Disclaimer: hokay.. we all know JK Rowling owns the Potteruniverse. i'm just simply borrowing her characters for a while to fulfill my writer needs. hehe. thanks JK.

A/N: Thanks for reviewing Wrightergurl! i appreciate you reading my work.

Draco Malfoy sighed in defeat. He was amazed at how even at death, his father was still able to torment him. He looked sullenly at the small, green, velvet box in his hand. He clasped his fingers over the smooth surface and placed it carefully inside his desk drawer. The proposal will just have to wait, he thought.

He reached across his well-polished mahogany desk and grabbed the piece of parchment a slightly malnourished owl dropped in this morning that brought the news: his father, Lucius Malfoy, was found dead inside his cell in Azkaban. He read the cold letter again and again just to make sure that he was not dreaming. One big part of him was glad that his father was dead. At last, the wizarding world is rid of the last of the leaders of the deatheaters. He could finally be at ease. A smaller part of him wished that he was still here. No matter how harsh and cold he was to him, he was still his father. And he respected Lucius greatly. The bloody bastard may have tortured him when he was young. But Draco knew that it was for his own good. His father just wanted him to be the best. And wasn't he the best Potions Master Hogwarts ever had? Well… next to Severus Snape of course.

For the rest of his teen years, Snape was more of a father to him than Lucius would ever be. He was his Potions mentor and confidant. He would always know when there was a problem even though Draco tried so hard to keep his face straight. He was one of the two people whom he had shown his vulnerable self to. One of the only two people he trusted. Draco blinked and turned his thoughts away from his deceased educator. He looked outside his oval window thinking in only a few weeks, he would have to go back to his old school for the new school year to begin again.

Teaching at Hogwarts was more like a hobby than a job anyway. He never had to work a single finger for at least three lifetimes. Last year, if Dumbledore had not send him repeating messages about how urgent he needed a Potions expert he would not have taken the job… well… plus a little persuasion from Hermione. When he was eighteen, he had garnered the award for the youngest, richest bachelor in Witch Weekly's. But he had broken many hearts when the blonde was seen with bushy haired Hermione Granger in an expensive French restaurant one night almost three years ago.

I mean, who could imagine Draco Malfoy, slytherin prat, would date–or even have a civil conversation–with Hermione Granger, the gryffindor muggle-born? It was just absurd. Unthinkable. Ridiculous. There were lots of rumors and speculations that were running about. Some thought that it was just some fling that wouldn't last more than two days or so; like some girls he dated in the past. Others said it was to spite his vengeful father. Even more believed that his cogs just went haywire. His or her interviews are always dodgy and misleading and no one could really confirm. But after two and a half years, their relationship has still yet to show some signs of slowing down.

He took and signed the sheets of paper their family lawyer, Mister Lansworth, brought in this morning a few minutes after Draco received the letter. It was all in accordance to the rest of Lucius' properties and burial ceremony so he just dipped his expensive quill on an inkpot and signed his name agreeing to everything written on it.

With that, he breathed a deep sigh that brought finality to everything he was feeling that day. Emotions and him didn't mix well. Especially when he had to meet someone that could deduce his every move. Yes, Hermione Granger is a hound for physical movements. Being a trained Auror that she was, she could tell there's something wrong with just a flick of his eyelash. He figured he'd tell her about Lucius' death after a glass of white wine. His emotions would just have to be at bay for an hour or two.

After settling all the papers down, he stood up. He glanced at the mirror on the other side of the room and smirked. The beast still has it, he thought. Then he grabbed his perfectly situated wand from its case and apparated.

oo000oo

Where in the hell could she be? He fumed. He rummaged in his coat pocket for his timepiece for the twelfth time. 7:38 says the golden hands on the round marble plate. She should have been here thirty-eight minutes ago! He drummed his well-manicured fingers on the table again, glaring at the half-empty wine glass.

He knew completely well that she finishes her work at six-thirty. Unless… unless she had another one of her stupid house elf meetings. He remembered her telling him about setting a meeting for her S.C.R.E.W. or whatever the name of her club was. Even after she graduated at Hogwarts, she still pursues her dream of freeing the elves from the clutch of slavery. "You're fighting a losing battle," he'd always say, yet she would always retort, "That's what you said when we're fighting against Voldemort!" then he could not help it but shake his head and back down. Besides, seeing the stubborn look on her face made it all worthwhile. She always looked very pretty when she's angry.

But he couldn't remember her telling him that it was today! He distinctly remembered his voice telling her to meet in La Chaise Rouge at seven o'clock. He instinctively checked his watch again. 7:40. That's it. He drained his wine glass and stood up. He decided to go to her apartment (she refused to live with him and resided in a four-story apartment in the shabbiest part of town. "I don't want to depend on anyone other than myself, thank you very much!") and drag her out of her assembly no matter how important it was. He was important too, she should know.

After denying a primp-dressed waitress the glory of his attention, he went out of the restaurant and apparated to Grigg's Den. And after getting himself lost in a labyrinth of stairs, he finally got to her room. He took the spare key from his pocket and without knocking, barged himself in Hermione Granger's room.

Everything seemed to be in order–as always. Yet the room was quiet. Too quiet. He saw her half open bag in a corner and knew she was home.

"Okay Granger," he bellowed, "I deserve an explanation for your inappropriate behavior tonight… I think compensation is in order."

He walked across room filled with second hand furniture towards her bedroom. It was half open. His lips twitched into a smirk. He reached for the knob and slowly eased the door open.

He was met with the sight of a naked Hermione partly covered in sheets and drenched with blood.

oo000oo

A/N: hm… I don't know about this chapter… too wordy in my opinion. But I have no choice. I have to do it… hehe. R&R people! Comments and criticisms are greatly accepted. see ya next chapter!