocky prat." She snapped, glaring at him from underneath her messy hair. "I don't like Ron. We're not together and we never have been, not really. It's just... I suppose it was nice to believe somebody liked me. Even if I didn't return their feelings."

"How selfish of you, Granger. I'm proud."

"I'm not!" She cried. "Don't you see? I should be happy for Ron. I shouldn't be thinking about myself! That's not what I do. I'm not like you."

"Ouch, Granger, that was below the belt."

"Oh, shut up and eat your bloody pizza."

"And let you starve?" He chuckled. "I don't fancy having my sentence extended as the Ministry watches you turn into a sack of bones. Eat, Granger."

"And since when, may I ask, did you begin to care about my health?"

"I don't. I care about mine." He told her, grabbing the plate of pizza and pushing it towards her as he took the seat opposite. "If you don't eat, your immune system will weaken considerably. As a result, you'll be far more prone to illness. And, as I have to be in close proximity with you for hours at a time, that puts me and my health at risk. The thought of catching diseases from you doesn't really appeal to me. So, eat."

"Smooth."

"I do try."

"I'll make us something else later." She commented as she picked the pineapple from a slice of pizza. "I highly doubt that half a pizza will be enough to keep you quiet for the night."

"You always were the most attentive student."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Hardly. But, take it as you like, Granger. It's the best you'll get from me."

"I'm aware."

"Do me a favour?"

"What?" Hermione asked, immediately cautious. Those words coming from Draco Malfoy's lips were never a good combination.

"Get the fuck over Weasel-bee."

"What?"

"You heard me." He replied. "Get the fuck over him. He doesn't want you and you don't want him. I don't need to listen to you crying your sorry arse to sleep every night for a week. I have better things to do. Not to mention wallowing in self pity is highly undignified and I refuse to live with a wallowing witch."

"I'm a wallowing witch?"

"Yes, you are. Man up, Granger. You're not the one stuck here."

"I suppose." She sighed. Hermione took a bottle of butterbeer from the crate she had brought home and threw it to him. Of course, he caught it. For the first time, she wondered if he had gotten onto the Slytherin quidditch team in second year through more than his father's bribes. "Drink up, Malfoy. I won't be bringing this stuff home often, so make the most of it. They say it's the taste of magic."

"Merlin knows I need that." He groaned.

"Do you miss it?" She asked, watching his face carefully for his response.

"Not really. I'm used to it. Always have been. I wouldn't say I miss it... I just don't feel right without it. It's like losing a limb." He explained. "You're a muggleborn. You wouldn't understand. You didn't grow up with magic."

It wasn't an insult. He had called her muggleborn, which was a first. It had always been 'mudblood' in the past. And she supposed he had a point. Maybe she couldn't understand. She hadn't known about magic until she was eleven, and even then she only used it when she was at Hogwarts. She was used to being without it, she could cope. But, Malfoy had been surrounded by it from the very beginning. And, for what was probably the first time in his life, he was completely without it. It must have been strange.

"Can you make beans on toast later on?"

"I made that on Monday. You said you hated it. You complained about it for three hours."

"I changed my mind. It was actually rather good."

"I hate you so much." She laughed exasperatedly.

All she received in reply was his signature smirk as he looked up at her from over his halved pizza. "Touché."