Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

Massive thanks goes to my amazing beta's: blackened rose, ellemcdxo, littlered1992…Without these guys, I wouldn't have been able to post this chapter so quickly.

From now on, this story will be updated weekly every Sunday. I have written 8 chapters so far, and am continuing to finish them as soon as possible. School holidays are almost here (I'm a teacher), so I'll have a couple of weeks to really get ahead.

Thanks also to all of you who have read, reviewed, favourited, and followed this story. Your early support really motivates me! xx

CourtingInsanity

Apparating had never been one of Hermione's favourite things about the magical world, but she did prefer it to Floo Powder and broomsticks. As her feet touched solid ground, she stumbled slightly and threw her left hand out for balance.

"Oof! Watch where you're – oh, hey, Hermione!" A young man with dark hair and a stocky build caught her hand as it collided with his chest, helping her to remain upright. "What are you doing here?" He dusted the back of her robe, "Aren't you scheduled for a meeting until eleven?"

Hermione rolled her eyes to the sky as she adjusted her stack of files and turned to face the entry of the Ministry of Magic. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she wondered how much to tell her assistant; he was as nosey as the readers of Rita Skeeter's gossip columns.

"It ended early," she finally said, brushing a stray hair back. She refused to look at him as they fell into step beside one another, following the thinning stream of workers. They marched in silence for a few steps before Hermione stopped. Atticus was almost at the entrance before he realised and turned around. He came jogging back towards her, an exasperated look in his cool eyes.

"Can you take these to my office, please?" Without waiting for a response, she dumped the files into his arms and had pivoted on her heel.

"Wait, where are you - ?" Atticus called, fumbling with the loose sheets of parchment that were trying to escape their binds. Hermione didn't turn around, but raised her right arm and pointed towards the café across the road, looking like she was trying to do an Egyptian style dance.

"Oh, sure!" Atticus muttered sarcastically. He knew better than to purposefully rile Hermione up; he'd been on the receiving end of her wrath only a handful of times, but the lesson had certainly sunk in. With an exaggerated sigh, he turned and stomped towards the Ministry entrance.

Armed with a sugar-coated pastry, Hermione arrived at her office at the Ministry of Magic fifteen minutes later and slumped into her chair, allowing her head to fall into her hands. She allowed her lungs to fill completely with air to the count of six, and then she held for two, exhaled for six. Inhale six, hold two, exhaled six. She repeated this several times until she felt her frayed nerves begin to right themselves.

She knew she would pay for having the last say; though she hadn't seen Draco Malfoy since the final battle just over five years ago, they had spent the majority of their school lives together. She knew enough about the spoilt, self-entitled little brat to support her theory that he would seek revenge for her remark this morning. She sighed again and felt a little more energy escape from her body. Though she was decidedly calmer, any encounter with Malfoy was always emotionally draining. What she wouldn't give for a long nap right now.

Hermione took another bite from her pastry and set it back down on the napkin to her right. She was just opening the Malfoy file when there was a knock at her door. Her head snapped up and she chewed furiously, working hard to clear her mouth enough to call "come in". Before she could utter the words, the door opened and a familiar face appeared around it; a shock of jet black hair and a pair of emerald green eyes hidden behind round spectacles.

"Harry," Hermione relaxed as she finally managed to swallow the last of her mouthful of sticky pastry. She stood, still running her tongue over her teeth to clear any evidence of her treat. She stepped around from behind her desk and moved to embrace her friend.

"How did it go?" Harry asked, hugging her back with one hand as the other pushed the door shut. Hermione sighed again.

"As you'd expect," she rubbed a hand over her forehead; a headache was forming and she willed it away. "He hasn't changed much." Though as the words fell from her mouth, she wasn't sure she believed them…at least not entirely.

Hermione moved back towards her desk and re-took her seat. She waved a hand to indicate that Harry should sit in the chair opposite.

"I can't imagine Draco Malfoy as anything but the snivelling bully he was at Hogwarts." Harry quirked an eyebrow as he took his seat.

Hermione felt herself bristle. She and Harry had different views on where Malfoy stood on a scale from 'guilty as Voldemort' and 'innocent as a house-elf'. She also knew it would do her no good to get into an argument with him right now, so she swallowed the snarky retort.

"I have no idea why I was given his case, of all cases," she huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "I mean I know why, but still," she squinted at him, as if to make a point and Harry nodded sagely. The dark haired wizard uncrossed his legs and leant forward so that his elbows were leaning on the desk. He looked down at the wooden piece of furniture as he spoke.

"That's actually what I came in here to talk to you about."

Hermione felt her heart sank and she mirrored his stance, allowing her elbows to rest on the desk in front of her. She knew that tone. It was the tone he used when he was about to deliver bad news. A million thoughts raced through her mind and she fought to keep her breathing steady. She ducked her head to get a better read of his expression.

"What?"

"Vivienne sent me to talk to you," Harry winced.

"Oh, she did, did she?" Her voice was an octave too high, and just above a whisper. A sardonic smile played at the corners of her mouth and she pushed herself backwards so she was relaxing back in her chair. Harry swallowed audibly; even when the wrath wasn't directed at him, an angry Hermione was not a situation one could take lightly. He straightened up, but was still unable to meet her gaze.

"Yes," he hesitated before continuing. "…she would like to see you regarding the meeting you had with Malfoy this morning."

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face. What could Vivienne possibly want from her that would have to do with Draco Malfoy? Unless…No. She would not let the thought form. She's probably just interested in getting some gossip, Hermione told herself.

"Something about not getting all the information you needed?" Harry muttered.

Hermione's stomach plummeted. Her first reaction was to swallow against the anxiety-induced bile threatening to climb her throat. Her second was anger.

"Wait," she punctuated the word by dropping an open palm on to her desk. Harry quickly glanced at her hand and then back up to her face. "How can she know that? I've been back all of fifteen minutes!" The witch stood and began to pace. "She is unbelievable! Unbelievable…" her eyes flashed and she exhaled loudly through her nostrils.

"You know what she's like," Harry raised an eyebrow and stood to meet Hermione's gaze.

"And to ask you to come and get me!" Hermione flung her arms wide and stared at Harry as if just seeing him for the first time. Her hands landed on her hips, and Harry was reminded of the uncanny resemblance between Hermione and Mrs Weasley. The irony was not lost on the wizard, but he swallowed a rue smile. "She now has the Aurors at her beck and call, does she?"

Harry took a step back. "Well, actually, we were in the area…"

"We?" Hermione's eyes narrowed and she took a step to her right, as if she was going to walk around the table and hex him. Harry took a step back, palms raised, and opened his mouth to explain, but he was interrupted.

Another knock came from the other side of her door, but Hermione did not have a chance to call out that she was a little busy at present before the door swung open forcefully and Ronald Weasley swaggered into the room. He had grown into a handsome man; tall, still ginger-haired, but now broad shouldered and muscly in all the right places. Hermione felt her hands ball into fists. He met her eyes for a fraction of a second, and offered her a stiff nod before turning his attention to Harry.

"Alright, mate?" He twisted his wand between his hands. "Ready to move on?"

Harry nodded at Ron and threw a pointed glance at Hermione. Ron looked at the floor. Hermione seethed. As she opened her mouth to speak, her gaze focused solely on the red headed wizard who had just burst unbidden into her office, but Harry interjected.

"See you soon, Hermione," he said quietly.

Hermione swallowed and nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak. He offered her a half-hearted smile which she could not bring herself to return. Her features felt stiff and her heart was thudding a staccato in her ears.

The men swept from the room silently, their robes billowing behind them. Hermione fell into her chair again, this time allowing her head to thud painfully on to her desk. She whimpered in frustration, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes, her throat full of razors. She sat like that for a while before forcing herself back into a standing position and gathering her files. She arranged them meticulously, made sure her blouse and skirt were wrinkle-free, before exiting her office with a flick of her wand to close and lock the door behind her.

She marched down the hallway, pausing briefly to say hello to some of her colleagues, before she made it to the door at the end. The others in the department were made of cheap wood, painted black with a simple banner with the occupant's name. This door was made of intricately carved mahogany, and the gold name plaque stated that this was Vivienne Weasley's office. Hermione took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

"You are strong. You are in control." She chanted before reaching for the door handle with a shaking hand.

"Hermione," a sickly sweet voice greeted her. Vivienne Weasley was sitting behind a long desk made from dark wood and embossed with gold. She wore her straw-coloured hair in a tight chignon, though the almost black colour of her eyes and the chocolate colour of her eyebrows suggested she was not naturally blonde. Her wide mouth was stretched in a smile, her lips a bright pink and her straight teeth impossibly white. She stood as Hermione entered and stretched a thin, manicured hand across the desk. Hermione grasped it reluctantly.

"Vivienne," Hermione sniffed, releasing her hand as soon as it was polite to do so.

"I've told you to call me Mrs Weasley," Vivienne chided, taking her seat and arching a brow at Hermione. She folded her arms in front of her and offered Hermione a patented smirk. Hermione tilted her chin upwards.

"Molly Weasley is Mrs Weasley," she shot back, ice in her voice. Before Vivienne could respond, Hermione continued. "I heard you wanted to see me."

Vivienne's smirk broadened and she sat back in her chair, an air of nonchalance settling around her person. "Have a seat."

Hermione sat with the files in her lap and looked at her boss, and forced her facial features into a blank expression. Vivienne made a show of straightening the already straight stationery on her desk and cleared her throat, as if she was struggling to find the right words. Hermione knew better; she was trying to make Hermione as uncomfortable as possible. It angered the brunette to know it was working, too.

"Hermione," Vivienne simpered, looking more like a goldfish in a wig than the two-time Witch Weekly cover model she had been in her teenage years. "I heard that there were some issues with getting some rather important information from Draco Malfoy this morning?"

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot as the blonde woman fixed her with a scrutinising stare. She felt like she was back at Hogwarts, in first year when Professor McGonagall had expressed her disappointment after the troll attack. Only then, I was been chastised for the greater good, she thought sourly.

"It was just one question – about his parents – that he was reluctant to answer, but – "

Vivienne held up her hand, her nasty smirk back in place. "And why wouldn't he answer you, Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed and a burning raged began to simmer in her gut. She clenched her fists as they rested on her knees, and she was glad Vivienne could not see them. "How do you even know this?" She hissed, instantly regretting her outburst. Vivienne's smirk widened and she chuckled softly. The blonde witch clasped her hands together, a large diamond ring flashing gaudily in the well-lit room. Hermione felt her stomach roll and she swallowed hard, praying that she would not vomit on her boss.

Vivienne cocked her head to the side, watching Hermione's struggle. She continued to hold Hermione's gaze as she reached into her desk draw and pulled out a stack of papers. They were identical to the folders Hermione had carried into the office moments before. Vivienne opened the top folder.

"An exact replica," Vivienne stated as she leafed through the papers, "of your case files. The instant you arrived back to the Ministry, I knew you hadn't completed your task." She glanced briefly to the whiteboard to her right, where a large chart had been drawn up to show where all the Magical Law Enforcement employees were at any given moment. Hermione fought the desire to roll her eyes. "Now, tell me what the problem is."

Hermione ground her teeth together. "I don't know," she bit out. As if I'd have inside knowledge to the inner dealings of Draco sodding Malfoy.

Vivienne leaned forward slightly, her hands still folded primly in front of her, as if she was waiting for Hermione to continue.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check, "I don't think he was too keen on the idea of talking about his parents."

"Well, you'll have to go back there." Vivienne leaned back in one fluid movement, her hands dropping from the desk in to her lap.

Hermione fought an internal battle. On the one hand, she knew going back to Malfoy Manor would be futile, at least for today anyway. On the other, she knew that if she told Vivienne she couldn't do it, she would be giving the blonde an immense feeling of satisfaction and quite frankly, Hermione couldn't live with that option.

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"It's Saturday!" Hermione instantly regretted her outburst; Vivienne smiled cruelly. "I'm supposed to be having brunch with Harry and Ginny," she tried again, calmer this time.

"I'm aware," Vivienne said simply. Hermione felt her neck heat, a slow burn from her throat making its way up to her cheeks.

This bitch has some nerve, Hermione ground her teeth together. She knew she wouldn't get what she wanted now that she had demonstrated so clearly what she didn't want. However, she wasn't about to let Vivienne think she could push her around that easily.

"My next appointment with Draco Malfoy is next Friday," Hermione's tone was curt, but she spoke as low as possible. "I don't see how going back tomorrow will do any good."

Vivienne appeared to have grown bored. She pulled a stack of papers towards her and picked up her quill. She spoke as she wrote.

"I'm doing you a favour, Hermione," she said softly, "because you're a friend of Ronnie's," Hermione blanched and felt her stomach twist; she hoped again that she wouldn't be sick. "But don't think I'll let you off as lightly next time."

A few seconds passed in silence, Hermione sitting and burning with rage, while Vivienne continued to write, ignorant of the fact the brunette woman was glaring daggers into the top of her head.

"You may go," Vivienne waved a hand lazily before guiding it back to her ink pot.

"Thank you," Hermione said mechanically, and rose from her chair.

She hurried back to her own, much smaller office, and threw the files across her desk so that they slid off the other side. She slammed her door, cast a quick silencing charm, and screamed a long, low howl of frustration, before throwing herself into her chair. It skidded backwards and hit the bookshelf behind it. Hermione took two steadying deep breaths, her back straight and her arms plastered to the rests on the chair. She counted as she inhaled, and exhaled. When she had calmed slightly, she waved her wand to rearrange the papers neatly, and un-silenced her room.

Hermione knew she shouldn't let Vivienne get to her; it was all she ever really wanted to do. She had only become Hermione's boss just before she was due to marry Ron, but she'd made the brunette witch question her decision to work in the Department every single day since taking over.

She isn't worth this reaction; Hermione silently repeated the mantra she had adopted all that time ago. Just do your job; you are bloody good at your job. Do. Your. Job.

Hermione sat gingerly in her chair, her shoulders back as if to force some poise into her otherwise tumultuous morning. Hermione reached slowly for a piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote furiously, as if she were paying homage to her Charms O. . She signed off with a flourish, and sauntered down to the Owlery to send her letter. Brushing her hands together, she gave herself a satisfied nod before returning to her office and burying herself under a pile of paper work until 6pm.

At Malfoy Manor, Draco had been pacing. As soon as Granger had left, he had retired to his bedroom and shouted himself hoarse at no one. A few portraits that hung outside his door had called to him, but what advice they had offered, he had not heard. Miksy had come to fetch him for dinner, but he had shooed her away and continued his rant, his throat now very sore. When his meal appeared a few minutes later on a silver tray, he sighed and resigned himself to the fact that raging like a thirteen year old probably wasn't the way to deal with his problems. Especially as now there was no one to listen to him, given that his parents were both still locked away in Azkaban. That thought brought with it the desire to return to screaming, but he wisely decided against it.

Instead, he stalked over to the small dining table that had been set up in his suite and began his evening meal. As he was enjoying his main course, a barn owl had arrived at his window and sat hooting expectantly at him until he had thrown down his napkin and stalked over to accept the letter tied to its foot.

Mr Malfoy,

I apologise for the way our meeting went this morning. If it is okay with you, I would like to return to complete the formality properly. How is 9am tomorrow for you? Let me know by return owl.

Hermione Granger
Case Worker
Department of Magical Law Enforcement

He scrunched up the parchment and threw it as hard as he could against the opposite wall. He returned to his meal and ignored the owl as it hooted incessantly for the next three hours. Finally, it gave up and it flew away. Draco smirked, feeling that he had won an unofficial battle between himself and Hermione Granger.

He told himself he didn't care whether the witch turned up on his door step or not tomorrow, or whether she appeared every day for the next month! Of course, the truth was that he did mind, but he wasn't going to let her bully him into talking about his parents, whatever tactics she decided to pull. His good mood vanished at the thought of his parents, and darkened still as another barn owl pecked at his living room window later that evening. It was a shorter note, written in tiny print on the corner of an old Daily Prophet article. It looked as though it had been written with a stick coated in dirt.

Draco,

I don't know.

L.M