May 4th. Eight years and two days since the battle of Hogwarts, and 30 minutes before Draco Malfoy was meant to see Hermione Granger yet again. He sat staring at the hearth of his flat in London, except this time he was already a little drunk.

It's true, he hadn't lived in Malfoy Manor for years. His frequent flashbacks and night terrors were enough to deal with without the constant reminder and triggers from the place he resided.

He liked it here… humble, compared to his upbringing, but safe, separate… and most importantly, his.

Even so, he'd had a lot of that this week. Waking up screaming, that is. The general feel of hopelessness his mind created could put a Dementor's power to shame. Maybe the melancholy he felt daily would eventually transfigure him into one. At least then he'd possibly have a purpose in life.

The anniversary, seeing her last week, having to do it again… it was too much for Draco. So naturally, he'd drunk himself silly every night this week, and had spent much of this day hung over before starting again. Draco couldn't remember the last time he had spoke to another soul, except one of his elves. And Granger, technically.

He almost felt bad for Risly, who had resorted to following him around with crackers, and other easily digestible things, begging him to eat. He would feel bad, that is, if he wasn't so busy feeling sorry for himself. She was used to his moods, after all.

It was all he could do to keep it together the last time, but this time, it wasn't yet confirmed that he would be able to be in Hermione Granger's presence without a fit of his own.

Risly apparated in with a crack, no longer a blithering mess. Instead, she looked almost excited as she rocked on her toes.

"Well you've certainly had a change in mood," he said, flatly.

"Risly likes Hermione Granger," Risly said.

"Well that makes one of us."

"Master said Hermione Granger was a good witch," Risly retorted.

Draco grimaced, standing up with a huff as the flames before him turned green before addressing the elf with, "Things aren't always so simple."


Hermione stepped from the fireplace, looking a little harried herself.

She performed her cleaning charm on her clothes again, but missed a spot of soot on her brow.

At least, Draco thought she did, his vision was beginning to blur a little.

Even so, he noticed that her hair was much more disheveled today, falling out of what he assumed had been a tight bun at the beginning of the day. The curls that had escaped their bindings framed her face haphazardly, rather than being slicked back like they had been the last time he saw her.

He pondered his thoughts while waiting for her to speak. Perhaps she did not look forward to doing this again either, especially given what was no doubt an emotional start to her week as well.

Hermione Granger may have fought to save lives eight years ago, but Draco Malfoy was the reason many were dead.

"Hello again," she said, an attempt at humor as she looked around. Draco noticed her eyes stop for a moment at the liquor bottle and glass on the end table where he had been seated.

Draco's apartment was much different than Malfoy Manor. The apartment was decorated to the tee with family antiques and furniture, but the size of the space barely compared to that of having his own personal wing of a mansion.

Hermione didn't bother with the parchments in her bag this time, and instead stood tapping her wand against her side.

"So," she started, "1200 square feet is a bit different than the Manor, Risly. I imagine you have a lot of free time during the day once your duties are done?"

"Oh yes," Risly chirped, and Hermione looked taken aback by Risly's change in tone, "Risly travels a bit when not working."

"I suppose…" Hermione began, tapping her wand against her leg a few more times, "show me where you live, and we can do our interview?"

Draco merely rubbed at his brow, opting to remain where he stood in the sitting room as Risly took Hermione to the back.

Though Risly did not have her own bedroom at his flat, she enjoyed a moderately sized closet that had a window for the creature, created by Draco's own magic.

He had also measured the space at least 15 times to make sure it was well above the requirements set by the department.

After several minutes, Draco realized he was standing uselessly, so he sat back down on his couch, his long fingers taped on his knee. He sunk deeper into the couch, and attempted to trace the lines of his wallpaper to calm his mind, but found them uncooperative as they swayed slightly.

Some time later, he heard footsteps approach as Risly and Hermione reentered the room, though he didn't look up at them.

"I'll just need your signature…" He heard Hermione say.

Draco ran a hand through the front of his hair down to the side of his neck, and attempted to rub at some of the soreness he found there.

"Malfoy," he heard her say after a few beats.

He quickly turned his head to the left and found that her hand was there, holding out a parchment with an inked quill on top.

"Oh," he said, "Yes," and he took the papers from her hand.

"Mr. Malfoy said Risly could leave after talking with Miss Granger… for the rest of the night, for travels." He heard the elf say.

"Go ahead," Draco answered, moving the parchments to his lap and blinking a few times, needing a minute to see them clearly.

He heard the crack of the elf's departure.

Draco cleared his throat and asked, "Where do I sign?" He flipped past a few of the papers.

"The last page," he heard her say, though it sounded a bit muffled.

Flip, flip.

He found it, squinting his eyes slightly at the line he was meant to sign, and very aware of each of his movements as he tried to hide his state.

As he lowered the quill, he noticed Hermione's own meticulous handwriting at the top of the page, indicating some of her notes from the interview with Risly.

Living conditions: excellent Work Life balance: adequate Physical Health: excellent Mental/Emotional Health: Fair. Elf worries about employer, this causes distress to elf at times outside the realms of work related duty/context.

Draco stopped, and squinted his eyes at the last note.

His eyes cut to hers, and he took in her stance. Her palms were clasped together in front of her as she looked down at him, fingers twisting slightly, no doubt to keep herself from wringing them together.

He gave her a half smirk, half sneer before lowering his face back down, and scratching his name on the parchment. It took great effort for him to stay on the line, but when it was done, he extended his arm and the parchment towards her, not looking up at her again.

Hermione took it from him but continued standing. He could see her feet from his peripherals and feel the closeness of her body. Draco hoped that if he looked forward long enough maybe she would leave.

She did not.

When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, "I'm struggling this week too," she says.

He rolled his head to face her, but lifted only his eyes at her, blinking slowly and hoping each time he opened his eyes either she or he would disappear.

Still she stood there, like a nightmare.

"If you ever… need to talk…" Hermione said, trailing off slightly.

Draco grimaced as if tasting spoiled butterbeer. When he finally responded he said, "I thought your job here was to ensure the welfare of my elves, not me."

Her chest rose at the sharpness, but she continued to stand there, just fucking looking at him.

She pursed her lips after a few seconds, and raised her wrist to check the time, then said, "Technically, I am off the clock, now."

He scoffed, and turned to his right, reaching for the bottle he had left there, "Then I suppose you won't mind? You look like you could use a few yourself."

"I didn't mean…" She bristled, "I'm sorry. What I said was prying… inappropriate…"

He rolled his eyes and offered the glass to her.

Hermione Granger sighed a deep and heavy sigh at him.

She didn't take the glass immediately, but her eyes darted from him to the bottle causing him to drawl, "Well, don't be shy."

Hermione's eyes went from the bottle to his again and he smirked. He filled the glass, generously, then placed it in his palm and dipped his hand slightly, levitating the glass towards her.

It tapped her on the temple until she took it from the air.

She pulled her lip through her teeth, then looked into the glass, considering. She gave it one swirl, then another.

Draco's mouth fell open slightly, the motion she made with the glass felt hypnotizing to him. Then, he was snapped out of it when she suddenly threw back the contents of the glass into her mouth, and only gave away a slight wrinkle in her nose.

Salizar's saggy balls , Draco thought with surprise.


The sun was setting in London, and somehow Hermione Granger had perched herself on Draco Malfoy's couch and willingly took shot after shot from him.

"You're good to them," Hermione said, "your elves, you're good to them."

"I… merely follow the... tedious to the extreme laws you have implemented, Granger. My family… my… mother and I have no interest in… making waves with such things," he said carefully, reaching over and refilling her glass.

She eyed him, then indulged herself to the liquid, her face had started to flush. However, Draco could still tell she was mulling something over.

"Well, spit it out, Granger," he said as he poured another drink of his own.

Softly, she said, "I don't blame you for not wanting to live in that vile place."

He lowered his glass, and pursed his lips sneering at the fact that his eyes began to burn slightly.

She was insisting on going there, and he didn't have the wherewithal to stop it.

They sat in silence for some time, Draco occasionally refilling her glass and his when needed, which was significantly more often than when she needed.

He couldn't help himself from saying it, loosened lips and thrown away wits, as it poured out of his mouth like the liquor he kept flowing, "I'm sorry," he said.

It sounded weak, childish. But he meant it.

She pursed her lips and nodded, but her next response surprised him.

"The adults that should have been the ones to protect us really fucked us up," she said.

Her tone was dark, unexpected, but he sat silently, noticing her eyes begin to water.

She sniffed, then continued, "Have you- have you ever spoken to Harry, since?"

Draco simply nodded his head in a quick and simple jerk, letting his mind go back to that night.


Four years after the war, Draco finally worked up the nerve to send him an owl for a word. They agreed to meet somewhere public.

As Harry Potter sat across from him that night at the Three Broomsticks, Draco pulled at his collar for several minutes, until he was able to croak out the words he had been practicing for weeks.

"Looking back I realize how… how my upbringing filtered my view of things," Draco started. Potter merely gazed at him. He did not strike Draco with any smugness, but Draco could have sworn Potter's cautious demeanor began to lighten.

"I thought…" Draco swallowed, and took a drink of the water in front of him, "No amount of explaining can justify…" he tried again. "Towards the end, I only wanted to protect my family."

"I know," Harry said simply, and he looked down for a beat. "Love is the most deeply powerful, yet… complicated magic," Harry said.

Draco blinked at him.

"I'm not sure if you know this," Harry continued, "but your mother… at the end. She… after Voldemort hit me with the killing curse he told her to… make sure. I guess he was too chicken shit to approach me… she asked for you. Asked if you were okay. It was love that saved me from Voldemort the first time… my mother's. And it was your mother's love for you that saved me, and many other people in the end."

Draco hadn't known any of that.

"As much… history as we have behind us," Harry said, "I… I can never forget what she did. We were all…" Harry trailed off, shaking his head a little as he looked for the words, "his victims in some sense, but he was never going to win. While we may not have always made the right choices, he always underestimated the power of love. As long as we hold on to that, we win."

Draco let out a shaky breath, the inside of his cheek more than likely ripped to shreds.

When they finally parted that night, Potter's last words to Draco were: "I do wish you the best, Malfoy."


He was brought back to the present by Hermione's response.

"Good," Hermione said, accepting his simple nod. She tipped her already empty cup into her mouth again, a feeble attempt to drain the last drop.

The bottle Draco had been pouring from was also empty.

Draco reached his arm over Hermione towards the coffee table to his wand, kicking himself internally as he saw her recoil a bit, and he feared he might have accidentally touched her.

The momentary closeness allowed him to catch a whiff of her vanilla and rose perfume.

Godric's fiery crotch, he swore to himself as he felt his body beg him to get closer to the source of her smell.

Wand finally in hand, he pointed behind himself and caught the whizzing bottle that had just been summoned.

Before he could pop off the top she softly stated, "She worries about you. Risly."

"My elf worries about me?" His tone is flat, each word coming out lazily, due to the alcohol smoothing over any remaining tightness from his body at this point.

He felt calm, like he was in a dream.

Draco attempted to narrow his focus on the designs around the lid of the bottle, now balanced on his knee as she continued.

"She says sometimes she has to make you eat, says you're gloomy… says…" she trails off not saying what must have been, she says you scream at yourself sometimes, that she caught you clawing at your forearm one night after too much drink.

"It happens to me too," she continued. "It happens to all of us… some days are worse than others… like today…" she sighs, "it can be hard for me not to take it out on some of the wizards I work with who are more… challenging."

"Someone give you trouble over their elves?" He asked, keen on steering the subject to her work instead of their shared trauma.

She sighed, "It seems some families are not… as willing to make the necessary changes to accommodate their… staff," she said, looking down at her empty glass.

"Mmm" he said in response, popping the lid off of the new bottle.

"And it can get… ugly," she finished, sucking on her teeth. The shadows around her face grew, and not just because the sun had gone down.

"Do you mean to say you were in a duel today? Or did you just give someone a taste of that right hook of yours?" Draco said, playfully.

Hermione looked at him from the corner of her eye, and he was amused to see she didn't even try to stifle the smirk forming on her lips.

"It's just," she continues, looking forward again, "a lot of them.. the elves… have been through a lot. Without any consequences at all…"

He didn't respond. He was well aware of this fact, of course, having watched his own father beat his childhood elf many, many times.

She looked at him again and he noted the gold flakes that peppered her otherwise chocolate brown eyes, having never noticed them before.

Draco gave her a look to convey that he was impressed. Then lifted the bottle to his mouth forgoing all sense of decorum to take a pull straight from the neck. He only broke her gaze when he flinched at the unexpected taste.

Before he could completely recover, she took the bottle from him, and gave him a mocking look.

"Sorry," he laughs, "I think that's all I have left."

She takes her own swig from the bottle, not bothering to look at what it was.

He can tell she was surprised by the flavor as well, and he laughed as she lowered the bottle down slowly. She parted her lips slightly as she looked at the label.

"Creme de Mente," she read, putting a finger to her lips. He took it back from her to take another swig for himself.

"Seems I'm at the end of my stash," he sighs obnoxiously, but when she doesn't respond he lulls his head over to her.

She's facing him, but her eyes are darting somewhere behind his head as if she is adding up complicated arithmancy.

Her eyebrows furrow when she finally speaks again, "It tastes like… toothpaste."

"It's awful, isn't it?" he said dully, the bottle now teetering in his hand on the arm of the sofa.

She scoffed and looked down, then back up at him, shaking her head slightly.

He was suddenly aware of how close their faces were, and her vanilla and rose smell twisted with the scent of the mint on their breaths.

Hermione shook her head a few more times, as if silently disagreeing with a conversation Draco was not privy too, opening and closing her mouth.

"You are…" she said finally, "full of surprises."

He blew out a short breath through his nose, and the smudge on her forehead from the floo caught his eye again.

"You have fucking ashes on your forehead," he said, reaching out and attempting to wipe them away, but only making it worse.

Her eyes closed at his touch. She inhaled slightly, only opening them again when he had removed his hand.

Rowena sucking off a squib, he thought.

The next part happened in slow motion, as things tend to do when you're more than a little half drunk.

Hermione reached out her hand and grasped his shirt.

His head took ages to look down at it, and by the time it did, she was climbing on top of him, using her grip as an anchor.

She swung one leg over and slowly slid herself down to straddle his lap.

Draco barely moved, barely breathed as his eyes followed the hand on his chest, up to her mouth, parted and panting, then to her eyes, dark from the shadows in the now barely lit room.

Helena Hufflepuff's tits, he thought before mentally correcting himself. No, Granger's tits, right in front of his fucking face.

He let his head fall back against the couch, and his eyes widened as she leaned forward, loosening her grip on his shirt slightly. Her other hand came up to rest gently on his chest.

She let out a breath and grazed her lips slowly over his, tentatively, the way one might barely taste something one is afraid might be spoiled or gone bad.

He let her, his right hand still gripping the neck of the bottle of Crème De Mente, the other resting at his side.

She took in another sharp intake of breath and leaned back, meeting his eyes, and her chest now heaving.

Draco didn't dare touch her. His initial shock turned cool as he gazed at the scene before him. Whatever she intended to do, he would let her, but she waited atop him, as if looking for permission.

He broke eye contact to lazily put the bottle on the side table with a clink, before meeting her eyes again. Draco then brought his hand to his mouth to run his ring finger under his lips where hers had just been. When he'd traced the line of his bottom lip, he placed his hand back on the arm rest.

His eyes simmered as his body settled further into the couch, both from his lax disposition, and the weight of Hermione's body bestrode his lap.

The voice that came from him sounded jaded and weary, as he had no more reserves for cheeky quips, "Well," he said, dragging his eyes down her body for emphasis, "get on with it then."

Even in the now darkened room, he could tell her pupils had blown wide, and he heard a soft sound escape her lips. He smiled slightly, analyzing the sound. It sounded like something sweet, hot, and bitter, all at the same time.

Draco became aware of his own arousal as Hermione's eyes darted down, most likely feeling it against herself.

She grazed her fingers down his chest, and further down still. Her next movements were methodical, set on an objective to unfasten his pants.

At this point, he took great care in measuring his breathing, focusing on it as her hands worked. She occasionally flicked hers back up at him, an irritatingly smug look playing on her lips.

Bold , he thought.

He shifted himself up slightly, realizing he had begun to slide down the couch, and when he did she caught his lips.

He didn't kiss her back, exactly, instead he opened his mouth, letting out a scoffing chuckle as she bit lightly on his lower lip. He felt her hips begin to rock on his lap as she slipped her hand inside his now undone pants.

She pulled him out, releasing her contact with his mouth to look down, his own gaze following hers and allowing him to catch the gape she made.

The corners of his own lips quirked up, and her eyes snapped back to his.

Not too much for the brightest witch of our age, is it? He wondered to himself.

Draco might have believed she was performing legilimency on him with the way she grazed her tongue across her lips as if in response.

She raised herself again, removing her hands from him and lowering them to either side of her skirt.

She pushed it up, even further from where it was already bunched, then anchored one hand on the couch next to Draco's ear.

He allowed his eyes to sweep over her, flickering between her mouth, her collar bone, and the shape of her body.

Hermione caught his gaze again as she maneuvered herself, looking him in the eye, and letting her tongue rest at the corner of her lips.

Bold, sexy, brilliant, witch, he thought, shoving down his own desire to pitch his hips into her.

With her other hand, he felt her fingers wrap around him again, just lightly enough to nudge him closer to her core.

She moved her now exposed knickers over to one side and lowered herself onto him, his exhale a little less controlled at the contact this time.

Hermione let out a loud and satisfied gasp that caused Draco to lull his head back onto the couch again. He stared at the ceiling, looking away from her as she adjusted while he had to fight off the temptation to flip her and take over.

His throat bobbed as she slowly took more of him in, and he closed his eyes, as his treacherous body released an even sharper, more telling exhale.

She feels so fucking good, Draco thought, there was no way this is actually happening.

He felt her hips began to undulate, creating a rhythm, and he brushed his eyes from the ceiling back to her.

He jaw clenched to keep in a groan at the sight before him. Hermione Granger had one hand on his shoulder, another hand on the couch behind him, and was fucking him on a 300 year old antique.

Something had to have been funny about that liquor, causing him to hallucinate. Surely she had left hours ago, and wasn't currently panting and moaning on his dick right now.

She dropped her head to his shoulder and he could feel her hot breath on his neck as she continued her movements, divine noises escaping her mouth.

He deigned to slide his left hand up to the lower part of her thigh. His fingers curled just above her knee, as he gripped the skin there.

Real, He thought. Definitely real.

He could have touched her more, would have loved to roam her body as she quickened her pace. But he found much more satisfaction in letting her do it, in watching her. He sat as if bored, but in actuality it was a test of self-restraint.

The coils of the couch began to protest at her movements, leading her to move to put her forehead on his. Their breaths mixed into a dizzying potion that was all their own.

He watched as her mouth opened up and sounded her release, the noise of the guttural groan vibrated in his ears as she squeezed him harshly. His own undoing notifying them a moment later in the form of a barking laugh.

Her head fell into his shoulder again as she attempted to steady her breathing. Draco watched her body rise and fall a few times under his own deep inhales and exhales.

Eventually, Hermione peeled herself off of him, not looking at him again until she stood before him with her skirt back down at its designed length.

He tucked himself back into his pants, and met her eyes again, neither moving as they gazed at each other. Was it disgust in her face? Disbelief? Draco couldn't tell as he watched the movement of her breathing in front of him.

Hermione then clenched and unclenched her left hand a few times, then shook it out as if releasing a tension.

After several beats, eyes still locked on his, she leaned to retrieve her bag, then her wand.

Without another word, she spun on her heels, and disappeared through the Floo.