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

Chapter 7

Hermione Granger and the Sitter

"What in the world are you still doing here?" Hermione dropped her purse onto the sofa and shrugged her coat off her shoulders. She placed her hands on her hips and took in the scene playing out in her living room.

Malfoy looked up at her from the floor. Several mobile Barbies around him froze when his concentration broke. He gave her an innocent smile. "The living room is where the bank is."

Hermione blinked at him once and then her gaze travelled to Rosie, who was also grinning sweetly in her direction. Slowly, Hermione hung up her coat, still watching the two of them. "I meant, what are you still doing here in my house? Not here in my living room."

"Oh." Malfoy waved a hand and returned his attention to the dolls surrounding him and Rosie. "We weren't quite finished when Mrs. Fleming arrived. We sent her away."

Hermione stared at Rosie as she muttered something to Malfoy and the latter nodded in agreement, shuffling around the configuration of Barbies until they both appeared satisfied with their formation. Rosie's Barbie Dreamhouse stood behind them, an extension charm bizarrely warping its open concept layout from Hermione's vantage point. Hermione stepped forward, gawking at the house, which Malfoy had enchanted to look like Gringotts. Her eyes met Malfoy's across the living room. "What exactly are you playing?" she asked.

"Playing?" Malfoy scoffed. "Who's playing?" He waved his wand and several Barbies began marching one after the other toward the house. "Am I right, Rosie?"

Rosie nodded without looking up at her mother.

Malfoy shook his head. "The disrespect. I'm telling you–"

But he didn't have the chance to finish his train of thought because, at that moment, Hermione grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and tugged him upward. He staggered to his feet and the Barbies dropped to their sides. Rosie began to whine.

"In the kitchen," Hermione hissed at Malfoy. She jerked her head to indicate that he should move lest she decide to maim him. "Rosie," she glanced down, talking right over the girl's wailing, "go brush your teeth. It's exceptionally past your bedtime." Hermione shot Malfoy a glare as Rosie stood up from the floor and kicked a pink convertible on her way to the bathroom.

Malfoy flinched behind the kitchen counter. "That was the getaway car, Rosie!" he exclaimed. Then he bit his lip and glimpsed sheepishly at Hermione's livid face. "No matter," he added quietly. "They'll Apparate."

When Rosie looked up at Malfoy, Hermione screeched, "Teeth, Rosie!"

Rosie sulked and trudged angrily through the living room.

Once she was out of earshot, Hermione rounded on Malfoy. "What, pray tell, are you teaching my daughter?"

Malfoy retreated into the refrigerator as she advanced on him. "It was her idea!"

Hermione was seething. "What was her idea? To play out your delusional fantasy of holding up a bank?"

"You keep saying play."

Hermione clenched her fists. She'd brought her face so close to his that she could feel the heat of his breath on her neck, and she was quickly regretting the decision. She hadn't been this close to him since – well, it didn't matter now. She pressed her lips together angrily as his mouth moved into one of his signature sideways smirks. She growled. "You are a child." She stepped away from him, the tension in her body evaporating from sheer exhaustion.

Malfoy pushed himself off the refrigerator, watching her cautiously. He stood silently for a few moments as she grabbed several utensils from the dryer rack and shoved them into a drawer. He recoiled dramatically when she lifted the knives from the rack and began sliding them into the knife block. She gave him a scathing look.

Then, Rosie's head popped out from behind the wall.

"Get your nighty on!" Hermione barked.

"What about a bedtime story?" Rosie said pleadingly.

Hermione sighed, composing herself. "I'll be there in a minute," she said.

"I want Draco to read to me." Rosie was watching her mother innocently.

Hermione's eyes widened as she directed them at Malfoy, who had once more flattened himself against the refrigerator. His mouth slowly formed into a smile, but not before filtering through a series of other, less flattering, expressions. "I don't mind," he said. "Truly."

Hermione gripped the handle of a particularly serrated knife and jammed it into the block as if she were stabbing something. "One story," she said. Then, just as Malfoy peeled himself away from the appliance, she held out a steak knife – just out of Rosie's view – and added, "One short story. And from a book that's on her shelf – not from your head."

Malfoy nodded vehemently and ushered Rosie into the corridor.

Hermione let out a stream of air that nearly turned into a whistle just from the sheer force of it leaving her mouth. Then she stuck another knife into the block.

By the time Malfoy came out, all the knives had been put away – much to Hermione's displeasure. Silently – guiltily – he walked around the table to where Hermione was sitting and waiting for him. He put his hands together before him, moving his mouth sideways into a grimace, before saying, "Well, I better head out."

"Stop," she ordered as he began to turn on his heel. He froze. "Sit," she continued. He obeyed, lifting a chair out from the kitchen table. "If you spin it around and sit backwards, so help me god–"

Malfoy's rotation of the chair wavered as he glanced up at her with raised eyebrows. Awkwardly, he turned the chair back around and finally sat, looking down at her floor, looking up at her ceiling, looking around at her wallpaper, looking anywhere but directly at her. When, at length, she didn't speak, he cleared his throat. "No need to call Potter," he said, still not meeting her gaze. "I've figured out my predicament."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Have you?"

Malfoy gulped and looked right at her. A miniature smile jittered his lips. "Unless I'm in a new one," he said quietly.

She continued watching him with alarming stillness which no doubt set him on edge – he'd always known her as the explosive type. "I think that you are," she said dangerously.

"Look, Granger." He leaned forward. A further narrowing of her eyes, however, jolted his posture into a straighter – more distant – position. "You don't need to worry." He waved his hand before promptly returning it into his lap upon observing her eyeing the knife block behind him on the counter. "I swear to you that the whole bank robbery scenario was Rosie's design–"

"You're telling me not to worry because the idea of playing out the intricacies of a felony was proposed by my five year old?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Okay, worry a little."

"Damn it, Malfoy!" Hermione finally exclaimed. "What the actual–"

"If it's any consolation," Malfoy interrupted, "the girl's a genius."

Hermione clenched her fists to refrain from assaulting him. She put a hand to her face, trying to control her breathing.

"It's not that uncommon," Malfoy tried to assure her.

She shot him a glare. "Why? Is it something you did as a child?"

"No, no." The mere thought seemed to distress him. "A friend of mine, though." Malfoy shrugged. Then he added, twirling a finger at his temple. "Also – might I add – a genius."

"Do you know that this gesture" – Hermione mimicked Malfoy's rotating finger – "means crazy, not genius."

"I've rarely encountered them as mutually exclusive."

"Are you calling my daughter crazy?" Hermione said shrilly.

"Goodness, no!" Malfoy exclaimed. Then, he shrunk back into his seat a little. "Although," he said, "genius does tend to have some smidgeon of comorbidity."

"Please stop talking."

"With pleasure."

Hermione ran a hand over her forehead, finally releasing Malfoy from the intensity of her glare. Tentatively, Malfoy reached his hand across the table to gently – cautiously – tap her finger with his. She looked up abruptly and Malfoy flinched.

He sighed. "I didn't want her to feel like she was a burden to me," he said. "She's got a lot of walls." He eyed Hermione pointedly. "Can't imagine where she gets that from."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Malfoy took it as a sign that she was calming down, so he rested his finger over hers on the table.

"Anyway, I engaged. And then I got swept up in her world. By the time your sitter came – she was late, by the way – we were already knee deep in strategizing. I couldn't just ditch the girl."

Hermione zeroed in on the weight of his fingertip on her hand, which, by the time he'd finished speaking, began to drift along the back of it, until finally lifting off, leaving behind a sudden, harrowing numbness.

"I didn't want to abandon her," he said resolutely, as if it were the closing statement of his argument.

The words carved a disturbingly authentic-feeling rift in her chest. If nothing else, Malfoy had always been irritatingly insightful in his interactions, despite not often using his emotional intelligence for the benefit of others. In fact, this gift had allowed him to thrive in his unorthodox profession.

She looked down, considering the numerous attributes Rosie regularly displayed that were, in no small part, reflections of her growing up with a father who'd spun in and out of her life more times than she could reliably count.

"I appreciate that," she finally said, looking up at him.

Malfoy was watching her levelly. "Are you going to tell me who he is?"

"Does it matter?"

"Just tell me again that it's not me," he said. "Because if I were the shithead who left her–" he sighed, looking down at the ground. "Just tell me again, Hermione."

"Your conscience can rest easy," she replied flatly. "You're only the shithead who left me."

He looked up at her. Then he began to nod. "I am."

"Well," she said, getting up. "As long as we're on the same page, I think it's time we call it a night."

Malfoy remained seated, watching her rise. He felt confident enough – for some reason or other – to reach up and grasp her hand, and – for some reason or other – she felt safe enough not to withdraw. "You know I had to leave, right?" he said.

She watched him quietly for several moments, giving the vortex spiralling inside of her time to settle. Then, she said, "You didn't have to lie."

He tugged her hand a little and she pulled it out of his grasp. "Hermione," he said, rising when she began to walk away. He maneuvered around to face her and she looked up at him resignedly.

"I'm not interested in whatever tale you're here to spin," she said.

He held his hands up. For a normal person, this gesture would indicate a sign of surrender. For Malfoy, chances were that it was misdirection. While she'd been busy studying his palms, he could just waltz right in and steal her heart. She watched him squarely in the face, having promised herself long ago that she would not let that happen again.

"I know you think that you can't count on me," he said. "And I don't blame you. But please don't mistake my having to leave for me wanting to leave you."

Hermione let out a bitter chuckle without feeling the need to respond in any other way.

"I ran for your benefit."

She stared at him. "Don't you dare turn this around on me."

"If I would've stayed, they'd have found a way to take you down with me."

"Harry would never have allowed that."

"Harry didn't have the position he has now."

"All of this" – Hermione suddenly exclaimed, clutching a chunk of hair as she pushed her hand into her head – "is utterly besides the point, Malfoy. None of it explains why you felt the need to do any of it in the first place!" She shoved past him and snatched up the kettle from the counter. "Tea?" she asked furiously.

"Years of therapy in Azkaban and I still don't quite know," he said. "And yes, please."

Hermione turned the tap on crossly and watched irately as it trickled laboriously into the kettle.

"Something wrong with your pipes?" Malfoy walked over to the sink.

"Cormac was supposed to replace the filters," she said irritably.

"Cormac?" Malfoy gave her a disgusted look, and then, as the realization hit him, his grimace transformed into shock. "Cormac?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, get over it already."

"Over it? I'm barely keeping up. Cormac? That poor child's father is Cormac McLaggen? You've got to be joking me."

"Come off it, you sound just like Ron."

Malfoy blinked at her, taking a step back, the outrage on his face intensifying. "Please don't ever say that to me."

Hermione clicked the kettle on, folded her arms, and leaned against the counter. They stood in silence for close to a minute before she spoke again. "What did you need, Malfoy?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Why did you come tonight?"

Malfoy looked down at the checkered pattern of the kitchen floor, scratching his head. "It's nothing," he said. "As I've mentioned, I've figured it out."

Hermione watched him squirm for another few moments before walking toward him to get the teacups from the cupboard above his head. He let his hand drop to his side as she reached up behind him, watching her face nearing his. He seemed to have frozen in place, but the rise and fall of his chest became more pronounced – perhaps it was just the angle from which she had approached that gave this kind of illusion. He swallowed as her arm hovered over his head. No, not an illusion.

Hermione found the rattling of her own insides at once pleasant and nauseating, and this sensation angered her greatly. "Excuse me," she said. "Your head's in my way."

He looked around at the cupboard opening behind him and ducked just in time for Hermione to swing it fully open. "Bloody hell, Hermione!" He cupped his hands over his head for cover.

Just as he began to recover his position, Hermione said, "Watch it."

He stooped again as she shut the cupboard above his head, giving her a glare. "Are you done?" he said, straightening himself when she placed the teacups on the counter.

She gave him a quizzical look, as though she had no idea what he was on about. Then, she reached for the canister of tea. "Are you going to tell me why you came?" she asked.

Malfoy approached her. "Are you going to tell me who we were watching at the docks?"

A frantic knock at the front door interrupted their conversation. Hermione glanced over at Malfoy in alarm. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was already looking at the landing leading down to the foyer.

"Are you expecting more company?" he said.

Hermione scoffed at the tone of his voice. "What are you implying?"

He shot her a brief glance before heading briskly toward the staircase.

"Malfoy, wait!" She hurried after him. "Malfoy, you cannot just open my door."

But Malfoy was already skipping over the last pair of steps. He reached for the doorknob before Hermione could stop him.

"Malfoy!" she hissed. "I will murder you."

He swung the door open and Hermione froze halfway down the stairs.

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy said roughly.