Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

Thank you to my wonderful, amazing, ever-so-patient Beta, littlered1992 who helped me rewrite and edit this entire chapter. You are a GODSEND!

A/N: I know there's been some concern about Hermione's characterisation in this fic and I'd like to acknowledge your patience as she develops. I'm having a lot of fun playing with some of her less advertised personality traits, and I hope it pays off in the end. If you are still worried about her Gryffindor spunk, I invite you to follow me on Tumblr (CourtingInsanity) as I have posted a future snippet which might assuage some fears.

Thanks for reading and reviewing - I really appreciate all of your feedback :D

The day after her latest failed meeting with Malfoy, Hermione allowed herself a rare sleep-in. She woke to the sound of drizzling rain pattering against the window of her bedroom. Through the sheer curtains she could see that the sky was a dull, apathetic grey. Though it was the perfect weather for staying in bed with a cup of tea and a good book, Hermione forced herself to get up and shower before apparating directly from her bedroom.

Just before 10am, Hermione landed precariously on the front step of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Shaking her hair out from underneath the hood of her cloak, she stepped forward and knocked three times on the large wooden door. Muffled voices sounded inside for a moment, before soft footsteps made their way towards her.

The door swung inwards to reveal the red-headed form of Ginny Potter. She had cut her hair short after the war, preferring to wear it just above her shoulders. Her eyes were brown and still glinted with mischief in the same way they had when they were at Hogwarts. Hermione had always attributed that look with Fred and George, though it had dulled in George's eyes since the war.

"Hermione! Come in, come in!" Ginny beamed at her friend and ushered her into the hall.

"Thanks, Gin." Hermione shrugged out of her cloak and pulled the other woman into a tight hug. "You look well."

"Thanks," Ginny said as they broke apart. The red-head squinted and cocked her head to the side, appraising her friend. "You look kind of…hungover. Are you okay?" Concern flashed in the young woman's eyes as she held Hermione at arm's length.

"I'm fine, Gin," Hermione replied wearily. "It's just been a rough week. Where's Harry?" Hermione twisted in Ginny's vice-like grip and tried to peer over her shoulder. Ginny obliged the brunette witch and dropped her arms, placing them on her hips. She narrowed her eyes at Hermione and opened her mouth, no doubt intending to pry, when she was interrupted by her husband.

"Hermione Granger!" Harry appeared behind Ginny and pushed past her to pull Hermione into a tight hug. Hermione felt herself relax a little bit as she breathed in Harry's familiar scent, a mixture of lemony fabric softener and baked gingerbread.

"How are you, Harry?"

"Fantastic," he grinned and took her cloak. "Go down into the kitchen; I'm making crepes."

Hermione obediently stepped further into the hall; to her right was the troll leg umbrella stand that Tonks religiously tripped over every time she had visited. Above the troll leg was a large section of wall that did not blend in with the rest of the house.

Harry had spent years after the war renovating, and the final task had been to remove the portrait of Sirius' mother. For months he researched and worked tirelessly around his hours at the Ministry to undo the sticking charm, to no avail. Everyone had encouraged him to leave it, accept it as part of the house, and either deal with it or sell and move on. Harry, however, was determined to be rid of the horrible woman once and for all, and had paid for a team of Muggle renovators to tear that part of the wall down. He had confided in Hermione that it had been quite the task, having to hang about silencing Mrs Black every few minutes. Hermione suspected he'd also relied on Obliviate, the memory erasing spell, though he'd never admitted it.

Now the wall was grey, rendered with a textured plaster, a stark contrast to the deep brown brick of the rest of the house. It was still blank, and Hermione secretly thought that Harry was making a point by not decorating it straight away.

As she continued down the hall, she came to the stairs that led down to the basement and the kitchen. She sniffed appreciatively at the air as she began her descent with Harry and Ginny behind her. The smell of cinnamon wafted up towards them and Hermione grinned.

"Smells amazing, Harry."

Harry smiled as he waved his wand over the stove. The batter was pouring itself into the pan, and cooked crepes were floating through the air onto a hovering plate.

Hermione had always felt at home with Harry and Ginny, despite being the third wheel. It was odd, she often mused, that she had never been as comfortable in a trio with Harry and Ron. She had thought at the time that it was because she harboured feelings for Ron, but now that she had matured and grown apart from Ron, she wondered if it had been the red headed wizard who had kept her at arm's length, even from Harry.

"So, how are things?" Ginny asked, taking a seat at the long kitchen table. Hermione joined her, sitting on the opposite side.

"Good," Hermione said quickly. Ginny frowned, but held her tongue as Harry set three glasses of pumpkin juice between them.

"It's got a splash of Ogden's in it," Harry winked at her and Hermione gratefully took a sip.

"What happened? Is it Ron?" Ginny asked as soon as Harry had gone back to the stove.

"No, it's not Ronald." Hermione sighed. She felt the tension rise up in her again. "It's Draco Malfoy."

Harry made a noise of understanding from behind them, but Ginny choked on her pumpkin juice. "That git? What's he done now?"

"Hermione's taken on his case since his release; he's under house arrest," Harry explained to his wife as he wandered back to the table, carrying the plate with him. He took a seat beside Ginny and began serving.

"I've just started his case; two and a half meetings and I can't get the information the Ministry wants. Vivienne is pushing so hard to send me to filing." Hermione heard Ginny's teeth grind together.

"She's doing this on purpose, isn't she?"

Hermione snorted derisively. "Oh, yeah," she nodded. She paused momentarily to thank Harry for the crepes, and load hers with strawberries and cream.

"So," Harry said a few minutes into their brunch, "you've been visiting Malfoy at the Manor?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Doesn't that bother you? With, you know, what happened there?"

"It did at first," Hermione admitted; she looked thoughtful as she licked the cream from her fork. "The place is still creepy – he won't turn any lights on – but it's not like I have a choice. It helps that I don't have to enter the wing where…where it happened."

Harry was quiet, but he continued to stare at Hermione as if she was a particularly difficult puzzle. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. She wasn't being entirely untruthful; she didn't have to go anywhere near the drawing room, and she had been to quite intensive counselling sessions after the war. The hostage situation and being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange at Malfoy Manor was one thing Hermione had dealt with.

It would be wrong to say it hadn't affected her at all; she still got shivers up her spine when she approached the gate, and it was a little bit creepy sitting in the dark with Draco Malfoy; she didn't like not knowing whether she was going to get Doctor Jekyl or Mister Hyde when she visited. But then, she'd spent six years under the tutelage of Professor Snape, with his icy glare and dark dungeon classroom; Malfoy was a puppy in comparison.

"I could speak to Ron for you," Ginny forced Hermione out of her reverie. She sipped her pumpkin juice, thankful for an excuse to look away from Harry, who was still staring intently. "Or beat him, whatever works. He could make Vivienne assign the case to someone else."

Hermione chuckled. "It's okay, Gin. Nothing I can't handle."

Ginny frowned. "I'd like an excuse to beat him anyway."

"We all would," Harry sighed. He had finally stopped looking at Hermione like she was an intricate sculpture, and turned to give Ginny a significant nod.

"How is Ronald?" The question had passed her lips before Hermione could stop it.

"Er…" Harry glanced furtively between Hermione and Ginny.

"He's okay," Ginny said carefully. She met Harry's gaze for a moment and they had a silent conversation. It was over before Hermione could fully understand what was happening, but it still made her slightly uncomfortable. "We don't see him much. He's a right git, Hermione. You deserve so much better, honestly." Ginny shrugged, as if it was no big deal, but tension was evident in her shoulders.

Harry made a noise of assent around a mouthful of pumpkin juice. He nodded as he set his glass back on the table.

"Thanks guys." Hermione chewed and swallowed, finding that the crepes had taken on the texture of cardboard. She set her cutlery down and continued in a soft voice. "You don't have to estrange him because of me."

Ginny rolled her eyes and Harry snorted.

"It's definitely not because of you, Hermione," Harry said, placing his knife and fork together on his plate. "He's been foul to everyone. Poor Molly was in tears the other day because of that bimbo he married. We weren't there, but George told me that Ron had sat at the table like a bloody mute while Vivienne went on and on about how Fred's death was actually a blessing, because great pleasure can only be experienced if one knows great pain."

Hermione gasped. "She didn't!"

"She did," Ginny said darkly, her fists resting white-knuckled on the table. Tears threatened at the corner of the redhead's eyes and Hermione silently berated herself for broaching the subject. "They're no longer welcome at Bill and Fleur's, either." Ginny continued. "I'm not sure what happened, but Bill was really angry; I've never seen him like that." Her eyes widened and she shook her head, as if she was reliving the moment of Bill's wrath.

Harry looked at Ginny, concern evident on his face. He stretched an arm around the back of her chair and began to draw delicate patterns on the bare skin of her shoulder. Hermione fought against the blush that threatened to creep up her neck.

She had been best friends with Harry for over half their lives now, and she'd been close to Ginny for the past five years. She scolded herself for feeling jealous of what they had, though she knew she couldn't help it, and that it wasn't a malicious kind of envy.

When Voldemort had fallen, Harry and Ginny had started up again where they had left off after Harry's sixth year. Ginny had moved into Twelve Grimmauld Place just before she had left to complete her final year at Hogwarts alongside Hermione. Hermione still remembered some of the arguments between her fiery friend and Molly Weasley, having been privy to most of them as she frequented the Burrow visiting Ron. In fact, Hermione had been instrumental in the prevention of an all-out war between mother and daughter by convincing Ron to move in with Harry as well. Molly had been only slightly reassured, but Hermione had also pointed out that Ginny was of age, and she would also be at Hogwarts for most of the year, where Hermione could look out for her.

After graduating, Ginny had accepted a Chaser position on the Hollyhead Harpies Quidditch team. She was away more than she was home, and Hermione had watched Harry pine for his girlfriend while she tried, and failed, to keep her own relationship on track. She supposed the jealousy had always been there, even when Harry was breaking Ginny's heart to go gallivanting around Europe in the search of Voldemort's horcruxes – at least the younger girl had someone who acknowledged that she existed, and would do anything to keep her from getting hurt.

On New Year's Eve, 1999, Harry had proposed. Hermione would have bet her entire vault at Gringotts that it was this event that had spurred her own proposal later the following year, even if Ron had needed Harry's encouragement to actually ask for her hand. Harry and Ginny were married within six months of their engagement. Hermione had been the Maid of Honour, and Ron had been the best man.

The thought made her stomach turn now. Best man, she shook her head and forced herself back to the present. Hermione realised that Harry and Ginny had both stopped eating and they were watching her with identical expressions of concern.

Hermione smiled weakly at them and placed her fidgeting fingers in her lap. She was feeling distinctly less hungry now. She had been looking forward to this visit with Harry and Ginny, but now she was left feeling sick and empty. Damn Malfoy, and damn Ron! Damn them both to hell!

Hermione cleared her throat and readjusted her smile. "I'll help you do the dishes before I get going," she offered.

"No way," Ginny shook her head as Hermione stood and reached for the empty plates. "You two go and sit in the lounge. I'll be out in a minute." She stood and motioned with a nod towards the entrance of the kitchen.

Hermione followed Harry out back up the stairs and towards the sitting room. She flopped into a recliner and faced him. He was frowning, as if considering her like she was a particularly difficult Arithmancy sum.

"How are you, Hermione? Honestly, this time." He came to sit in front of her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"I'm fine, Harry."

"You don't seem fine."

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes briefly. "I am fine. I just have a lot going on at the moment, with Malfoy and bloody Vivienne," she spat the woman's name. "I'm stressed. But I'm okay," she attempted to smile, which Harry did not accept.

"You can talk to me about anything, Hermione. Ron may have deserted you like the prat he is, but I'm not going anywhere."

"And neither am I," Ginny had entered the lounge and was leaning against the door frame. "We're both here for you, any time you need us, okay?"

"Thank you," Hermione smiled shakily, "both of you." She stood to leave. "And thank you so much for brunch, it was lovely."

"I'm sorry the conversation wasn't a little more positive," Harry smiled apologetically, but Hermione waved her hand to dismiss his words.

"Next time we'll make it my place?" She asked. "Perhaps next week, or the one after?"

"Sounds great," Harry nodded, "I'll owl you." He walked her towards the front door. "Goodbye, Hermione."

"Bye, Harry."

With a crack! She apparated back to her flat.

A majestic looking owl was waiting on her kitchen window sill when she returned. In its beak was a formal looking letter; the curly, over-the- top handwriting could only belong to one person, and Hermione grimaced as she tore the envelope open.

Hermione,

I arrived at work early this morning to ensure that all cases are up to date; I have a very busy schedule and it does not do to present incomplete reports to Mister Dewsong. I am disappointed to find that your report on Draco Malfoy is still missing the answer to one of the most important questions. The Ministry needs this information to ensure Mister Malfoy is meeting the requirements of his own release, as well as to make decisions regarding the imprisonment of his parents.

Due to your failure in retrieving this information, I believe you are unfit to complete this assignment, as I have given you ample opportunities to do so. Henceforth, you are no longer Draco Malfoy's case manager, and you shall report to the filing department first thing on Monday morning.

Regards,

Vivienne Weasley

Hermione was almost shaking with rage as she finished reading the letter.

"That…that…" she couldn't complete the sentence, so she growled in frustration and tore the letter into pieces. The parchment settled on the kitchen floor and she glared at it as if it had just betrayed her to Voldemort himself.

Blinking furiously, she stalked to her lounge room and threw herself on the couch. Malfoy will be happy, she thought bitterly. It was probably what he wanted; he might talk to a pureblood case manager, or at least one that wasn't her. A new wave of frustration threatened to crash over her, and Hermione pressed her face into her elbow until she saw stars.

On one hand, she desperately hoped that the new case worker wouldn't be able to extract the information either, just to prove that she wasn't actually terrible at her job. On the other, if Draco refused to talk and was sent back to Azkaban, all her hard work would be for nothing. It would be a shame to think that she had risked so much for a prejudiced fool, only for him to ruin everything so close to the end.

Once she had managed to come down from her worked up state, she got up made her way to the kitchen. Typical, she thought, I put my entire life on the line for Draco sodding Malfoy, and he goes and throws it in my face. She slammed a cup down on to the counter so hard she nearly smashed it in her grasp and decided that a bit of cleaning might help to calm her instead.

Unfortunately, Hermione's rage only grew as the hours passed, like a fire exacerbated by dry wood and a constant stream of oxygen. She worked most of the day, cleaning and scrubbing until her joints were stiff and the skin on the back of her hands was red raw. She had hoped that a long day of physical labour would make it easy for her to forget her troubles and fall asleep come bed time.

She was wrong.

Just after midnight, Hermione gave up on her tossing and turning. She growled low in her throat as she pushed the sheets off and rolled out of bed. She hurriedly pulled on a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt, and exited her room. She haphazardly secured her wild curls on top of her head and set off, pausing at the door briefly to grab her cloak before stepping into the night.

Her breath was visible in front of her as she walked, the night clear but bitingly cold. She shivered and drew her cloak tightly around her. She marched down the quiet street, her determined eyes constantly scanning the area, but it was clear of human life. Most of the houses had their shutters drawn, and only a handful had left porch lights on.

Hermione reached the small alleyway that connected her street to a highway and furtively glanced around once more. Confirming she was still alone, she turned on the spot and with a sound like a snapping branch, she was gone.

Draco,

News?

L.M

Draco ran a hand through his hair as he read his father's words for the umpteenth time. Another barn owl had arrived that morning, carrying a scrap of cloth in its beak. Lucius had used blood this time to write his message. Draco's eyes watered as he stared down at the jagged piece of fabric that lay on his desk.

He sighed as he took in the meaning; his father was asking him for information on how his case was progressing, his mother's too. He let out a frustrated growl and stood, pacing around his study. Draco couldn't care less about what happened to Lucius – it was his fault the Malfoys were in this mess in the first place. But Narcissa…she didn't deserve Azkaban. She hadn't deserved what had happened in her house all those years ago. Draco gritted his teeth as he leant against the wall of his study; he would make sure his mother was free by the end of the year, even if it killed him.

Around dinner time, he collapsed back into his chair and Miksy brought his dinner to the study. He ate mechanically, not really tasting the food as he chewed and swallowed. He read as he finished his meal, researching old Azkaban cases after the first downfall of the Dark Lord. Even after all these years, a shiver ran up Draco's spine as the evil snake-like face flashed in his mind. The rest of the night was spent hunched over books and journals, desperately searching for something that could be useful. Around midnight, Miksy reappeared to ask if she could do anything, but Draco sent her to bed.

He stretched his arms overhead and rubbed his tired eyes. As he plodded down the hallway to his bedroom, there was only one thought swimming around his head; Blaise was right - he would have to talk to Hermione Granger. Resigned to this fact, he groaned and fell onto his mattress. He lay there for what felt like hours, willing himself to go to sleep, and the comfort of unconsciousness eluding him.

Just as he felt his body starting to give in to exhaustion, there was a knock at the door.

"Draco?"

He sat bolt upright. He'd recognise that voice anywhere. He knew he should have expected this, as he crossed the room in quick strides, but what was she doing outside of his bedroom at nearly one in the morning?