A/N Continued love to LightofEvolution for her boundless beta efforts.

Hermione feels like a bit of an idiot, but she can't ignore the niggling suspicions that have wormed their way into her brain.

Escalators and embalming and blood removal… Then just yesterday, she heard Tracey Davis saying something about hunting rifles to the older Greengrass sister. Malfoy's name had most definitely been mentioned in tandem.

Hermione has tried to find ways to justify it all. She also makes efforts to remember all the times Harry was sure Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater and how crazy he had sounded to her…

But then again, it had turned out that Harry was right all along. In the end, she just can't turn a blind eye without feeling guilty. She has tried to come up with reasonable explanations; theories as to why he might need to know all of these things. Ultimately, the only conclusion she has drawn is what has led her here today:

Draco Malfoy is a terrorist.

Maybe that's a little melodramatic. Maybe he's just planning to scare a few muggles… but whatever he's doing, it's not just chatting her up over random points of interest.

First, there's no way he's chatting her up. Hermione might be a bit more popular with the wizards this year, but he's Malfoy. Handsome, wealthy, and pure as snow, there is no way he's actually trying to get in her knickers.

Secondly, the conversation topics are too random to be random. She hasn't discovered the exact pattern, but they are too varied and strange to have been drawn out of a proverbial hat of pick-up lines.

Plus, who the fuck hits on a girl by asking about having her dead cat stuffed?

So tonight, she's going to go back to her Hogwarts roots. Harry had been agreeable enough when she asked to borrow his Invisibility Cloak. "Going on a little adventure without me?" But he'd said it with a grin and had not seemed to expect an actual follow up.

She had thanked him and accepted the cloak. Just as she was stepping out the door, he called, "You wouldn't be following some suspicions about a pureblood wizard suddenly interested in women's reproductive health, would you?" She had only smirked in response and lifted one shoulder in a vague answer that universally means, maybe, but I'm not telling.

Now, she's walking stealthily behind Draco. It became obvious about two corridors and one staircase back that he is headed to the new and improved Room of Requirement. There is a bitterness in her throat when she thinks of Draco using this room when he and his friends are the reason it was destroyed in the first place. Bitter and just generally agitated by the wizard, Hermione is working herself up into quite a lather as she follows behind.

How dare he? How dare he ask her about muggles that he hates and use her for knowledge and then run off to this room that he has no right to even know about!

Well, whatever he's doing, she plans to bloody well find out and then put an end to it.

Hermione stops a few steps back and watches Draco pace in front of the doors. There is a ghost of a grin on his face, like he's anticipating what awaits him gleefully. The bastard.

When he opens the door he does so slowly, mindful of any noise, and then makes one last sweep of his gaze down the corridor. Hermione waits as long as she can before stepping forward and letting her foot catch the closing door. She slips in carefully, eyeing his back as he walks into the room and letting the door shut softly behind her.

"You're late, you know."

Three Slytherins are waiting for Malfoy, sitting ominously around a plain wooden table in the middle of the room. In front of each of them, she finds parchment, quills, and small books. From her vantage point, she can't read anything, but they are all looking at Draco very seriously, obviously put out that he has arrived last to their meeting.

"I had to take a detour. Thought I heard something. Filch, maybe? Probably just jumpy."

Theo Nott, who had addressed him, nods and settles in to face the table.

Pansy Parkinson is here. She has one leg crossed over the other at the knee and her arms folded across her chest. "I hope you planned the end of the mission for tonight. I'm tired of messing about in muggle graveyards."

Mission? Graveyards? This might be worse than Hermione suspected.

"We're done with all that. You missed it last session, but we've moved on. Tonight, we are focusing on a primary school."

Hermione stifles a gasp, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. It can't be…? They wouldn't harm children would they?

She can't believe what she's hearing. Blaise Zabini is saying something about getting in and out as quickly as possible, not to waste too much time. Hermione is stunned. She wishes she had brought in Harry on the whole thing.

"I'll take the kindergarten room," Nott is saying.

"Nuh uh," Parkinson is quick to argue. "That's the easy one. I say we roll for our assignments."

Roll? They are playing chance with the lives of school children? Hermione isn't sure if she wants to scream or be sick. To think, she was the one to give them the benefit of the doubt. She spoke for Draco before his trial. She petitioned the Wizengamot to allow the pureblood children to resume their studies.

Hermione watches in complete disgust as they all pick up a large die and roll it on the table in front of them.

Blaise fist pumps and announces, "N-n-n-n-nineteen, suckers!" The other two groan, and Draco Malfoy just rolls his eyes.

"Blaise takes the kindergarten room then. Nott, you're first. Pansy, you have second. I'll take third. Once we're finished, we meet in the school yard to discuss our next move."

Hermione has a streak of brave stupidity you could ride a thestral across, but she's also brilliant, so she's been told, and she knows when she's outnumbered. She is careful in making her escape, being sure to keep an eye on the Slytherins as she creeps out of the smallest crack possible in the door. Once in the corridor, she sets up camp and waits. As some of them leave, she will confront whoever remains at the end. She generally hopes it is Draco. They have built a rapport in the past days. Sure, it's a rapport based on him using her for reconnaissance and her watching his movements in suspicion, but a rapport nonetheless. Her relationship with the other three is nonexistent. With what she is learning about them, she'd very much like to keep it that way.

Plus, Malfoy is a sissy. She's pretty sure she can take him in a fight.

Hunkered down under Harry's cloak, she watches the door for nearly two hours when it finally opens and Blaise is the first to emerge. He looks right, then left, before fully exiting the room and shutting the entrance softly behind him. She watches him walk away, disgusted by his games of chance over other people's lives.

Next is Parkinson. She's cautious as she opens the door, but still holds herself primly, her eyebrow raised, daring the world not to go her way.

The wait is longer after that. Blaise and Pansy had left probably within ten minutes of one another. Nott doesn't emerge for another half hour. He has a casual air about him when he finally does, hands in his pockets as he strolls away.

Hermione is so caught up in judging him for his aloof attitude after a session of plotting murder, that she nearly misses her chance to catch the door. She dives for it, only able to sneak her fingertips in the crack to stop it from closing.

Malfoy is standing at the table, stacking and organizing various parchments. He taps the edges together on the table, making perfectly neat piles to lay atop the already gathered books. He looks peaceful. Almost serene. It's such a shame he wasn't able to cast aside his past after all. Just another bigot, following in the path he was raised and somehow missing the chance to think for himself. It's almost enough to make an optimistic Hermione start to question any hope for human behavior. Maybe we are just doomed to repeat the past, never breaking from the shackles of our heritage.

It fills her with disappointment, but not enough to forego her mission. Hermione prepares to take her prey unawares and get some answers. Hopefully, it's not too late to stop all this before someone gets hurt.

It was a good session, if Draco does say so himself. Shorter than some of their better nights, but he was late, so he can hardly complain.

His group made some cash for their characters by assisting at a primary school. Draco questions the realism of the game, suggesting that muggles just let random people come in to work for a day without credentials. He might have believed it years ago, indoctrinated as he was to believe them ignorant heathens, but his little exposure to muggleborns has been chipping away at that reality for years. Exhibit A is a particular bushy-haired witch who has been looking at him with some mean side eye recently. He knows he messed up with the tampon debacle, but there's no reason to shoot him death glares.

He likes her pretty face much better on those rare occasions she smiles at him. His plan to get to know her by asking questions seems to be failing spectacularly.

He slips the parchments and books into the bottom of his charmed bag and slides his more Hogwarts-appropriate texts on top. Closing the satchel and starting to head to the door, He is rehearsing potential conversations to have with his favorite little Gryffindor in the coming days.

She doesn't know it yet, but she's about to receive a full unleashing of Draco Malfoy charm. His mild obsession is as much a surprise to himself as it would be to anyone. He's not sure what exactly captured his fancy, beyond the obvious of her developed figure, but it seems to run a bit deeper. Their conversations, though brief, have been rather enjoyable. She's quick and smart and just haughty enough to feel familiar. Like she has just a dash of pureblood heiress in the personality soup that makes up her character.

She reminds him a little of his mother. Draco doesn't need anyone to point out the oedipal connotations of that either, thank you very much.

He's no more than two paces from the door when his body goes completely rigid, and he falls backwards, like a board to the floor. There is no cushioning charm, so the effect is very uncomfortable.

Before he has time to register anything beyond a nonverbal what the fuck, there is a weight atop his chest and a bit of vinewood shoved into his jugular.

"Malfoy."

He has enough presence of mind to appreciate that she doesn't say something stupid like "Don't move" to a wizard in a full body bind. Fucking Potter probably would have. Definitely Weasley.

"Granger," he manages, trying to sound unaffected and somehow charming, considering his position. "Can I help you with something?"

"You can tell me what you and your little cabal are planning so I can put an end to it. I just can't believe…" Her voice hitches a little, and he notices for the first time that she looks sincerely upset. "Children, Draco?" She finishes with a shaky breath. "I always wanted to believe… you were better than that."

Brow in a full on furrow, Draco is searching his mind for whatever slight he must have made against her or her friends. Unfortunately, he's drawing a very large blank. He realizes her hex, while keeping him immobile, does not prevent him from speaking.

"Granger, I don't know what you're asking, or, hell, how you even found me, but if you would take your wand out of my neck I'd really appreciate it. You're… and I don't feel ashamed to admit it… mildly terrifying."

Her eyes narrow and she makes no move to stand. "You'll think terrifying if you don't start talking. Or," she pauses, "better yet, I'll just check out your little bag."

Oh, well, this is embarrassing. Draco squeezes his eyes closed, mortified. This is not how he wanted her to find out about his new hobby. Scratch that: He isn't sure he ever wanted her to know about his hobby. For that matter, Draco was sort of hoping he and his three friends would just take this collectively to their graves.

He tries to put on his most commanding, entitled tone. "You can't just go about looking at a wizard's personal property! That's my private things, and I'll thank you not to touch them."

She merely snorts at him, amused by the sound of it, and continues to rifle through his bag. When he hears the sound of the false bottom being ripped forcibly away, Draco swallows and braces himself. "It's not what you think…" he starts, but then stalls. What is it, if not what she thinks? What does she think for that matter? So far, she's deadly silent, and Draco resolutely stares at the back of his own eyelids, waiting for what's next. Mockery? Pity? Look at the silly pureblood, pretending he has any right to the muggle world after all he's done. Must be a pretty sad state of affairs when the Malfoy scion has to escape into role playing to find a little peace, a little happiness. He huffs a calming breath out through his nose and waits.

"What is this…" Her voice is soft, and at least she has removed her wand from his throat.

Draco dares, first, one eye to open, then the other.

Hermione Granger is straddled over him, flipping through his Mortgage Master guide, her wand forgotten and lying beside him. If the binding would wear off, he could make a play for it and get the crazy witch off of him.

Then again… it's not a terrible position to be in. Her pretty little nose is doing that scrunchy thing he's noticed when she's reading intently, as her deep brown eyes move side to side, taking in his notes. Not to mention, her long legs are curled around his body, bent at the knees and barely holding her high enough to not be literally grinding against him. Perhaps he should take what little pleasure in this moment that he can.

That works for a few moments, but Draco is a resolutely impatient person as well. So, finally, he clears his throat.

She looks down as if she'd forgotten she was straddling him like a broom; an analogy he is fully aware carries a sexual connotation and is internally trying to enjoy through his lingering fear. "Maybe, you could at least let me sit up?"

Met with suspicion, he sighs and points out, "I don't even have a wand. It's in my bag, which is in your possession."

Slowly, like she's backing away from a fucking chimera, she climbs off of him, wand at the ready, and stands to her full height. After a moment of hesitation, still gripping the strap of his satchel tightly, she releases him from the body bind.

For a moment he just lays there breathing, nervous for her reaction and still slightly buzzing from the feel of her body touching his. It's probably not normal to be sexually aroused by a physical altercation, but there you have it.

"What is all this, Draco? Is this… is it a game?"

He studies her face but nods quickly. "Of course it's a game." Seeing the still wary look on her face, he asks, "Wait… what exactly did you think you were going to find?"

"I thought… I mean…. You just asked so many bizarre questions! Embalming? Tampons?... I mean, who the fuck asks if you're going to taxidermy your cat… before it dies!?"

Standing so he can face her, not liking the feeling of talking to her from the ground, he shrugs. "How was I to know what's appropriate? I've never met a muggle before."

"You've met me," she argues back.

"You're a witch."

It's such a powerful moment, and they both seem to realize it simultaneously, staring at each other with an assessing gaze. He can only imagine she's shocked he would argue the point. For his part, Draco is surprised how naturally the denial had come. Of course she's a witch. He hasn't thought of her as anything else in a very long time. Not a muggle, not even a muggleborn… and certainly not that terrible word she has forever carved in her arm thanks to his mother's insane sister.

Draco breaks eye contact first and clears his throat. "I mean, it's different. You've been living at Hogwarts most of your life. I just thought… it might not be the same. For you. I don't know."

Her gaze is more piercing by the second, and Draco very much does not like the feeling that he is pinned beneath it, wriggling in vain. His instinct in this, as it has traditionally been in most aspects of his life, to run. He starts to say, "Maybe I should just-"

But she cuts him off and pockets her wand in her muggle jeans. "Tell me about the game."

"I… I'm sure you wouldn't be interested."

She cocks her eyebrow at him. "On the contrary, if this is what I think it is, I do believe I'm utterly fascinated."

She turns her back on him then, a move that doesn't escape his attention shows a certain level of trust, and takes a seat at the empty table across the room.

Draco's movements are, by comparison, slow and hesitant. He chooses the seat across from her, positioning the table between them in case her wand makes another appearance.

Or her fist, for that matter. Girl had a mean right hook at thirteen. He can't imagine she's any weaker now.

Sliding all of his materials back out of his satchel, he lays them in front of him, facing her direction, and opens the cover on the first book. Tossing his self-preservation out the window and trying for a wholly uncharacteristic bold approach, he starts to explain.

"In fifth year, Tracy Davis' older brother smuggled this in from the States. We weren't allowed to play it, of course. Our parents… those of us from the old families… they thought it would lead us down a dangerous path. Corrupt us." Hermione sniggers at that, and he supposes it is funny, looking back. As if knowing what an escalator is was going to destroy the fabric of wizarding society.

"But," he goes on, "I started looking at some of the guides. I… learned a lot actually, about muggles. At first I didn't understand much of it, but Tracy's brother… he led our first campaign. The only one we played that year. Umbridge would have skinned us alive, but we had you lot distracting her with your secret club."

"You've been playing this all that time?"

"No," he shakes his head, "we didn't play last year. Couldn't. Not with the Carrows around. Sixth year…" He looks away, not able to hold her gaze. "I was busy sixth year. No one was in the mood for games."

Draco's head snaps back in her direction, suddenly realizing something important. "Wait, you came in here ready to Avada me. What the fuck did you think we were doing?"

She has the decency to blush and look away, and suddenly Draco isn't sure he wants to know.

"I was just… you were very suspicious, you know," she accuses, and Draco recognizes the defensiveness masking her discomfort at whatever mistake she made.

Somehow, that doesn't make him feel much better. If anything, this might be worse than he thought.

"Hermione?"

She takes a deep breath and admits stiffly, "I thought maybe you were going to do something… you know…" She waves her hand around as if he's supposed to fill in the blank.

"What… evil? Fuck, Granger, what did you think I was going to do?"

She bristles and blurts out sarcastically, "Oh, I don't know, let Death Eaters in to the school?"

His face must collapse. He's sure of it, because the look on Hermione's immediately twists into profound regret.

"I'm so sorry-"

"It's fine," he interrupts stiffly. "Not as though it's not factual."

"It's not," she argues. "I just… get a little defensive when I feel guilty."

He nods but doesn't look at her, waiting for this awkward moment to be over so he can run back to his dorm and lick his wounds. It seems his chances of any sort of relationship, even polite acquaintance, with Granger were pretty thin on the ground.

"Draco?"

With a sigh, he looks back to find her holding the guide she was browsing back toward him.

He takes it and starts to slide it back in the bag when her hand closes the flap. "Tell me… about the game? I'd really like to know more about it."

She's looking at him through her lashes, small hand still stretched across the table to hold his bag hostage. He supposes there's nothing for it.

"We all have a character," he begins slowly, "A muggle with different jobs and skill sets, and we have these… quests… tasks to complete. We earn money and make ourselves stronger over time. We use a die with twenty sides to determine our success at various stages…it's… I don't know, it's just for fun…" Draco is growing increasingly wary as he speaks, watching Hermione trying to stifle a grin. He knew she wouldn't understand-

"Are you the DM?"

"The…?"

"The Dungeon Master. Or, I suppose you wouldn't call it that would you? Though there is some irony what with you living in the dungeons…"

"What in Salazar's name are you talking about?"

Hermione giggles at him. Fucking giggles. Then she corrects herself and says, "Maybe Game Master is more appropriate. Do you run the campaigns?"

Understanding falls around him finally, and he nods. "The Mortgage Master, you mean? Yes. It's my game, so I plan the sessions."

"Would you read me a little? Some basics from the Master guide?" She gestures to the tome in his hands, looking at him expectantly and without a hint of mockery. He only hesitates a moment more before settling in. Draco opens the book again and turns to the first page where the game's introduction is found. Clearing his throat and adopting a clear tone of voice, he reads from the opening statement.

"In a world run by greed and built by deadly machines, muggles find their way through the trials of their daily lives with only their wits to guide them. Join the adventure and discover the muggle world like you've never known it. Welcome to Muggles and Mortgages."

A/N I'm just... you guys ::happy sniff:: You've made this little piece so much fun to post! We are almost at the end, but I hope it's been fun. 'Thank yous' all around for the faves, follows, and reviews!