Chapter 5

"I thought we were staying with the seventh years in our Houses?" Granger says.

Draco looks around for someone with whom he can exchange a typical fucking Granger look, but comes up empty. He's the only Slytherin in the small group that has returned for an abbreviated eighth year before sitting their NEWTs in December. It's mostly Ravenclaws—like that's a surprise—plus Granger, Susan Bones, and him. The rest of their class accepted the offer to waive exams before employment. Not that Draco has any career plans. Not much demand for ex-Death Eaters these days.

McGonagall beams at Granger as though she's said something brilliant instead of interrupting her tedious speech with yet another insipid question. "I thought it would be good for inter-House relations if you lot had rooms along the same corridor and your own common room," the Headmistress says.

As McGonagall drones on, Draco tunes her out to look at the portraits of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses on McGonagall's office wall. Snape's isn't there. Not surprising, considering who appointed him Head, but Draco wonders where it is. There was one painted last year. Draco came to the office while Snape was sitting for it, grousing all the while. Apparently, it was a requirement and the Board of Governors insisted. Maybe he'll ask McGonagall sometime, though the old bat hates him and will probably refuse to tell him just out of spite.

He turns his gaze from the portraits to the witches who are back to sit their NEWTs. He ignores Bones—not for all the galleons in Gringott's, thanks—and checks out the three Ravenclaws. Sue Li and Padma Patil are pretty hot. The other Ravenclaw, whose name he can never remember, is homelier than Bones and Granger.

Though if he's being honest, Granger isn't bad looking. She looked like shit at the end of the war, too skinny and kind of haunted. But she's gained back some weight, and it's in all the right places. She always had a nice rack, but he doesn't recall her arse being quite as impressive before as it was when he followed her up the stairs into McGonagall's office today.

Not that any of these witches are going to give him the time of day. Draco the Death Eater, whose father is little better than a Muggle now with no wand and that magic-inhibiting cuff, and whose mother is—gods, he can't even stand to think about what his mother is doing. Making a laughingstock of the entire family, is what she's doing.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

"Hmm?" Draco looks up to see McGonagall glowering at him.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, Headmistress," Draco says. He has no fucking idea what she said.

"That won't be a problem, I trust?"

"Of course not."

"Good," she says, and unfurls a scroll on her desk.

The other eighth years are heading toward the door, so Draco does as well. Bones and the Ravenclaws walk down the corridor in a chummy little knot, leaving him and Granger to bring up the rear.

"She said she wants you to help Slughorn with brewing for the hospital wing," Granger says.

"I'm not deaf, Granger."

"She also said she wanted you to do his marking for the first through third years."

"Circe's cold left tit," he says. "Why can't that lazy berk do his own marking? Snape managed it even when he was supplying the hospital wing and spying on the Dark Lord, for fuck's sake."

"Why are you getting upset about it only now? I thought you heard McGonagall tell you. You're not deaf, after all."

"Fuck off, Granger."

"Fine thanks I get for telling you what she said," Granger smirks. "If you can't play nice, Malfoy, I won't tell you whether I actually made that last part up to see if you really were listening." She stops in front of the door with her name on it.

Draco glances down the corridor where the others are headed into their new common room. "Feeling antisocial?"

"I don't have any friends in that group." She hesitates. "I don't suppose you want to come in?"

Granger is inviting him in? Seriously? But since no one else in their year seems inclined to speak to him, he's not going to look a gift Thestral in the mouth. He starts to say sure, why not, then thinks about the charms that have always been on the girls' dorms. "Do you think I can?"

Granger rolls her eyes. "We're adults. No one cares who we shag."

Draco follows her in and grins. "Didn't anyone tell you not to let Death Eaters into your bedroom, little girl?"

"I've killed or incapacitated half a dozen Death Eaters," she shrugs. "I'm pretty sure I can take you, Malfoy."

For a second he feels a little queasy, because he's pretty sure both parts of that statement are true, but then she smiles and sits cross-legged on her bed. He relaxes and takes the desk chair. "Why are you being nice to me?"

Her brown eyes go wide. "Because I'm a nice person."

"But I'm not. Or at least I haven't been to you."

"No, you haven't," she agrees. "But then why should you? Filthy Mudblood that I am." She says it without malice, as though she's talking about the weather.

"I'm sorry about all that, Granger," he says, surprising himself as much as her. He didn't plan on apologizing to her today, though he has thought about it before. Mainly when he was picturing her during a wank, and trying to decide if he might ever have a shot at the real thing.

"Did you only say that so I'd tell you what McGonagall said?"

"No, I said it because I'm hoping for a shag someday." Every Slytherin knows that the best place to hide the truth is as an apparent lie.

Granger laughs. "The Headmistress did ask you to help with the hospital potions—she asked us both, actually—but didn't ask you to help with marking."

"Thanks, Granger."

"You're welcome. Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask. I reserve the right not to answer."

She rolls her eyes. "Do you know where Snape's portrait is?"

"I was wondering that myself when we were in McGonagall's office. Why do you want to know?"

"I'd like to talk to him about memory charms."

"Why?"

She hesitates. "I modified my parents' memories before Harry and Ron and I went off to hunt Horcruxes. I couldn't think of how else to protect them, since they were sure to be targets because of me, so I made them forget they even had a daughter, and sent them to live in Australia."

"You figured out how to do that on your own?"

"Yeah."

"Before your seventh year?"

"Mm-hmm."

He knew Granger was smart, but not quite that smart.

"I couldn't reverse it, though."

"You already tried?"

"I went there earlier this summer and tried to reverse the spell, but it didn't work, and I had to Obliviate them before they called the police. Well, my mum was going to call the police. My dad just tried to chat me up."

"What? Granger, that's—"

"Yeah. But in his defense, he didn't know who I was, did he?"

"Still, he's a married man, and old enough to be—" He stops. "Fuck."

"He and my mum got divorced, and now he's having himself a fine old midlife crisis. Dropped a stone, learned to surf, and hangs out at the beach showing off his washboard abs to surfer girls half his age."

Draco grimaces. "So, I'm not the only one with parents behaving badly."

Granger snorts. She has had the good grace not to make any snide comments about his mother and Potter. She may be the only person he knows in all of Wizarding Britain who hasn't. "Parents plural? There hasn't been a peep about your dad in the papers."

"He has a few more months before he gets the cuff taken off and his wand back. It's been hard for him."

Granger just nods. He half expected her to say that Death Eaters shouldn't whinge about not having their wands when they're lucky their sorry arses aren't rotting in Azkaban.

"He's been trying to learn about…non-magical things," Draco says, not really sure why he's telling her this.

"This is Lucius Malfoy we're talking about?"

"Yeah. He's set up a wing of the house without wards so Muggle electronics will work. He's got a television and recorded films and a computer. He goes on something called the Internet."

"Lucius Malfoy is on the Internet," Granger says. "The amount of cognitive dissonance I am experiencing right now is making my head ache."

"I know the feeling."

"I'm probably going to be sorry I asked, but what does he do on the Internet?"

Draco hesitates. He isn't about to tell Granger about the financial stuff, since the Ministry would just swoop in and confiscate everything if they find out about it. He's also hesitant to tell her about the online dating, because, well, he just is.

"What? Is he looking at porn? Apparently that's what some unholy percentage of the Internet is supposed to be." She grimaces. "That was an image I didn't need, Malfoy."

"He's doing something called online dating," Draco says, figuring it's better letting her know the truth than having her picturing his father wanking in front of an electronic device.

"Wait. Let me get this straight. Lucius Malfoy, Pureblood supremacist ideologue, is on the Internet looking for Muggle women to fuck?"

"Well, sometimes he watches television or works out in the home gym he had put in, but yeah, pretty much."

"So, my dad's not the only one showing off his abs to inappropriately young women?" Granger shakes her head. "I fucking hate men. No offense," she adds.

"None taken. But in fairness, my father wouldn't be doing this if my mother hadn't left." Then, wishing he hadn't brought up his mother, he asks quickly, "What about your mum, Granger?"

"She's living on a commune is Tasmania with a woman named Carole who thinks she can do magic with crystals."

"Witch or Muggle?"

"Muggle."

"So the crystals are—"

"A bunch of superstitious rot, yeah. It was all I could do not to call her Sybill. She even looks a bit like Trelawney."

"That's rough. About your parents' memories, I mean." When she only nods, he asks, "Flitwick can't help?"

"I spent most of the summer working with him on it, but memory charms aren't his main area of expertise. Since the charms are related to Legilimency and Occlumency, I thought Snape might be able to help." She sighs. "I'm sure he'd be able to, but maybe not willing."

"I don't see why he wouldn't."

"Because he's always disliked me." She bites her lip and studies him. "Then again, you always disliked me, too. If your hostility can be mitigated, maybe Snape's can as well?"

"Only one way to find out," Draco says. "Ask the old battle axe where they're keeping him, and I'll go with you to talk to him."

"Malfoy, you shouldn't talk about the Headmistress that way."

"You'll kill people but you won't tolerate disrespect for authority?"

When Granger says, tight-lipped and prissy as you please, "I've never killed anyone who didn't have it coming," Malfoy bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard his shoulders shake and his eyes are practically tearing up. After looking briefly affronted, Granger starts laughing, too.