Draco dithered in front of his Floo. Was there a point to him even going in today if Granger would be absent? He could at least just drop by to see if his theory lined up with the notes he'd scribbled down in the middle of the night.

She'd probably be out the whole week. He wondered if she'd put some kind of charm on the documents on Draco's desk so he'd be unable to take them home with him.

But all of this worrying and alternate plan-concocting proved to be wasted time.

Granger sat behind her desk, same as any other day he'd arrived in her presence, already diligently working to undo some gross miscarriage of justice.

"Good morning," she said.

Draco stepped out of the fire and moved no further. Surely not even Granger could be this dedicated to her career?

"Granger… what are you doing here?"

"Working."

The flat, dismissive tone might have worked on someone with less of an understanding of packing raging depression into a too-small suitcase, convincing yourself that it fit inside, and stowing that overflowing luggage out of sight and foolishly hoping it never saw the light of day.

"Why?"

She finally looked up at him and he clocked it then: the hollow eyes, the lack of colour in her face. No jewelry today and no makeup either. She'd dragged herself here for the distraction but Draco knew the telltale signs of someone dangling on the precipice of destructive dysfunction.

"This is my place of employment, and as I enjoy being gainfully employed, I must show up here and earn money in exchange for my skills."

"Why haven't you taken any time off?"

"Whatever for?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you seriously going to play this game right now?"

"What game?"

"The one where you pretend you're astonishingly stupid."

"Did you just call me—?"

"Because you're not stupid. Not even close."

He'd hacked her right off, he could see it. Simmering, percolating, just beneath the surface, Granger wanted to brandish her wand and shriek hexes his way.

Draco told himself he needed to push her for the investigation. He'd sat on this information all fucking night and for them to move forward he needed Granger at her best, not pining over some worthless weasel.

"You shouldn't be here today. You'll not do your clients or our project any favours if you're compromised."

"How dare you suggest… how dare you accuse me of unprofessionalism."

"Your words, not mine."

"Just because I am a woman—"

"I must have missed the part where I noted your gender."

"—does not mean I am so weak as to let my personal life interfere with my career and—"

"Merlin forbid you admit to being human."

"—and I don't need time away! How dare you presume to know anything about my life—"

"Tell me then."

Her mouth dropped open. An undignified reaction to his surprising demand, and for a split second she teetered on the verge of compliance before she retreated into her shell of avoidance once more.

"I'm fine."

He could see by the clench in her jaw she'd dig her stubborn heels in and resist unless confronted head-on. He suspected that she'd only been subjected to a gentle coaxing until now. A blunt instrument would prod this along more effectively.

"You can sit there in all your self-righteousness and pretend you exist on some higher plane of the universe where the ending of a relationship doesn't affect you. Or, you can admit you feel terrible and go home. Have a cry into one of his family's hideous sweaters before you light it on fire and move on with your life."

"Don't be cruel."

"I'm not cruel, just honest. Your little act of nonchalance might fool your dim-witted friends, but if you're going to sit there and work on legal briefs and put on this charade of being okay, then I'm leaving and not returning until you've dealt with your shit."

"And what would you know of it?" She tossed back, hiding behind her dodge of a question.

"What would I know of burying unpleasant things and never speaking of them until forced, and then having it tumble out of me at an embarrassing time in front of another person? Why, nothing at all."

Some redness finally appeared on her cheeks. "I know how to be discreet, but how do I know you won't go running your mouth to the Prophet the second I bring up… bring up Ron."

"Ah, we're getting closer now. You'll deflect your own pain by seeking to insult me."

Her eyes flashed. "It's not like you haven't done that before. I seem to recall you once delighted in cozying up to Rita Skeeter to disparage Harry all during Fourth Year. I'd be naïve to think someone like you wouldn't betray the tiny bit of trust I've instilled in you."

"We're almost there, Granger, just a bit more. Did you want to call me a Death Eater next? Remind me that I'm responsible for Dumbledore's death?"

Confusion usurped her indignation.

"No, you were a child and you were used."

He'd of course thought it before, steeped in bitterness and unkind thoughts about how the world and the adults in charge had let him down, but to have it acknowledged aloud? And by Hermione Granger? And not because she'd felt obligated to lay it on thick for the public, or veer to dramatics for a courtroom performance like perhaps she had at his trial. But a quiet truth, just for him.

She may have temporarily disarmed him, but he needed her to achieve total catharsis or he'd be stuck with this wooden facsimile all day.

"Nice try, but we're discussing your transgressions today, not mine. So, what'll it be Granger? Can you admit even you need a day or two to lick your wounds? Or are you so unkind to yourself that you'll ignore your own misery until it bleeds into other aspects of your life and you implode in a way that hinders your ability to perform to your usual standards? This happens to include myself and my valuable time, might I add."

"Oh you would make this all about you!" She finally shot to her feet and Draco suppressed a grin.

"My relationship came to an end. Mine. And yet here I… And I… And I can't talk about it with anyone! Harry and Ginny want me to talk about it and I can't!"

Her eyes widened before she squeezed them shut and rubbed her temples. Granger centered herself and continued calmly, staring down at her hands, the realization finally hitting home. She had no one else with whom she could share this.

"I hate putting Harry in the middle and as much as I love Ginny, I'd hate for her to feel like she's betraying her brother. And those two they don't…"

Another steadying inhale and exhale. The quiet sound of her bringing down the barriers. She'd held it all in for too long, and it didn't matter that Draco stood there in her office, didn't matter that he knew her at all. She just needed another person to hear her.

"Can you imagine being a quidditch star and your spouse is an Auror? Two of the busiest careers I can think of with insane schedules and travel and long nights and dangerous situations and weekend work… and yet… gods, you should see them together," she said wistfully.

"They're secure when they're apart because they know the other will always, always be waiting for them. A war couldn't dull their feelings. And here I am… I saw Ron almost every day and we still couldn't make it work."

Draco didn't need to ask her to elaborate. He quietly took a seat behind his own desk and let her reach the zenith of her unspooling.

He should tune this out, he should not listen. He'd achieved his goal of speeding up her grieving process and he should not pay any mind to her dramatic backstory. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't transfixed. Draco told himself it was nothing more than curiosity.

"But Ron doesn't understand, he doesn't get why I feel this drive to keep going, to keep fixing what was left from the old ways. He's too entrenched in the comfort of a mostly stable society, and he doesn't see how these things are cyclical. If we turn a blind eye one too many times, if we sweep things under the rug instead of confronting our issues head on, then we're doomed to repeat everything. Maybe nothing as drastic as Voldemort, but do we really want another inept government head like Fudge? See how easily we fell last time due to weak leadership? Don't get me wrong, Kingsley's doing a fine job and he's made so many improvements, but we've got to work up from the court level so that his successor can build on the work we've done instead of sweeping it aside."

Did Weasley get this spiel when they broke up? Or perhaps he'd interrupted her, unable to withstand a Granger rant about social justice mid-break up. He wondered what the final straw had been. Draco had always felt them ill-suited, Granger and Weasley, and he wondered what had finally torn them apart. Was it her time away from home? Was she too successful and he resented her? He didn't see either of them as the type to cheat.

Draco stayed silent, letting her carry on as rambling grave-digger so she could finally bury her deceased relationship all on her own.

"Ron just… he doesn't get it. Ending Voldemort was only the beginning, there's so much work left to do. Ginny understands how Harry and I will probably never stop, but Ron… he just wants it to be over. And that's valid, of course, he has every right to want to live easily, especially after what we went through but I… I can't do that."

Draco wanted to chime in here with a droll "Of course, Granger, any man who doesn't know that about you is a feckless idiot," but didn't think his offering would be appreciated.

"But that's what he wanted, he wanted a wedding now, and then kids immediately. He wanted it right away, he wanted it all now now now, always on his time and never mind how I felt about it."

That statement prompted an interjection from him however. "Have a schedule and a timeline? Why am I not surprised?"

"Hardly," she replied, tartly. "I simply asked for a few years he wasn't willing to give."

"I see."

"And it's more than that, it's about what I want too! I don't want children right now, for goodness' sake. I want a family, I really do, just in a few years when my career is slightly less hectic and I can take the time and feel more settled. But of course I would have been the one to watch the children, and when I raised this point to Ron he just volunteered his mother to do it for us." She wrinkled her nose. "So, I asked for time. I asked for a few years, that's all. And I know, 'comparison is the death of joy'—"

"That's morbid, is that a Muggle saying?"

"—but Harry and Ginny, I look at them and I see two people who've allowed themselves to chase their dreams separately and still make it work together. And why couldn't we have that? Why couldn't I—?"

Granger may have dismantled one wall, but her sharp inhale spoke of her slamming into another one. Draco had poked the fresh wound she'd sought to hastily patch without the proper care, and now she succumbed to the exposure of an open, raw ache.

"If you'll excuse me," she muttered brokenly and rushed out of the office.

In the half hour of solitude, Draco confirmed his theory with the requisite evidence found in the paperwork.

When Granger returned, she brought with her a pair of red-rimmed eyes and a resigned, exhausted countenance.

"It seems I'll be taking the next few days off," she said tonelessly. "Apologies for you coming in today. If you could," she met his eyes anxiously, "if you could forget everything I said, I'd be most appreciative."

Draco nodded once. She'd not brought up his strange meltdown about his father's death, he'd not breathe a word about this. An exchange of leverage.

"I think I found the irregularity," he offered as a segue to normalcy. "It's the Dreamless Sleep prescription, or rather, a lack thereof, despite time spent in the infirmary. You already have Potter and Johnson checking on the guard logs so I focused on infirmary records, supplies, reports of behavioural issues, and denial of privileges without a corresponding disciplinary infraction."

A tiny spark in her eyes. Enough to grow into a proper flame eventually, but Draco knew she'd need a bit of time.

"Oh, that's something at least."

Draco glanced uneasily at the documents in his hand then stacked them neatly and put them aside. Maybe he could sneak back after she'd gone and do some more research, but Granger was most likely the type to ward her office.

Another instance of unnecessary alternate plan-making for him today.

"Draco… you can take them home with you. The reports you need. Not the originals, just any duplicates you've made, it's fine."

Not words of gratitude, but a show of good faith. A meaningful act over a perfunctory word.

"I'll owl you my draft list of questions for the interviews now that I know how to frame them," she murmured in a soft voice devoid of her usual enthusiasm.

But her sadness screamed at him. And if it washed over him it must be drowning her.

"I'll see you Friday for the Azkaban visit," she dismissed him and he walked to the fireplace. He hesitated with the powder in his hand, caught in the space between maintaining the status quo and nudging toward improvement.

Draco didn't know why he felt the need to say anything. He shouldn't say anything.

"You'll be all right, Granger. You always are," Draco tossed over his shoulder before throwing down the powder and disappearing through green flames.

Draco knew better than to ask how she was feeling. Granger appeared more put-together than the barely functioning spectre that had existed in her place on Monday. But she was still a mess, even if she briskly ordered her interns and aides about with a practiced, firm composure.

Close proximity meant Draco could see her heart wasn't quite mended. This was worse than a bad exam score or perhaps a telling-off from a professor. She'd been publicly outed as having split from her adolescent beau and the press were having a complete field day with the idea that these two young war heroes were human after all.

Ah, that pull to forget one's humanness. Emotions, pesky things truly, often accompanied humanity. It was an easy lie to tell oneself and especially handy when practicing Occlumency. Granger had let herself sink into that trap because she considered herself far too busy to entertain the idea of weakness or wallow in misery. Lesser mortals than Hermione Granger had the luxury of heartache.

Besides, she needed to be a warrior today. She needed to be brilliant, per usual. She would bury herself in her trusty career because if there's one thing she could count on in this world, it was herself.

Draco bit back a laugh as she rounded up the actual volunteers and handed them Portkeys to Azkaban. One more glance of pity from one of these plebeians and she'd probably forget to hand out return Portkeys and leave them stranded in the North Sea.

Draco hadn't yet had a proper conversation with her, merely hung in the background while she completed her work and chivvied all the little advocates off to their destination. She'd be with Draco to handle a very specific prison population today: Young men, 22-35 years old. The group Draco had flagged from his research with an interesting list of things in common besides their age and sex: former Death Eaters or sympathizers, time spent in the infirmary, no Dreamless Sleep dispensed, no visitors logged for some months, no post privileges, and time overlap with Ministry personnel visits.

Draco smoothed out the list of interview questions as they approached the foreboding prison, delivered there quite ironically by a broken brass key.

He hadn't visited since his father's death. Then, a son fulfilling his duty to a patriarch. Now, a man on some nebulous mission with a partner he never saw coming.

A partner who'd remained uncharacteristically silent during their entire walk from the drop point at the bottom of the stone steps.

Draco cast his eye over the dark water surrounding the island and then back up the long flight of weathered steps and felt the need to fill the stilted sea air. "Do you come here often?"

She looked up and surprised him with a wry smile.

"Does that line ever work?"

"Funny. I meant, does your work bring you out to the prison often?"

She shook her head, curls swishing in the biting wind. "It hadn't until lately. I've mostly been doing pre-war law reversals, creature rights, dismantling discriminatory hiring practices, defending Muggleborns who hid during the war, that sort of thing. Until this year."

"And now you're representing Goyle?"

She hummed in the affirmative.

"Why?"

"Pansy asked if I would."

"And that's it? She asked and you agreed?"

"Not quite."

Granger didn't offer any more of an explanation and Draco took the hint to drop the subject.

What followed for the rest of the day was the world's worst Hogwarts reunion: a perverse meet-up of old friends, enemies, and those that lingered in-between in an undeclared role. Lucius would have politely termed that last group "acquaintance," when it really meant, "person I shall maintain speaking terms with so that they may one day prove useful to my aims."

These were young men a few years above him at Hogwarts, and a few a year or two below him. Almost all of his old quidditch team. Men he remembered as boys, as peers. Withdrawn and twitchy, surly and thin, most of them. Reactions towards Granger's presence swung between open contempt and fear.

They started off with Granger's general scripted introductory questions.

"How would you say you've been treated thus far?"

"Have you received regular meals?"

"Have your visitation privileges ever been revoked?"

Then progressed to the questions aimed at drawing out different kinds of answers:

"Can you recall being visited by Department of Mysteries or Ministry personnel?"

"Have you ever asked for Dreamless Sleep and been denied?"

"Why did they deny you?"

The responses to these non-standard queries netted rather vague replies. Curiously, they lacked detail not from the prisoners' intent to evade, but rather, they seemed confused by the questions, and when pressed to think up an answer, couldn't quite manage one. It made for a most perplexing and frustratingly monotonous afternoon. Until the final inmate interview.

Marcus Flint strolled into the room with a barely repressed grin. An expression at odds with his rather hollow cheeks and physical circumstances of being restrained to a chair by a guard.

Draco could immediately tell that Flint was on to their little advocate and benefactor act. No one should appear that at ease in prison garb.

"Mr. Flint, I'm here on behalf of—"

"Ah, how quaint. Malfoy and the Mudblood."

Granger might have been prepared to let the slur roll off her back, but Draco was not.

"Shut your fucking mouth."

Flint's grin only widened at Draco's immediate verbal reaction to the profanity.

"It's fine, Draco, let's get on with it," said Granger, tiredly.

Flint's mouth curved upwards still, his eyes on Draco.

"Apologies… Miss Granger. Old habits die hard, you see. For some of us," Flint inclined his head at her. "We've not all had the benefits of your new friend Draco here. He's been out and about society, a changed man, living in his creature comforts. Some of us have had to pay for our crimes, and not just with gold."

This interview needed to end before Draco hexed a captive man. Draco tried to snatch the list of questions from Granger but she briskly pulled them away. She ran through the standard ones at top speed, not allowing time for Flint to natter on or cut in with snide commentary.

When they reached the questions about infirmary visits, Draco observed the subtle shift in their subject's demeanor. He weighed each answer before speaking, no longer eager to throw out pithy one-liners or thinly veiled barbs at Draco.

"Have you ever asked for Dreamless Sleep potion and been denied?"

Flint drummed his fingers against the cold metal of the table, the only real movement available to him under the circumstances. "Sometimes I'd have one of those days. You know, the ones where you just know sleep would be impossible without a little help. The oddest thing," he drawled. "And then I'd be sent to the infirmary for some tests. Apparently there'd been a dragon pox outbreak on our block and so we were put into the quarantine block and denied visitors."

"There's no record of a dragon pox outbreak occurring in the last decade here," stated Granger.

"It's what I was told."

Granger frowned, and Draco thought they might silently be in agreement. Flint knew something. But he was unfortunately too intelligent to just give away valuable information for nothing in return. Flint also knew Draco at least well enough to deduce he wasn't here out of the goodness of his heart. And teamed up with Hermione Granger no less, it made for a most suspicious situation.

"Never been a good sleeper," continued Flint in a breezy tone. "And certainly not a vivid dreamer. Perhaps if I had a better current sleeping arrangement I might find myself more… capable of answering these tiring questions."

"We're not here to test the quality of your pillow and mattress, Flint," sneered Draco.

"I'm sure they'd not compare to your swanky new home. Has Granger helped you test your mattress?"

"We're done here."

"Draco, we need to finish our list."

"Yes, Draco, I've not had the full advocate treatment. Most unfair," chimed in Flint with a leer.

"You slimy piece of—"

"Wait outside," Granger snapped at Draco, and he tossed another glare at Flint and swept into the hall.

When she joined him a few minutes later after he'd paced the length of the corridor non-stop, she looked none the worse for wear.

"He definitely knows something," she said grimly.

"He's contemptible."

"Obviously, but if he was involved in something the Ministry wants hushed up, we'll need to speak with him again."

"He wants to use your programme to get a few extra perks in prison. And you want to help people like him," Draco spat, disgusted.

"He knows something," she repeated evenly. "While yes, he's vile, we have to treat all the inmates the same. And if he can give us any useful information, we have to keep things civil. We have to be better than him."

Draco stopped walking and frowned down at her.

"How do you stand it?"

Granger laughed, surprising him. "Flint? How do I handle someone stuck behind bars with no weapons but his disgusting words? I shrug and move on with my life. He's the imprisoned one, not me. And he's imprisoned for following the very ideals he spewed from his mouth. He's only hurting himself with that nonsense. He has no power over me. I'm secure in knowing I'll lead a life a thousand times more satisfying than the Marcus Flints of the world."

She'd been that way at school too. When Draco was the pathetic one. She'd always shrugged off his taunts and insults with an unimaginable amount of grace.

He turned to face her, mouth working up to an overture he probably owed her every day. But she'd predicted his next words and shook her head with a small smile. "You've already shown me."

He didn't need to go to Granger's office today. She'd eased up on her iron grip over the document copies, but the solitude of his home did not offer a setting of concentration, for some reason. He'd tried it, and yet, alone in one of his studies, his mind buzzed with a distracting hum. A noise of emptiness.

He couldn't bounce ideas off the crystal decanters. The brocade curtains offered no witty repartee. The tapestries dating back to the 17th century were not quite the right sort of inspiring beauty. He'd even turned his desk round to face the windows overlooking his vast grounds. Lavish, yet lacking.

Granger's office would have to do until they solved this thing and Draco could move on with his life. An inexplicably conducive atmosphere for compiling supporting evidence and confirming or denying theories.

But today, her office had not been the best choice.

Draco returned from the washroom to find a red-headed woman lounging in his chair, twirling his favourite quill, and Granger nowhere to be seen.

"Feet off my desk, if you please, this isn't your hovel."

"Your desk? This is Hermione's office."

"Yes, and that's my desk."

A nonplussed Ginny shrugged and vacated his chair. "I'd been saying for ages they need to get her a little intern to fetch her tea and do her filing. Congratulations Malfoy."

"You're in her office because?"

"I'm kidnapping her and taking her out to lunch."

Draco checked his watch. "But it's only just noon."

"Very good Malfoy, that's the time of day when people generally partake in the meal called lunch."

"Granger doesn't take lunch until 12:45 at the earliest."

"Do you keep her schedule too? Would you like to be my assistant as well?"

"I'd rather be Crucio'ed. But Granger never takes lunch any earlier than quarter to one. Some peculiarity about the precise timing for concentration through the afternoon involving her tea."

Granger walked in then, interrupting any more irritating conversation with the (admittedly) least irritating Weasley.

"Ginny! What are you doing here?"

"Interrogating your secretary. Quite mouthy, I'm afraid, you might want to get another in, even if he is easy on the eyes."

"Ginny—"

"I know, I know, I shouldn't antagonize the help. But I'm here to take you to lunch."

Granger checked her watch in surprise. "Oh, but it's only noon. I couldn't possibly eat until 12:45 at the absolute earliest. Otherwise, my stomach starts rumbling soon after and I have to adjust my afternoon tea schedule."

Ginny blinked at her then turned to stare at Draco.

"Huh."

Draco smirked at her from behind Granger's back.

"Surely you can make an exception? I haven't had one-on-one time with you in ages," pled Ginny.

Granger shifted her weight and Draco sensed her imminent caving to a friend's pushy demand, despite her being rather adverse to the idea.

Draco did not want to deal with the aftermath of Granger's sour mood for the rest of the afternoon once she'd returned from this superfluous outing. Yes, that was the reason he decided to engage in a rescue attempt.

"Granger, we have a meeting with Sterling in twenty minutes. I don't think he'd appreciate you cutting out for a social call," he chimed in disdainfully.

To her credit, Granger's expression only momentarily faltered before she caught on.

"Right, of course, I'd forgotten. Sorry Ginny, perhaps another time?"

The other woman looked crestfallen but thankfully accepted the ruse.

"All right, and I'll owl ahead next time. That way Malfoy can put me on your calendar."

She gave a cheeky wave in his scowling face and Floo'ed away.

Granger let out a relieved exhale.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "She would have been relentless if she'd gotten me alone."

"Don't care."

"Thank you all the same."

He deflected her unnecessary gratitude with a shrug and lost himself in his notes on their interview with Flint.

He felt himself on the precipice of a theory, probably a brilliant one, when Granger interrupted him.

"Would you mind looking over my transcript from a few of our interviews?"

"I'm sure whatever you've written is fine."

"But I want to make sure this is absolutely correct. You're a hard man to please, you know, and I—"

His brain could no longer process the rest of her sentence. It remained hung up on a particular claim she'd made.

A hard man to please? Him?

Wrong. So wrong.

Did she know how easy it would be for her to please him?

Disturbingly easy, pathetically so.

That night, he dreamt of the Granger he knew now. If Theo had been the one to have induced an emotional tone for it, Draco would say he'd cast scintillating.

A/N: Thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr: heyjude19-writing. Next chapter on June 22.