Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

Beta love goes to littlered1992, without whom this story would not see the light of day!

During his imprisonment, Draco had been prone to nightmares. Actually, if he was being completely honest, he'd been suffering from night terrors since the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. During his stint in Azkaban, the terrors were so bad he had woken on more than one occasion covered in his own blood, bruised and aching.

Since being released, he'd managed to get them under control with the help from the Medi-Witch who had visited him twice. However, he hadn't seen her this week, and the potions had run out. The result of that was a long week of intermittent night terrors between bouts of insomnia.

On top of a lack of sleep and a general feeling of constant anxiety, Draco knew that he had to form an alliance of sorts with Granger. The thought made him feel conflicted in the same way one might feel watching a train wreck. He wanted to watch her orchestrate the release of his mother, but at the same time he was wary of trusting her with anything more important than ironing his monogrammed handkerchief.

On the morning of his next case meeting, he dressed carefully. There was nothing he could do about his waxen skin and dark under eyes, but he wanted to at least make it known that he'd attempted to make an effort with his appearance. He pulled on navy blue slacks and a burgundy button up shirt. He grimaced as he looked at himself in the mirror; he wondered if it was worth wearing a Gryffindor colour if it made him look even more pallid than usual.

He was just looping his tie around his neck when a warning shimmer ran up his spine. He felt what little colour he had in his face drain away from his cheeks and he swore colourfully under his breath. Granger was here.

He sighed and forced his shoulders back. Looking himself in the eye, he schooled his features in to a mask of indifference and jutted his chin out a little. Holding this pose, he finished tying his tie and turned away from the mirror. He made his way down the stairs and along the hallway that led to the sitting room. As he approached the dimly lit room, he slipped his hands into his pockets and hitched a smirk on to his face.

"Morning, Granger," he drawled as he rounded the corner. He stopped dead and his face fell as his eyes landed on his case worker. The woman sitting in his armchair was tall, skinny, and definitely not Granger. The skin on her face was convoluted and droopy, and her eyes were almost hidden by a large amount of overhanging skin, giving Draco the impression of a naked mole rat. Her hair was white and wispy, the fine strands pulled back into a tight bun.

She sniffed and looked him up and down reproachfully. "Mister Malfoy." He raised his eyebrows. "Unfortunately, Miss Granger has been removed from your case. I am Morag Eaglewater, and I shall be taking over from here." The witch lifted a frail looking hand to her face and positioned her glasses on the end of her straight nose.

He ground his back teeth together. So much for opening up, he thought. He looked over at Morag Eaglewater as he took his seat across from her. She had to be at least a hundred years old, and she was regarding him with what could only be described as complete and utter disdain.

"What happened?" He grunted, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting her gaze evenly.

"I beg your pardon?" The witch dropped her gaze and began to shuffle the parchment on her lap. Draco noted that she licked her thumb every few pages as she separated them. His stomach rolled as she brought the wrinkled digit to her thin lips and coated it with saliva from her tongue.

"What happened to Granger?" He said, forcing himself to look away.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you, Mister Malfoy," she looked sternly down her nose at him and Draco was distinctly reminded of Minerva McGonagall. "Now, shall we begin?"

"I suppose," Draco replied haughtily, schooling his features back into a mask of indifference, though frustration bubbled in his chest like an ill-brewed potion.

"Has a Medi-Witch been to see you?" Morag was all business.

"No," Draco's lip curled as the witch documented his answer.

"Have you had any visitors?"

Draco hesitated. He wasn't sure how cooperative he felt like being with this new woman. Though something about her almost compelled him to be honest with her, part of him also wanted to wipe the smug look from her face.

He tugged slightly at his collar before answering. "Yes," he stated. "The other night."

"And?" Morag prompted, dragging out the word in an almost melodic way.

Draco's eyes tightened, but he kept his voice neutral. "Pansy Parkinson."

"How long did this visit last?" Morag pressed.

Bloody hell, what is this to the Ministry? Draco flexed his hands.

"She arrived late in the evening and then spent the night here. She left shortly after sunrise the next morning."

Morag paused, her quill hovering above her parchment as she met his gaze. Through the dim light, he saw her arch an eyebrow, and immediately knew she had assumed the worst.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. Let her think what she wants, he thought savagely. It hardly affects me, the opinion of this daft old bint.

The questions continued in the same vain, Morag clinical, and Draco slightly withdrawn.

When it came to the final question, Draco felt like he had been emotionally rung out to dry.

His upbringing had taught him to always be polite to your elders, at least to their faces, and his time in Azkaban and subsequent meetings with Granger had taught him that maybe it was better to keep your opinions to yourself, at least sometimes.

He ground his teeth together in preparation for the last question, a silent battle waging in his mind as he tried to decide whether he would answer it or not.

"Just one more question, Mister Malfoy, and then I will be out of your hair," Morag glanced up quickly, and Draco braced himself for what was to come.

"Have you heard from either of your parents since your release from Azkaban?"

Draco was silent for a moment, weighing up his options. He knew he would be taking a huge risk by not answering; hadn't Granger warned him that he would be sent back to prison if he didn't give the Ministry what they wanted? How long would he be able to avoid giving them the information they desired? Would they heed his request, or would a complaint from an ex-criminal be laughed at by middle-aged wizards on level 2 of the Ministry…if it was even heard? He shook himself out of his reverie as Morag began to repeat the question, thinking perhaps he was hard of hearing.

"Didn't Granger tell you I refuse to answer that question?" He cut her off, his voice a low hiss. "Just because they sent you instead of her, does not mean I'm going to answer it."

"Mister Malfoy," Morag's eyes flashed, "surely you can address the witch properly?" Perhaps it was her age, or the way her skin on her face wobbled dangerously as she spoke, but Draco was taken aback. "I should think, given all that Miss Granger has done for you, you'd be a little more respectful!"

Draco scoffed, his confidence returning. "All she has done for me? She gets paid for this," he waved his hands dramatically, "does she not?"

The witch shifted in her seat. "Yes, she does. But not enough, it would seem. I was actually referring to the work she did prior to and after you and your parents were sentenced."

Draco's brows knitted together in confusion and his mouth slackened. Questions rained down from all sides of his mind, but he could not focus on one long enough to verbalise it.

"You don't know?" Morag pursed her lips. "It was she who spoke on your behalf, to save you all from the Kiss. Thankfully, she was able to get that verdict overturned almost immediately."

Draco stiffened in his seat as the gravity of Morag's words hit him. His fists clenched and he felt the world tilt on its axis.

"But…" he managed to choke out, and Morag raised an eyebrow at him. When he remained silent, she continued.

"It was also Miss Granger who took on the role of your lawyer during your sentencing. Did you never wonder who was working on your case?" Draco shook his head. Morag clucked her tongue. "Miss Granger was the one who petitioned for your appeal. She's been working towards the moment of your release for the better part of the last five years. The Wizengamot, in their infinite wisdom, didn't want to be seen as going back on their word."

"I was an example," Draco murmured, more to himself than to Morag. The older witch frowned, but nodded as if she caught his meaning.

"Miss Granger believed you and your mother were victims of unfortunate circumstances; circumstances beyond your control."

Draco snorted. "Of course she did." He hated that he sounded almost hysterical. "Bleeding heart Gryffindor, of course she thought I was the victim." His voice dripped with venom and Morag's hardened as she addressed him again.

"I don't know Miss Granger beyond the cases she has fought, Mister Malfoy," Morag enunciated every syllable, "but I do know that she has fought for you and your mother for nearly half a decade. Whether or not you are innocent, she believes there is something worth fighting for in there," she pointed at his chest, "and you should be grateful for that."

Draco was rigid in his chair, unable to think straight or to formulate a comeback that could refute her claim. If she was telling the truth, and Draco had no reason to suspect she wasn't, as much as he'd like to, he owed Hermione Granger a life debt. The thought made him want to throw up.

"What else – " Draco's voice was rough and high pitched. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What else has Granger done for me and my…and my mother?" He forced himself to hold Morag's gaze. The older witch shuffled slightly in her chair, clearly enjoying the change in his demeanour.

"I think that is something you should discuss with Miss Granger," she replied evenly. "I fear I might have said too much already."

"Then send her back." The words were out of his mouth before he could comprehend what he was actually asking.

"I beg your pardon?" Morag blinked impassively. For a moment, Draco wasn't sure if she was affronted or if she simply hadn't heard him.

"I said, send Granger back. Reinstate her to my case or whatever."

"I'm afraid that decision does not rest with me," Morag stated. "Now, how about we get back to business?" She cleared her throat. "Have you heard from -,"

"I won't answer that question," Draco said quietly. Morag huffed.

"A fine way to repay Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, by getting yourself thrown back in to Azkaban after all she has done and sacrificed for you!" Her tone reminded him so much of a nagging mother, he only just managed to catch himself as he began to roll his eyes.

"I will not answer that question," he repeated, "unless Granger is reinstated as my case manager, and she asks it of me."

"I know that this is difficult for you," her voice was soft and extremely irritating. Draco puffed out his cheeks and gritted his teeth. "But it would be a lot less difficult if you just answer the question now…"

"No!" Draco snapped. His eyes flashed and he watched as Morag visibly flinched.

"Mister Malfoy," her tone was firm but he could read the uncertainty on her face, "you do not have a choice! Just answer the question and I will be on my way."

"I've told you; I'll only talk to Granger."

Morag watched him for a few minutes. He had set his jaw, and folded his arms across his chest. He reminded her of a petulant child; and then she reminded herself that he practically was a petulant child. She sighed.

"Very well," she said. "I will talk to Mrs Weasley," her voice was condescending and Draco's eyes narrowed as she stood. "I wouldn't get your hopes up though." She winced as she put weight on her right foot and she grasped her hip. Draco stood and wondered if he should offer assistance. "It's more than likely I'll be seeing you again next week."

Draco offered her a thin smile that did not reach his eyes, but he did not comment. A few stiff steps across the room, and Morag was able to walk normally again. She offered him a nod over her shoulder, and then slowly stalked towards the front door.

Draco let his shoulders slump as it closed behind her. So it had been Granger who had rescued him from what he thought was his fate. His face contorted into a grimace and he had the sudden urge to take a shower. Instead, he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he ran a hand over his face. The other he placed on his hip, and he stood there like that for several minutes wondering what his next move should be.

Bloody typical, he thought as his brain started to fire up again, Hermione Granger saving the day like the faithful sidekick she always had been. He had begun to move slowly in the direction of his study, but that thought stopped him in his tracks. Though Granger had been the sidekick to Potter for most of their lives, it didn't appear that she was still in that role now. Merlin, Draco paled as the realisation dawned, Hermione Granger is the hero.

He staggered slightly and leaned against the wall, the starkness of them mixing with the plush emerald carpet until they spun in a colourless vortex which threatened to suck Draco in. He slid down the wall and sat panting at the base, his head pressed firmly against the brickwork as a reminder that he was still upright and the world hadn't actually flipped over.

When he could move again, he staggered the rest of the way to his office, keeping one hand on the wall as a guide. He fell gracelessly into his desk chair and pulled the closest bit of parchment towards him. His writing was rushed and messy, and the parchment was covered in splotches of ink by the time he had finished signing his name.

Lucius,

I think I have a lead.

D.M

The filing department for the Magical Law Enforcement office was well beneath the ground floor. It was essentially a large rectangular room that reminded Hermione of a warehouse. The walls were grey concrete, and the floor was made from sticky linoleum that squeaked whenever someone walked on it.

Thousands of typical-looking filing cabinets were organised into alphabetical rows which zig-zagged all over the space. The cabinets themselves towered almost to the roof, and were lined against each wall, so that the only light came from the floating candles dotted randomly throughout. It was a dull and dreary place to work, which was probably why most people just used it as a place to hook up with co-workers. A stench of stale sweat and sex hung permanently in the air, despite the air-freshener charm Hermione had created for the purpose of masking it.

On Wednesday morning, nearly a week since Morag's visit with Draco Malfoy, Hermione was taking a morning tea break. This is not something she normally did, so when Atticus burst into the cramped space in which she had set up a makeshift desk, she jumped up from her seat, spilling coffee all down the front of her blouse.

"Hermione!" He whispered conspiratorially.

"Merlin, Atticus!" Hermione huffed as she reached for her wand. "What have I told you about bursting in like that?"

The wizard paused for half a second to paste a brief and half-hearted apologetic expression on to his face.

"Sorry," he continued in the same voice, "but you need to come now!" He glanced around furtively and waved his hand dramatically to signal that she should follow him. When he noticed that she wasn't even looking at him, too preoccupied with syphoning the coffee from the material of her shirt, he dropped the theatrics.

"Hermione," he said flatly. She grunted, but did not look up. "Hermione!" He tried louder.

"What?" She spat, dragging her gaze up to meet his. Her eyes were puffy and red rimmed with exhaustion, and she looked like she wanted to slap him.

"There is a meeting being held at this very moment," he spoke very quickly and Hermione shook her head as she listened, trying to keep up, "between Vivienne, Dewsong, and Eaglewater."

Hermione blinked in confusion and Atticus actually stomped his foot.

"Come on!" He insisted, reaching over the desk and tugging on her arm. She shuffled around the small space and allowed him to pull her along, only just managing to grab her purse from the desk as she did so.

"What sort of a meeting?"

"A meeting to discuss the case of one Draco Malfoy," Atticus articulated the name as if he was trying to speak it around a great mouthful of food. Hermione quickened her pace and Atticus let go of her arm.

"What are they saying?"

Atticus huffed. "I don't know," he threw up his hands as they exited the file room and quickly entered the lift opposite. "I just happened to be walking by Mary Pike's cubicle when I overheard her talking to Morag. Morag said she couldn't help her with something because she was on her way to a meeting with Weasley and Dewsong. I caught the name Malfoy as well."

They had arrived at Level Two, and hurried down the corridor towards Vivienne's office.

"That was when I ran off to come and get you," Atticus had lowered his voice to just above a whisper; he was panting slightly.

"Thank you!" Hermione nodded once at him as they reached the door. Muffled voices could be heard through the thick piece of wood.

Atticus pointed to his ears and mouthed comically that he couldn't hear anything. Hermione rolled her eyes and dug around in her purse. After a few seconds, a look of triumph crossed her face and she pulled out a long piece of flesh-coloured string.

Atticus recoiled away from it, his hands clasped in front of his chest. Hermione smothered a giggle and watched the horror on her assistant's face as she pressed one end of the Extendable Ear into her own, and then bent down to force the other end under the door. When she stood, Atticus was regarding her with simultaneous pride and disgust.

"…unless Granger is reinstated." Morag's voice was clear, as if Hermione was standing next to her.

"Preposterous!" Hermione could hear the sneer in Vivienne's tone.

"Quite right," the booming voice of Mister Dewsong rang around the room. "The boy must learn that actions have consequences."

"I fear that he can be quite stubborn, sir." Morag's voice was low and commanding.

Vivienne scoffed. "He's a prisoner…"

"Ex-prisoner," Hermione growled under her breath.

"…we can't just go giving him whatever he wants! What would that look like?"

"I agree," Dewsong said. "We need to teach him a lesson; Merlin knows the Ministry doesn't need to suffer through further humiliation."

"Exactly – "

"With all due respect," Morag interjected, "I don't believe that I'm the best person for this case."

"And what? Granger is?" Vivienne's cold laugh made Hermione wince and adjust the Extendable Ear.

"I think so," Morag said clearly.

Mister Dewsong grunted; there was the sound of creaking wood, like a large bodied person had shifted abruptly in their seat.

Hermione seethed.

"It's not our fault," her boss mused. "He has his freedom – what more should we be doing?"

"That's it," Hermione hissed as she yanked the string from her ear. She shoved it into Atticus' hands; he immediately gagged and dropped it. Hermione ignored him.

She pushed against the door without knocking, and marched into the room. The three occupants snapped around to look at her, each wearing the same shocked expression. Morag was the first to recover.

"Miss Granger," she said politely. "We were just discussing you."

"Oh, really?" Hermione didn't mean to sound so sarcastic, but her blood was boiling. She turned her attention to Mister Dewsong.

He was a large man with a head of thick, wavy blonde hair. She supposed that he had been handsome when he was younger, but a very long and successful career had worn down his genial features into a pinched expression of pain and arrogance.

"Mister Dewsong, I was coming here to speak to Vivienne regarding another case when I couldn't help but overhear your conversation about Draco Malfoy," she lied easily.

"Oh?" The man blinked his watery blue eyes and regarded her shrewdly.

"If Malfoy is asking for me to return, and promising that he will answer the final question if I do so, I think we owe it to him to heed his request."

Mister Dewsong stared at Hermione. Vivienne began to laugh, a silly tittering sound, and the beefy man joined in.

"Miss Granger," he began in a condescending tone he usually reserved for interns. "Our job here isn't to give in to the demands of criminals; in fact, I dare say it's actually the exact opposite of what we stand for here."

"But Mister Dewsong – "

He held up a fat hand covered in gold rings. "I don't believe that we owe Draco Malfoy anything other than the terms set out for him by the Wizengamot. You were there," he nodded in Hermione's direction, "you represented him; did you not agree to the terms?"

"Yes sir, but – "

"And were you not warned that should you be unable to collect the information required by the Ministry that you would be removed from the case?"

"I understand that, but – "

"Then, Miss Granger," Mister Dewsong's voice had risen in volume and he stood from his chair to look at Hermione, whose head barely reached his shoulder. "I think you have some filing to attend to." He grinned, an uneven mess of yellow teeth, before sweeping from the room.

Hermione felt like she might cry. She blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay and turned to Vivienne. The blonde woman folded her arms over her chest and jutted her hip out. She raised her eyebrows as Hermione met her gaze; a look that clearly said 'I win'.

"Fine," Hermione bit out. She held up her hands, palms facing out as she backed out of the office. "But I'm not going to drop this." She turned on her heel as soon as she reached the doorway and fled back to the filing room, Atticus hot on her heels.