Hermione got up at the crack of dawn, as was her norm. She wandered around her home aimlessly, observing her potted plants to see if any of them needed watering. Her eyes fell upon the pile of clothes in her washroom and remembered that yesterday had been a big day and she now had a house guest.

A rather ungrateful one. But she did not do this for the praise, she did it because it was the right thing to do.

She began to clean up the kitchen from last night's meals and began cooking the new. It was a menial task she could have easily used magic to accomplish, but she rather liked the way it kept her hands busy.

While doing this she allowed her mind to wander about.

She thought about the past three years and how much had gone wrong, so horribly wrong. It was as if after the war, all that could have gone wrong inevitably did.

It started small, Ron had broken up with her. But she had expected that one. Then an unknown man was voted Minister. He seemed alright at first, impartial and just, but he soon caved to the whims of those who were plundered by the war, those who wanted vengeance as opposed to justice.

Little things were blown out of proportions, children were being shipped off to jails or detention institutes, which is a prettier way of saying jail. It was horrible but no one seemed to want to speak up against it. After all, it would put them in a spot to be called a traitor and a Death Eater.

Then a law appeared that deemed all magical modifications on muggles to be illegal and punishable by 5 years in Azkaban, no exceptions. Because, apparently, making exceptions for people was how the war started.

This left her no choice but to leave her parents in Australia, memories modified and forever a childless couple who yearned for a little girl they dream of nightly.

She couldn't very well risk it, with her fame and the Prophet's proclivity towards uncovering unflattering stories about her.

Hermione willed herself not to cry. Someday, somehow, she'd find a way.

But for now little steps to make things right.

By first freeing those who did right. Narcissa who was paramount in Harry's survival that night, was shipped off to Azkaban with no trial for her associations with Death Eaters and Tom Riddle. But she had only been trying to keep her family together and survive.

Blaise Zabini, Hermione didn't know much about him but she did catch glimpse of him sneaking the students away prior to the battle and he fought valiantly, though he did get hit by a stunner a couple hours in. He hadn't been on her radar until Ron brought it up. It seems wrong found him worth saving, and that was enough for her.

Finally there was Draco, who had helped them during the final battle was captured for being a traitor. But he had turned his back on all he knew and his upbringing to help the trio. And he had made Hermione promise that his family would be safe. That promise had ingrained itself into her mind, and it was only now that she felt the weight of that vow lessening.

Speaking of the devil, she heard him clear his throat behind her irritatingly. It there was anyone who could infuse nonchalance and mild distaste into a single sound, it would be Draco, and perhaps Umbridge.

She reminded herself that she was a better person and would no stoop to his baiting.

"Good morning, Malfoy," she greeted him politely and then returned to her cooking.

He seemed to take then hint and instead of saying anything snide, he simply said, "Smells good."

Hermione was caught off guard by that reply. She had been expecting something far less civil.

"Yes well," she said a little dumbly. There was nothing to say because she could gage his current mood.

She finished frying up their food very quickly and moved on to set the table. As she did this, she realised that the stove was still on and their bacon was turning a shade too dark. She all but jumped to turn it off in a hurry before resuming her scavenger hunt for her plates.

She didn't usually eat this big of a breakfast, but given that her guest had most likely eaten 3 years' worth of gruel, it was only right.

"Why not use a house elf? Or at least use magic?" he remarked.

"I prefer the muggle way," she challenged. But then added a little more gently and whimsically. "Call it nostalgia."

He shrugged and sat down at the set table. "Whatever."

He looked at her expectantly and Hermione realised that he wanted her to put his food out for him. While she believed in catering to her guests, she realised that sooner or later, he'd have to pull him own weight around the house. Or at least half.

For all of his failings, Draco was not unmannered. As he sat across from her with a full plate, he waited until she was seated before beginning to eat. And he did so… so… soo daintily.

Hermione was almost trying to mimic him.

They did not speak during the meal however.

But when the meal ended, Hermione wished dearly that he would not speak, because all that came out of him mouth were demands.

"Where did you get these clothes?" He asked indicating to his tattered grey t-shirt and sweat pants. They were actually hers. But she didn't tell him that.

"I need my own clothes," he told her. "Or my wand so I can at least transfigure myself something less humiliating to wear. A potato sack would be more flattering."

Hermione had half a mind to turn his clothes into a potato sack.

Instead she simply said, "We'll be going out later to pick up your wand and some of your belongings."

"Finally," he grumbled as if she had purposefully delayed the excursion. "Before we go, transfigure my clothes would you. White dress shirt and black pants would do. If you can manage it."

Now she wanted to turn him into a potato sack.

"Gladly," she replied all too sweetly. "As soon as we clean up the table and get the dishes done."

"I'll be in my room then," he told her as he excused himself from the table.

"As will I then,"

"You just said that you would clean the table and we would leave," he explained to her as if she were a little slow.

"No I said we," she explained in the same manner.

"Get a house elf," Draco told her with a bite in his tone.

Hermione glared at him and stalked out of the room. Draco was at a loss of what to do, thinking she may have just abandoned him, but she returned shortly with a pamphlet with bright green letter.

"Spew…" he mumbled. "Is this some sort of a disease?"

"Unbelievable," she threw her hand around like a mad woman and suddenly Draco realised just how unhinged the muggleborn was.

So he placated her.

"If I promise to read this," he began. "And I put the dishes into the sink, then I can go to my room?"

"Yes," she huffed a little unwillingly. It wasn't much but it was something.

"Alright," Draco accepted reluctantly.

When they finally finished cleaning up, it was just barely 9 in the morning. The exact time most Ministry offices opened.

"Right on time," she told him in a far too cheery tone for someone who had scrubbed plates all morning.

"My clothi—" before Draco could finish his sentence, she had tranfisgured his clothing into something more presentable and form fitting.

Hermione had to marvel at her handy work. The expression, the clothes make the man, was surprisingly true. Draco looked at himself in the full length mirror in her hallway and slicked him hair back with his hand.

The action reminded her of those male models in muggle commercials. Almost unnaturally perfect.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked not unkindly but it was her way of telling him to quit looking at himself in the mirror, least he never moved again and became a tree in the middle of her hallway.

With a nod, Draco walked out of the house without caring if she followed or not.

Thought a little unwilling to admit it, Hermione enjoyed the view of Draco from behind. He had grown into quite a formidable man.

When she caught up with him, she motioned for him to follow her to the underground tunnel that led to the Ministry. Since much of her work revolved around the place, she lived quite close.

They were in the Atrium when someone called out to them.

"Oi Mione!" Ron, who looked a little worse for wear, waved at her.

Discreetly, Hermione noticed that Draco's face seemed to light up just a little upon seeing a friend.

"Blimey Ron," Hermione noticed a little shocked as he approached. "You look terrible." And politely smiled at Blaise. "Good morning."

To which Blaise grinned and Ron scowled at her, "Way to make a friend fell loved." He grumbled then explained. "Someone used up all the hot water today. Bloody ran out of water! I still have shampoo in my hair."

"I offered to use magic to fix it," Blaise quipped up. "Someone just didn't trust me."

"I'm not letting you use my bloody wand," the other man said in a tone that reminded Hermione of someone who'd simply given up trying to argue.

"You're getting your wand too?" Draco spoke up. But it was clear that he was only addressing Blaise.

"Yes," Blaise replied to him. But he had the decency to take notice of the other two people. "Shall we?"

As they headed towards the elevator, the density of people milling around grew. Draco who rarely liked crowds, much less now after 3 years in virtual solitary, was not very happy and in fact, showed his discontent quite openly with a sneer and a glare.

Then someone bumped into him all too forcefully, almost knocking him down.

Draco took a side step and hoped to move on quickly but it was not to be.

"Filth," that same someone spat at Draco menacingly. "You should be dead."

Draco had no idea how to react. Never in his life had he been treated so badly by someone who did not know him personally. He was frozen and trying to process what had just happened.

"Excuse me, sir," Hermione appeared at his side. "Can we help you?"

"Ms. Granger," the stranger who'd just insulted him all but beamed at her. "It is such a pleasure!"

"I'm sure," she mumbled. Then she put a hand on Draco's elbow and steered him away from the man.

The moment they moved away from the rude man, she felt him rip his arm away from her. She figured he must have come to his senses then. They caught up to Ron and Blaise who were conversing like normal people. Why couldn't she have picked Blaise, she thought.

She looked over the strange man who was now her roommate and realised that he was still a little dazed.

Finally they made it to the storage area of the Ministry.

After a good 30 minutes of bureaucratic nonsense and headaches, Hermione had managed to help Blaise and Draco recover their wands, a portion of their belongings and some money. It wasn't much, but Blaise appeared to be very grateful.

Draco, well, he was smiling. To himself. But he was smiling slightly.

"You boys are lucky you've got such good friends," the old woman behind the counter told the two Slytherin.

"Very lucky!" Blaise grinned at Ron as he swung an arm around the man. Ron looked a little redder than usual and shrugged off his arm. He missed the look of hurt on Blaise's face.

Draco just stared curiously at her but smiled just slightly. Her breath almost caught in her throat at how charming and almost angelic his smile appeared.

"Oh," Hermione remembered as they left. "I forgot to tell her about the Potters and Narcissa. I'll be right back."

"Right," Ron agreed and promptly volunteered. "I'll go with you."

"We'll just stay here," Blaise told them helpfully not quite wanting to go back there under critical gaze of that old hag.

Once the duo left, Blaise looked at Draco thoughtfully and smiled, "It seems we did get quite lucky."

"Speak for yourself," the blond man replied thinking of all the restrictions in his life. He thought his time as a prisoner was over. But it appears he had just been moved from one jail to another. This one thought, was gilded and appeared nice.

"Draco," he told the other man warningly. "Don't be obtuse. We all knew that things would be different after the war. But at least, we came out of it alive. And better yet, we are not in want of good connections. What better connections that the bloody Gryffindor Trio."

"Mmm…" Draco pondered this for a moment. He hadn't quite thought about it that way. He had been more focused on his freedom, but what was freedom without power and wealth?

Before he could reply though. The Gryffindors came back.

"Think about it," Blaise told him in a quick hushed whisper.

A/N- So here we go, another one. As always, I hope you enjoyed it and review/favourite/follow if you want.