A/N: A huge thank you to my brilliant alpha/beta team: Lilithmorningstar69 and LeilahMoon! I am beyond lucky to have found them!

Chapter 6

Draco Malfoy and Mischief Maker

Malfoy watched as Hermione entered the lift. Once inside, she turned to face him wearing the most phlegmatic expression he'd ever seen her muster. Then the doors closed, and he was alone in the corridor. He stared at the blinking light to the right of the lift doors, allowing himself to be hypnotized by its repetitive flicker. Then, he heard the sound of footsteps from behind and, before he could stop himself, he slid through the partly opened door of a supply closet, and pulled the door shut behind him.

The reflex he'd developed to conceal himself evidently had not diminished with time so, there he was, hiding amid the stacks of parchment, quills, and inkwells, listening to the approaching footsteps. Of course, at this point, he couldn't very well re-emerge. That would appear strange. So, he modified his posture to more comfortably fit inside the small space, readjusted the vents of his jacket which had caught on a collection of quills, and brought his head back resignedly, waiting for the person to pass.

But when he shut his eyes in the darkness, he heard a low voice. At first, it was so quiet that Malfoy couldn't quite make out the individual words. So, he opened his eyes and straightened his back, bringing one ear to the slit in the door.

"I'm telling you, they're getting too close," the voice murmured.

Malfoy moved his eye to the opening between the door and its frame, but he couldn't see anything.

"We'll have to speed up the timeline."

From the sound of the footsteps, Malfoy could tell that there was only one person in the corridor. As such, he assumed that whoever it was, was using some sort of radio.

A few more steps in the right direction and Malfoy would be able to see who was speaking. However, even that was unnecessary because the following words were all he needed to recognize the speaker.

"Will – will you just" – there was an irritated pause before he finished with – "oh bloody hell. I solemnly swear – just listen. It's too much." A sigh. "Mischief Managed, then," the voice concluded glumly.

Malfoy shook his head from inside the closet. What was Harry Potter up to?

…

Blaise Zabini sat cross-legged at the bistro table, handling a cup of espresso as though he were part of the scenery; an essential marketing prop set up by the café to attract clientele. He set it down and took a bite of his biscotti. He uncrossed his legs to brush the crumbs off his trousers. Blaise Zabini enjoyed the finer things in life and, since his latest stepfather lost his mother's fortune gambling, Blaise had taken to more creative ways to augment his means.

"He's hiding something, I can feel it." Malfoy shifted in his chair, directing an intense gaze out over the boisterous street.

"I see you've acquired some bling since last I saw you." Blaise regarded Malfoy's wrist – entirely ignoring his ramblings – as the latter rested his elbows on the table.

"I'm getting the impression that he might be" – Malfoy sighed – "omitting something."

"Oh, look," Blaise casually exclaimed, gesturing to his left. "A murder."

Malfoy furrowed his brows and followed Blaise's gaze. Blaise was pointing out an unusually large congregation of crows. Malfoy rolled his eyes and continued. "I just get the sense that –"

"That scar-head is hiding something. Yeah, I got that." Blaise brought the espresso cup back up to his lips. It appeared comically small in his large hand and yet Blaise sipped the coffee with relish.

"She's got a daughter," Malfoy said, watching Blaise pointedly.

Blaise finally looked in his direction. "Who?"

"Who d'you think?" Malfoy bit back. "Hermione."

"Oh." Blaise waved a hand. "I knew that already."

Malfoy continued glaring at Blaise. "I could've used a heads up."

Blaise spread his arms out and blinked, as if asserting his innocence. "You specifically requested that I eliminate all matters pertaining to Hermione Granger from our conversations."

"Within reason, Blaise," Malfoy countered. "Don't you think a child is something I should've known about?"

Blaise shrugged. "Why? It isn't yours."

"People keep saying that," Malfoy grumbled.

Blaise set down his cup and clasped his hands together atop the table. He gave Malfoy a grin. "Do you want it to be yours?"

Malfoy stared at Blaise. "Her. It's a her. And what an idiotic question."

"Is it?"

Malfoy scoffed and leaned back into his seat. He pressed his back into it so hard that he could feel the metal wiring digging into his back. "What does it matter what I want?" He wasn't looking at Blaise anymore. Instead, he was inspecting the rampage of crows descending on the street.

Blaise sighed and popped the last of his biscotti into his mouth. Malfoy heard the crunch as he chewed.

"Tell me about the brick," Malfoy said in a half-whisper, leaning into the table.

Blaise held up a finger while he finished chewing, taking care to swallow every crumb before he finally spoke. "It's gone."

Malfoy blinked. "What do you mean, it's gone? I told you I'd buy it."

Blaise laughed. "With what funds?"

Malfoy looked at him incredulously. "You know that I've got…" He emphatically raised and lowered his eyebrows several times to make his point.

Blaise waved a hand. "That remains to be seen. You've been out of the game for a good long while."

Malfoy brought both his fists down onto the table slowly, trying to regulate his frustration. "I have a backup."

"Where?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm not telling you."

"Why not?"

"You're a thief!" Malfoy hissed.

Blaise laughed heartily. "Look at this pot, ladies and gentlemen."

Malfoy brought his hand up to his forehead and started rubbing it vehemently. "What are we going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I need that brick, Blaise!"

"It's worthless, Draco. I'll find you a much better piece. Something more on par with your usual plunder."

Malfoy was staring at the legs of the table through its glass top in awe of his sheer bad luck. "Wonderful," he said.

"Fantastic," Blaise replied. "Now, I better move. I hear there's somebody in town this weekend who could pull off a Gringotts heist. A cat burglar, if you will." Blaise rose from his seat just as Malfoy looked up at him.

"Did you say cat burglar?"

Blaise straightened out his jacket and grinned. "Sure did."

…

"I was just leaving."

Malfoy slid his hands into his pockets, maintaining his position on Hermione's doorstep. She did indeed look as though she were on her way out, so it wasn't like he didn't believe her. It was more that her plans expressly interfered with his, and that just wouldn't do.

When he didn't respond, Hermione repeated, "I was just heading out, Malfoy. What do you need?"

He briefly surveyed her form-fitting dress, being careful not to let his gaze loiter around the various features of her body that seemed purposely accentuated. "A step up from the dressing gown, certainly," he remarked.

Hermione sighed irritably. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

Malfoy pursed his lips. "I'm fairly generous with those. You rarely have to ask."

Hermione blew out a puff of air which sent her fringe flying away from her face. "You're going to have to leave, Malfoy."

He shook his head. "You're going to have to cancel your plans."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "How dare you –"

"I dare because time is of the essence."

"Then go bother Harry. Or Ron, or Neville even."

Malfoy made a face.

"Okay, maybe not Neville." Hermione grimaced.

"I work best with you," Malfoy said, peering into her house through the doorway.

Hermione stepped out onto her porch and closed the door gently. "I am waiting for someone," she said through gritted teeth.

Malfoy blinked, a nauseating thought dawning on him. "Are you going on a date?"

"It's none of your business," she said. "But, if you must know, yes. Yes, I am."

Malfoy grimaced. "With whom?" As if nobody he could imagine would be adequate for the role.

Then, Hermione's gaze rested for a split second over his shoulder. Her eyes went wide, and she grabbed him by the cuff of his jacket and pulled him in through the doorway. She slammed the door behind them and dragged him up the stairs into the living room.

"Hermione, what's going on?" Malfoy tried brushing her hand off his arm, but she was gripping him too tightly. "Granger, this is a leather jacket. Please remove your claws."

Hermione quickly let go and hastily brushed out the material as if this gesture might dispel the damage. "Sorry," she said.

Malfoy stared at her. "I think that's the first apology I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

She rolled her eyes. "Stop exaggerating."

"Stop being weird."

"Okay, listen, my date's here. I don't want him to see you – that'll just be a load of drama for which I'm not prepared –"

"Why would it cause –"

"My babysitter's not here yet. Would you stay with Rosie for a little while? Mrs. Fleming's already on her way" – Hermione continued speaking despite the adamant shaking of Malfoy's head – "she won't be but ten minutes. Fifteen tops."

"Fifteen minutes?" Malfoy's voice rose in pitch. "Fifteen minutes with a mini mischief maker? No, thank you. I've heard tales of children. Fifteen minutes is like fifteen hours in child time. Do you know how much damage can be done in fifteen hours?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You're surprisingly accurate in your description. However, I'm not asking." She began to push him toward the corridor.

Reluctantly, he started moving and, when there was a knock on the door, Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin trying to shove him behind the wall. "Be right there!" she called.

Malfoy looked behind him crankily. "When did I become the sitter in this relationship?"

Hermione gave him one final push. "When you betrayed me," she said without thinking.

Slowly, Malfoy turned in the darkened corridor. "Is that what you think happened?" he said.

Hermione blinked and then shook her head. "I don't have time for this right now." She swung open the door into Rosalind's room.

Malfoy cringed at the bright light coming from inside of it.

"Rosie," Hermione spoke quickly. "This is Draco, you've met him already. Remember? He's going to play with you until Mrs. Fleming arrives."

Malfoy gave Hermione a sour look. "I have to play with her? I did not agree to this."

"You didn't agree to any of it," Hermione whispered. "Act happy. She'll sense your fear."

Malfoy stared at her for a moment. "You're not selling it."

"Malfoy, just… do this for me." She sighed.

Malfoy leaned into the doorframe. "Fine," he said grudgingly. "Go." As Hermione hurried away, he called after her sourly, "Enjoy yourself."

When she was gone, Malfoy inched his way into the girl's bedroom cautiously.

"Close the door," Rosie said without looking up.

Malfoy blinked at her blonde head and then looked back at the door he left open – he now realized – as an escape route. He glanced back at the girl and swallowed, remembering Hermione's warning about fear. What a silly notion. And yet, he tried to slow his breathing. "You mean, please close the door?"

"No."

He furrowed his brows. "Well, then I'm not closing it."

"Don't be a baby." Rosie looked up at him sharply. He nearly flinched.

Grimacing, he retorted, "You don't be a baby."

Rosie blinked at him a few times, then said, "Play with me."

Malfoy wavered at the door for a few moments before shutting it as requested and joining Rosie on the rug. He picked up one of her dolls and stood her up. "What is she wearing?" he asked, grimacing at the Barbie's skirt. "Let's cover her up, shall we?" He began to dig around the floor for another outfit. Perhaps a longer gown.

Rosie placed her hand over his and said, "She can wear whatever she wants to wear. You don't get to decide that for her."

Malfoy grimaced. "I am playing her. That makes her wardrobe my decision."

"Don't judge her."

"I'm not – I," Malfoy stammered, before finally concluding, "you are your mother's daughter."

She stared at him. "No kidding."

Malfoy tried to suppress a smirk. "You're way too cynical for your age."

"Make your Barbie stand. You have to play with three of them. Use your wand."

Malfoy pulled his wand out of his trousers and pointed it at the Barbie. "Like this?" he said.

"Not bad," Rosie responded.

Malfoy chuckled, removing his jacket, and tossing it aside. "Hey, Rosie," he said, "who's your mum going out with tonight?"

Rosie looked up. "Daddy."

Malfoy froze for a moment. "And who is your father?"

"My daddy is my father."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "It's like you've rehearsed this bit."

"What bit? Make your other Barbie stand."

Malfoy furrowed his brows and pointed his wand at a second Barbie. "Keeping me on track, are you? You've got some great leadership qualities, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Yes. Mummy."

"Of course, she has," Malfoy grinned, pointing his wand at the last Barbie on his roster. "Alright, I've got the Blonde, the Brunette, and the short one –"

"That's Skipper."

"Alright, I've got Barbie, Barbie, and Skipper. What are they going to do?"

Rosie beamed up at him. "They're going to rob a bank."

Malfoy blinked. "They're going to what now?"