Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

Thank you to ClumsyKnowItAll, Kakasaku777, and littlered1992 for beta-ing this chapter. Especial thanks to littlred1992 for keeping me (mostly) sane throughout this process!

The next morning, Hermione begrudgingly dragged herself out of bed before 7am. She sent an owl to Harry and Ginny, explaining that she would have to take a raincheck on brunch as Vivienne had her working overtime. She briefly wondered if she'd be paid extra for the additional hours she was putting in, but scoffed at the idea before it could fully form. Unlikely, she thought. Vivienne would argue that it was simply completing an assignment she hadn't managed in her actual work hours. With a roll of her eyes and a long stretch, Hermione trudged into the bathroom to make herself look presentable.

Nearly two hours later, she was dressed in a simple pair of beige trousers with a navy blue blouse, and matching robes. She had considered dressing in her usual weekend getup of jeans and a sweater, but she figured provoking Malfoy any more than was warranted was probably not a wise career move. As she walked slowly across the stone driveway of Malfoy Manor, and a tingly sense of déjà vu crept unpleasantly up her spine. She shivered involuntarily despite the mild weather and clutched her folders closer to her chest.

As she approached the front door, Miksy appeared dressed in the same tea towel. The little elf bowed low as she had done the day before and bid Hermione welcome. Hermione smiled and thanked her in return, before following Miksy up the front steps into the vast entrance hall. Hermione was led to the same room as yesterday; once again it was dark, but this time Malfoy was waiting in an armchair. Tea had already been laid, and her charge was holding a floral-patterned cup. He smirked as she entered the room, but did not make any move to greet or welcome her.

Hermione took her seat across from him and shuffled her papers to give her hands something to do. Something about Draco Malfoy had always made her feel unsettled, and she was annoyed that she couldn't shake the feeling after all these years. She was here because he'd served time in Azkaban for crimes committed in the War, and yet she felt as though she were the one under constant scrutiny. After a few minutes of absently flicking through pages and triple-checking that they were in order, Hermione could put the meeting off no longer. She cleared her throat and Malfoy brought his gaze to hers, unblinking and expressionless.

"Mister Malfoy," she began, "I am here because I have been instructed to complete the meeting we were unable to finish yesterday. I trust you got my letter?"

Malfoy scoffed and sank back against the chair, his tea still perched in his hand. He crossed one leg lazily over the other so that his foot rested on his knee, and he raised an eyebrow at Hermione, waiting for her to continue. Hermione noticed as he shifted in his seat that he was wearing muggle jeans and a mint green polo shirt. She fought the urge to shake him. Vivienne would be looking for any excuse to lock her in the office with a mountain of paperwork and filing, so instead she tightened her grip on her papers.

"Unfortunately, it is part of the agreement that your lawyer forged with the ministry that you would answer all the questions pertaining to your case after you were released – "

"A lawyer I didn't ask for," he bit back. "A lawyer I don't even know!"

"Regardless," Hermione's heart rate sped up and she feared Malfoy may hear it, "it is part of agreement they arranged, and it is absolutely binding."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward to place his tea cup on the table in front of him. His hair, longer and looser than it had been when they had attended Hogwarts, fell across his right eye. Malfoy stayed leaning forward, his leg falling from his knee so he could rest his elbows there. He leaned his head to the side as he took Hermione in, his gaze raking from her sensible flat shoes to the messy bun she had forced her wild curls into this morning. Though she could only just make out his silhouette and the way his eyes moved, glowing in the dim candlelight, Hermione had the impression that Malfoy was able to see all too well in the dark.

"You're a lawyer, aren't you, Granger?" His voice was soft and held none of the previous bite, but Hermione wasn't about to drop her guard.

"I'm a case worker for the Department of Magical Law En-"

Malfoy waved his hand impatiently. "You're a lawyer."

Hermione blinked. What was his point? She forced herself to meet his gaze, though her eyes watered at the intensity of his stare. She willed herself not to squirm as his cold grey orbs swirled with fire. "I'm a case worker," she finally said, just as quietly as he had spoken.

"Same thing," he frowned in concentration as he leaned back in his chair. His tone held a sense of finality, but of what Hermione could not place. She let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding as he shifted his gaze to a point above her left shoulder.

"Well," she cleared her throat and looked down at her notes again, "if we can get back to the matter at hand…"

"I don't see how it's anyone's business."

Hermione had to fight a smile; though his tone was sharp and business-like, his face was almost petulant, like a child who had been denied sweets. "I'm afraid the ministry feels that it is…their business, I mean." She sighed as Malfoy shot her a look of contempt. "It's not my rule, Mister Malfoy. I'm just here to do my job."

"I don't care about your job, Granger." He snapped.

"Do you care about your freedom?" Hermione snapped back, unable to bite down on her temper. "A fine way to repay your lawyer, getting yourself sent back to Azkaban because of one stupid question!" He blinked at her twice, and then his lip curled into a sneer.

"You call this freedom?" He gestured widely around the dark sitting room. "I'm under house arrest," he said through clenched teeth, "in case you hadn't noticed. I'm not exactly gallivanting around London. I've been locked in a filthy cage for the better part of the last five years, because the Ministry had to make an example out of any and everyone who had deigned to put a toe across their hypocritical line during the War. And again," his hands had balled into fists still resting on his knees, "I don't have a lawyer; not one I know, anyway." Malfoy seemed to realise he had said a little too much as he looked into Hermione's face and caught her look of concern. He exhaled loudly. "As you were saying?"

"As I was saying," Hermione fought to control her voice. Part of her wanted to throttle the blond man in front of her, and the other just wanted to run. "I need you to answer the final question. As soon as you do, I'll be out of your hair." She had adopted a false, cheery voice that made Draco's skin crawl. His scowl slipped easily over his impassive face and he spoke in a slow, deliberate growl.

"I will not answer you."

"Mister Malfoy, I must insist that you – "

"No!" He stood abruptly and towered over her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Hermione shrank back instinctively. His breath was ragged and his chest heaved as though he might be ill at any moment. His eyes squeezed shut for a few moments and Hermione began to unfurl herself from her seat. She had opened her mouth to reiterate her purpose for being in his sitting room when his eyes flew open, an unbridled rage evident in his grey irises. "How about I insist on asking a few questions of my own?" He leered down at her and moved slowly until he was hovering above the brunette witch, his hands resting on either side of her on the arms of the chair.

"Wh-what do you want to know?" Hermione stammered as she clutched her quill tighter. She cursed herself for leaving her wand in her bag, which was sitting on the floor at her feet.

"Why are you here, Granger?" He breathed.

Hermione's mind reeled. What did he mean why was she here?

"You know why – "

"I know what your job entails. But why did you choose this case? Why did you choose me?" His breath was warm across her face, their noses impossible close. He smelt of expensive cologne, earthy and masculine.

"I didn't choose – "

"Lies," Malfoy whispered, inching his face closer to hers. He noticed her shudder once, probably from revulsion. He smirked.

"I didn't choose!" She met his gaze, a fierce determination reflected in her brown eyes. "I was assigned your case."

"And who do I have to thank for that privilege?" He raked his gaze over her hairline, down the bridge of her nose, and let it rest on her plump lips. It had been so long since he had been anywhere near a woman, and although this was Hermione Granger; annoying swot and brown-nosed sidekick of Pain-in-the-arse Potter, she was still a woman. He forced his gaze back to hers as she answered him.

"Vivienne Weasley," Hermione said softly. Her heart was beating wildly against her ribcage. She wasn't sure if it was from fear or anger; why was he so close?

"Weasley? Hmmm," Malfoy pulled back slowly. "Married one of those animals, did she?"

Hermione felt her face flush crimson and her knuckles crack as she clenched them by her side. Her eyes flashed dangerously and Draco swore he heard her teeth grind together.

"No way," Malfoy breathed as realisation dawned. A slow, cruel smile spread across his pointed features, "She married your weasel, didn't she?"

Hermione dropped her gaze to her knees and willed the stinging sensation behind her eyelids to disappear.

"Holy shit!" He roared, clutching his stomach as his body shook with laughter. "And you work for her?"

Hermione sat very still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking up. As his mirth subsided, the evil smirk once again graced his features.

"Why?"

"Why what, Malfoy?" Hermione had found her Gryffindor courage, and snapped her head up to glare at him through glassy eyes.

"Why did he leave you for…Vanessa? Or whatever her name is."

"Vivienne," Hermione ground out. "And it's none of your business." Snippets of her unpleasant past flashed through her mind like an old reel of film, the hues grossly saturated and the action distorted. No she told herself firmly, forcing the images from her mind, not now.

"Tell you what," Hermione heard the swish of denim as Malfoy resumed his seat. "If you answer my question, I'll answer yours."

Hermione made a noise of derision through her nose. She may not think Draco Malfoy was guilty of anything more than wanting the same thing as she had during the war, but he was still a lying bastard; she wasn't about to let him get away with playing these sorts of games.

"You're sick, Malfoy," she spat, "you know that?"

"I've been told once or twice."

Hermione sighed and narrowed her eyes. "It's none of your business," she said simply.

"Then I'm afraid I can't give you what you want."

Hermione felt the frustration boil over in her chest and work its way up until it constricted her throat. She could not believe that someone could be so arrogant given all that he had been through.

"I must insist - "

"Oh, fuck off, Granger." From what she could see, his expression held no sign of delight in her discomfort now, and his eyes had grown cold. "Send me back to the Dementors; I'm really not that concerned. What's the difference, really?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione deadpanned. "Running water, a warm bed, not feeling like shit twenty-four hours a day."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she had gone too far. Hermione sensed him tense in his seat, and heard the crunch of his back teeth as he gnashed them together.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, chagrin evident in her voice. "I shouldn't have - "

"Save it," he snarled. "Just leave me alone."

Hermione swallowed thickly, detecting the defeat in his voice. She knew it would be useless to argue, and she felt tears threaten at the corner of her eyes. In a move she would later reflect on as one of the more reckless decisions of her life, she stood and took a deep breath. The movement caused the candle to flicker dangerously, and for a brief moment, his features were thrown into the light.

"He cheated on me," she stated. "Ron, he...he cheated on me."

Malfoy did not look up, though Hermione saw a flicker of emotion cross his features for less than a second. He snorted.

"Finally figured out he could do better? Good for him," he drawled. As he trailed off, he lazily met her gaze again.

Hermione's eyes widened and she felt her face flush with embarrassment and anger. She grit her teeth as she stooped quickly to gather her files and pick up her bag.

"Fine," she said, more to herself than Malfoy.

She slung the strap across her shoulder before turning and marching towards the front door. She thought she heard him call after her, but the ringing in her ears made it impossible to know for sure. All she could think about was getting past the gate and the wards so she could apparate home.

Later that night as she sat on her couch with Crookshanks, Hermione thought back to the events of the morning. Why had she let Malfoy do that to her? She preferred not to think about what had transpired between her and Ronald Weasley; she had not properly dealt with her grief, she knew that. Still, it was Malfoy, the boy who had thrown worse taunts at her during their school years. Why had she stormed out like he'd offended her? She tried telling herself it was because it was still a raw wound, one that was opened on a daily basis as she dealt with both Ron and Vivienne at work. She told herself that it was because she was about to cry, and no amount of forgetfulness potion would ever be able to erase the humiliation of sobbing in front of Draco sodding Malfoy. She wished she could believe herself, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind kept telling her that she was lying.

She had been working tirelessly for the past five years in order to achieve the near-on impossible. Even working beneath Vivienne had not deterred her on the path towards her goal and now it had finally been met, and she could feel it all going to hell in a handbasket all because of the stupid prat himself.

She knew Draco Malfoy was far from innocent, even if he and his family had defected before the Final Battle in May of 1998. He was a spoiled brat, a bully, and one of her worst tormentors. But she also knew that he had been a child without much of a choice, just like Harry, when the Second Wizarding War began. She could not help, even as a teenager, but feel sorry for him as his actions confirmed a desire to protect his family, at whatever cost. Though she knew he had to pay for his crimes, she did not believe the Malfoy heir deserved jail time.

The Wizengamot had thought differently, and 'made an example out of him', as he had suggested to her today. Hermione had spoken at his trial. She had tried to convince Harry to testify as well, but he was concerned that he'd be asked to all the Death Eater trials should he agree, and Hermione had understood that he wanted a quiet life – well, as quiet as possible. Without the word of The Boy Who Lived, Hermione's case was not as strong. She failed in freeing Malfoy, and decided to pursue a career that would allow her to support those who had been wronged on both sides of the war in order to realise her goal.

Why she was so hung up on Malfoy in particular she had never been able to pinpoint. Maybe it was because she still felt like she had something to prove; perhaps it was because she wanted to beat him at one more thing; or maybe it was because he was the youngest Death Eater to be locked up and she couldn't bare the idea that one of their generation would have to face a life behind bars, after all they fought for.

Malfoy had been right. She was a lawyer, though that was not technically her title. She often fought cases on behalf of clients in front of the Wizengamot, but she had not lied when she said she was a case worker. It just happened that she had been the witch who had orchestrated Malfoy's release from Azkaban, even if it had taken almost half a decade to accomplish. The devil was in the detail, and she planned on keeping the details away from Malfoy.

Hermione rolled over on the couch and pressed her face into a cushion. Her stomach swooped as she remembered she had once again failed to get the information she had been sent to gather, and she growled into the pillow. Rolling back to her side, she sighed and scratched Crookshanks behind the ear. Hermione wondered who would take over the case now that she would surely be sent to the lower levels of the department to do menial labour. She wondered if they'd be able to get him to answer the damn question, and then she wondered if she hoped they would succeed or fail.

Anger spiked in her chest, at Malfoy and at Vivienne…and then at Ron, for being such a prat in the first place. As her rage simmered, it focused on her red-headed ex-friend and lover. While Malfoy and Vivienne both had a knack for making her feel worthless, it had been Ron who had given her the most practice at feeling like she was nothing.

Of course, it hadn't all been bad. When they had first made their relationship official, the war had just ended. Ron had been the same caring, loyal friend and boyfriend he had always been underneath the layers of jealousy and pig-headedness. But a few months into the aftermath, Ron began to change. Suddenly, he was in the spotlight. He was sought after by almost every department in the Ministry. Everyone wanted to have a drink with him. Girls wanted to have sex with him. He was famous, rich, and he loved it.

It wasn't long before he gave in to several girls who sought to pleasure him. Hermione would wake up alone more often than not, and he never told her where he had been, although she had sneaking suspicions he had not been working late at the office; not unless his secretary was working back, too.

Hermione had been about to break up with Ron when Harry gave him a boxing around the ears. This intervention seemed to mellow Ron somewhat, and their relationship improved. Ron proposed on September 1st; "it was on this day eleven years ago we met on the Hogwarts Express…" Hermione had accepted, truly believing that it would work out between them after all.

A year later, it was their wedding day. They had decided to hold it at a hotel in Wizarding London, and both had stayed in separate rooms the night before, keeping with muggle tradition. The morning of the big day, Hermione had left her room to collect the flowers from the foyer with her mother, Mrs Weasley, and Ginny. As they returned, their arms laden with a bundle of bouquets, Hermione noticed moaning coming from the room she knew Ron to be in. Pausing to make sure she wasn't imagining it, she heard a familiar voice; "Harder, Ron! Harder!"

She had dropped the flowers and pushed open the door with Ginny on her heels, to find Ron pumping furiously into Vivienne from behind. Days later, Hermione had found out Ron and Vivienne had met at a Christmas party at the Ministry and had been having an affair for more than two years.

Hermione had turned on her heel and fled, and she heard from Harry that after her departure, Ron had asked Vivienne to marry him that day instead. And here they were; Vivienne, her boss, married to her ex-fiancé.

Hermione sighed, pulling herself out of her depressing reverie. "Come on, Crookshanks," she forced herself up off the couch and stretched. "Time for bed."