Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

As always a massive thank you to my beta, littlered1992; this chapter is dedicated to you wonderful lady!

The house was dark and completely silent, except for the muffled footfalls as he paced the room. It had been that way for several hours.

On the surface, he looked as cool and calm as ever. His hair was once again slicked back away from his face, and his pale hands were concealed in the pockets of his trousers. His blank facial expression gave away nothing to indicate his inner turmoil.

And he was in turmoil. The witch was late. He knew that it couldn't possibly mean that Granger was simply running behind schedule; Granger had never struck him as the tardy type. She also seemed like the kind of witch who'd at least owl, if she was going to inconvenience someone with her poor time management skills.

No, he thought. Something had gone wrong.

Morag had warned him that this would happen. He began to pace. Hell, even Granger told me this would happen, he mused. His stomach somersaulted in his belly and he began to regret the tea he'd let Miksy make him in lieu of breakfast earlier that morning. As he paced, his fists clenched and unclenched, and his mind danced from optimism to pessimism.

Maybe Granger has staged a protest, he thought wildly. He knew that in some way it was crazy to imagine such things, but then again, it was Hermione Granger. He felt an unfamiliar emotion bubble in his chest, something he supposed other people might attribute to something like hope; Draco Malfoy did not like the idea of hoping. As a boy, he had held hope for a lot of things…but now, as a man who had spent the majority of his adult life in prison, he could not bring himself to fully indulge in the sentiment.

Evening had set in, and Draco was still pacing. Miksy appeared around 5pm, and asked if Master would like her to light the lamps. He said no; the same answer he had given the elf every night since his return from Azkaban all those weeks ago. He knew it was unfair of him to keep the occupants of his household in the dark, but he could not bear the light. Not yet, anyway.

It wasn't anything physiological. He supposed it might have been, when he first returned. He hadn't seen proper light in so long; it did almost burn his eyes inside their sockets. But now, it was more about him feeling like he didn't deserve to bask in the warm glow the oil lamps around the Manor. Not when his mother was still behind bars, and not when he still couldn't understand why he had been saved…and by Hermione Granger, of all people.

Hermione Granger. He found that focusing on her kept his mind off the inevitable arrival of the Ministry officials. He had found that, as unpleasant as it was, he thought often of the brunette witch and the actions she had taken since his sentence. The one question still running around his head was why, and for all his intelligence, he could not conjure a satisfactory answer.

At 9pm, Miksy once again apparated into Draco's bedroom. He assured her that he did not need anything, and that he would be turning in for the night. The house-elf looked dubiously at her Master, but he had resumed his pacing, so with a loud crack! she disappeared to her own living quarters.

As soon as she left, there was a loud ruckus outside, just below Draco's window.

He froze in place.

This is it. Fear gripped every part of him, making it impossible to move even if he had wanted to. They've finally come. His heart beat frantically in his chest, throbbing against his rib cage. A lump formed in his throat and he desperately tried to swallow it, to no avail. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and he felt his cheeks flush in an all too familiar sensation he'd come to attribute with the beginnings of a panic attack.

One second, he was frozen and unable to move like a cornered animal. The next, he was on the ground in a crumpled heap, his eyes squeezed shut and his breath coming in rapid gasps. Every decision he had made over the last few months, every time he'd told Granger he wouldn't answer her stupid, invasive, Ministry-ordered question, flashed behind his eyes.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He punctuated every second syllable with a shallow punch to the carpet near his head. Why hadn't he just answered the damn question when he'd had the chance? Now the Ministry was here to take him back to Azkaban; he had failed. He'd failed his mother for the second time.

Crack!

Draco did not move.

"Master Draco?"

Miksy was standing in the doorway, the corner of her tea towel twisting painfully around her long fingers.

"Sir, is you being okay, sir?"

Tears formed in the corner of his grey eyes, now wide with a mixture of anger and fear.

"They've come for me, Miksy," he rasped out.

The elf's eyes grew wide and she took two small steps backwards.

"I is getting you help, Master!"

With another sound like a whip, she was gone.

Seconds stretched like hours, the silence thick and heavy like an old duvet as it settled around his shoulders. He whimpered; a childlike sound from the back of his throat. He hated that it had come to this.

Heavy footsteps thudded towards his door; Draco thought it sounded like there were two of them, which made sense. Aurors always worked in teams of two. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, dripping steadily on to the carpet.

Please don't let it be Potter he thought desperately. Anyone but Potter and Weasley.

The door flung open and he squeezed his eyes shut as the heavy wood banged against the wall.

"So stupid," he hissed through his teeth, followed by another punch to the floor.

"What's stupid?"

"You mean besides the soggy ball of flesh cowering on the ground before us?"

Draco sat up immediately and wiped roughly at his face. His eyes were still blurred with tears as he peered towards the doorway; the soft light of the hallway revealed the dishevelled forms of Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini.

"Pansy?" He blinked. "Blaise? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Blaise grunted impatiently. Draco noted he was wearing a pair of deep purple satin boxer shorts and a matching dressing gown.

"Your elf – Miksy – arrived at my place five minutes ago. She was shrieking something about you being hurt, rolling around on the floor." Pansy folded her arms across her chest; she was also wearing pyjamas and a robe, though hers were much less revealing. "I Floo'd Blaise and we rushed over here."

Draco gulped, guilt and embarrassment swirling in his chest. He stood shakily, and clutched one of the four wooden posts of his bed for support.

"I'm sorry." He attempted to sound nonchalant, but his voice was low and shaky.

"Draco," Pansy stepped forward and placed her hand on his forearm. Draco winced but did not pull away. "Tell us what happened."

Draco glanced briefly at Pansy and then at Blaise. The latter rolled his eyes and stomped out of the room, only to return a few moments later with a bottle of Firewhiskey and three crystal tumblers.

Draco took his drink silently, and sat on the edge of his bed. Pansy sat in front of him on the floor, and Blaise dragged the chair away from the window.

"I heard a sound, outside of my window," he began. "I thought it was someone from the Ministry – that someone had come to take me back to Azkaban."

Pansy sucked in a sharp breath. Blaise tutted.

"So you haven't spoken to Granger?" He accused. "I thought you were going to answer the question."

"I was!" Draco bit back, some of his usual fire returning. He glared at Blaise. Who is he to judge me? He thought. It was all well and good for the Italian wizard to berate him, but what consequence had he paid for the war? He'd hidden behind his name and blood status while at Hogwarts, and then fled the country as soon as the war broke out! Draco did not voice this, however. Instead, he ground his teeth together and tore his glare away from Blaise's face.

"Granger?" Pansy's face contorted into an expression halfway between confusion and disgust. "There's a name I haven't heard in a while. What's she got to do with this?"

"She's Draco's case manager."

"Oh, you poor thing!" Pansy gasped. Before he could respond, she had risen from the floor, her Firewhiskey forgotten, and walked over to Draco. She squeezed in between his legs before he had registered what was happening, and then wrapped her arms around his shoulders in what he assumed was meant to be a comforting hug.

He pressed his fingertips into the sides of her hips and pushed back gently.

"Thanks, Pans," he caught Blaise's eye and the brunette wizard smirked. Draco fought back a growl.

"You poor, poor man!" Pansy allowed herself to be moved out of Draco's arms, but stood in front of him with pity in her eyes.

Blaise snorted.

"She's not my case manager anymore," he admitted after a short pause.

"What happened?" Blaise demanded, his face more serious now. Pansy sighed in relief, but both men ignored her.

"I don't really know," Draco stalled, his hand finding the back of his neck; an obvious sign of guilt. "Last week this other broad was here, Morag someone. She told me Granger had been taken from the case. I told her I wouldn't answer that last question unless Granger came back – "

"You fool!" Blaise rose from his chair, his eyes dark. "Draco, this isn't a fucking game you can play like we're back in school! This is your life! Merlin's saggy balls…do you want to go back to Azkaban?"

"Fuck off, Blaise!" Draco stood too, his Firewhiskey slopping out of the glass and on to the floor. "I don't want my dirty laundry aired all over Britain, okay? I think my family's been through enough – deserved or not. I asked for Granger because I don't trust the rest of those Ministry menaces."

"But you trust Granger?" Pansy piped up and both men whipped around to face her, having forgotten she was there.

"I – " Draco stopped, a frown etched deep into his face. "I have my reasons for not distrusting her." He said finally. His tone dared them to press further, but his friends knew it would do no good.

"Fine," Blaise nodded and sat back down. "So what happened? Did Morag show today? Or Granger?"

"No," Draco shook his head and began to pace. "No one showed up today. Hence the panic I was in earlier," he waved a hand towards the floor. "I assumed that I was going to be sent back to Azkaban."

Pansy and Blaise shared a look that Draco did not see.

"I'll visit the Ministry on Monday."

Draco snapped his head up to meet Blaise's gaze.

"That won't be necessary."

"Like hell it isn't," Blaise snorted. "I'm going to find out what's going on."

"I'll just owl Granger in the morning," Draco frowned.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "And risk your message being intercepted? Draco, you're an intelligent guy – think! Something's obviously gone down in Granger's department. It's not worth the risk it poses to you and your mother."

Draco's eyes flashed, but he nodded in assent. It would not be worth going back to Azkaban should this mess turn out to be nothing more than a missed memo about sending him back to prison.

"I'll go and speak to Vivienne myself," Blaise allowed a slow smirk to grace his features. "I've never had a problem getting the Greengrass ladies to see my way."

Draco rolled his eyes and Pansy blanched. How he knew who was in charge of case management, Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know.

It was true, though, however unpleasant a thought; Blaise had managed to string Daphne along since their fourth year. He would date her, then dump her, and then come crawling back months later. She was always waiting. Draco almost pitied her, but figured if she was dumb enough to believe the shit that Blaise spouted then she probably deserved the heartbreak.

"Thank you," the blond inclined his head at his Italian friend. "I appreciate it." He was pleased to detect nothing more than a business-like tone in his voice. He was feeling much calmer now, thanks to his friends and the Firewhiskey.

"Right," Blaise slapped his thighs as he rose from the chair. "I'll be off then. I have some last minute business to attend to before bed time." He winked at Draco and strode from the room, sparing Pansy a quick side-ways glance before disappearing down the hall.

"You'd better be off to, Pansy." Draco cleared his throat.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" She reached a hand towards him and Draco froze. He wished she wouldn't be so familiar with him, even if they had been friends since first year.

"I'll be fine, thank you."

"I could stay, if you – "

"No," Draco said firmly. Pansy's eyes flickered with hurt, but she schooled her features quickly. Feeling slightly guilty, the blond sighed. "No, thanks," he amended. "I'm really tired now, I think I'll just flop in to bed and pass out."

Pansy offered him a bright smile, and relief flooded him as she bought his attempt at nonchalance.

"Okay," she bit her bottom lip in what was meant to be a seductive way. Draco swallowed thickly against the bile which had risen into his throat.

"Goodnight, Pansy." He nodded once, his hands behind his back.

"Goodnight, Draco." Despite his best efforts at remaining aloof, Pansy stepped forward and reached up on her tiptoes to lightly kiss his cheek.

As she turned and sauntered out of the room, offering him a wink over her right shoulder, Draco released a long, slow breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Merlin help me," he hissed through his teeth as he flopped backwards on to his bed.

It wasn't as if he didn't like Pansy. She had been a good friend when he'd needed one in Hogwarts. She was loyal, and knew which part to play and when. Like when he'd fake being hurt, and she'd fawn over him like a little mother hen. Or when he was fifteen and the hormones had taken over; she had tried anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, with an open mind. Or when he was sixteen and riddled with angst over the task Voldemort had set him; she'd been the perfect pureblood girlfriend – hardly present, and silent when she was.

Draco sighed as he stared up at the deep green canopy of his four-poster, his arms behind his head. He had never liked Pansy more than a friend, though. Even when they dated briefly at Hogwarts, it was more a case of convenience than anything else. She'd wanted the label, and he'd wanted the benefits of having a warm body whenever he felt like it. He cringed at that thought; his younger self was much more of a douche than he'd care to remember.

Vivienne Weasley often started her day with a long black. No sugar, because as she'd tell the barista each morning "I'm sweet enough!" They never laughed. She always did.

On this particular morning, however, the young man standing in her office was not her usual taste of Italy.

"Can I help you?" She sniffed as she entered.

He turned slowly, a toothy smile effortlessly carved into his chiselled face. She swallowed thickly.

"Zabini?" She squinted slightly, as if to appraise him better. "Blaise Zabini?"

"The one and only." He lifted his arms to the side, and his smile stretched impossibly.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Her voice was breathy as she took her seat behind the desk.

Daphne hadn't been wrong, she mused; he was really fit!

"I'm here to talk to you about my good friend Draco Malfoy." Blaise's smile never faltered, and she could see each individual tooth even as he spoke.

She arranged her face into a simper. "Poor Draco," she tutted. "So unfair, what happened to him."

"I'm glad you agree." His smile seemed tighter now, and Vivienne braced herself.

"Is there something you need from me?" She asked slowly. "Something I can do to help Draco?"

Blaise nodded. "There is," his smile was almost gone now, his tone serious. "I need you to reinstate Hermione Granger as Draco's case manager."

Vivienne would have laughed. Under any other circumstance, she would have found his request comical; but she knew Blaise Zabini. Well, of him, anyway. She had spent many weekends and holidays with her cousins, Daphne and Astoria, and Daphne had told her all about the dark, handsome wizard who held her heart – and often crushed it. Vivienne knew he was a wizard not to be messed with, not in the bedroom, and not in the boardroom.

She knew he'd run off to Milan during the war, and started his consulting business soon after it had ended. He worked with wizards and muggles, and he actually had a bit to do with the Ministry, though not many of the higher-ups knew the name behind the logo of Z-Consulting.

The blonde witch chewed on her lower lip, hyper-aware of the deep brown eyes boring holes into her forehead.

"I'm not entirely sure that's within my power, Mister Zabini." She said softly, bringing her gaze up to meet his. He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm not entirely sure I believe that," he said easily. He seemed almost bored. Vivienne bit the inside of her cheek.

"Mister Dewsong has the final say on the matter," her tone hardened somewhat, and she squared her shoulders. "During our meeting last week, he was completely against reinstating Granger."

Hiding behind Dewsong was familiar territory for Vivienne; despite having climbed the corporate ladder quite quickly given her age and experience, she had never really been interested in the actual work side of her job; only the power it gave her over people like Hermione.

"Come on," Blaise's voice was low and seductive as he leant forward, resting his arms on her desk. "We both know Dewsong is just a puppet for your father."

Vivienne gulped. He really was very charming.

"My father doesn't get to decide who is employed here." She shot back.

"That's a lie."

Vivienne quirked an eyebrow. "That's a strong accusation."

"I don't think so," Blaise leant back again. He was silent for a few long seconds, his dark eyes appraising her. Vivienne refused to look away, her eyes narrowed. "I think you could have Hermione Granger back on the case as soon as you click those well-manicured fingers of yours." He nodded infinitesimally towards her hands.

Vivienne slid them from the desk and into her lap.

"You overestimate my power, Mister Zabini."

Blaise chortled. "Please, call me Blaise; the Zabinis and Greengrasses have a long history. One that should be respected, don't you agree?"

Vivienne felt her face flush, though with anger instead of embarrassment. He was too clever for his own good.

"I'm unaware of any allegiance the Greengrasses formed with the Zabinis," she replied coolly. "Unless you're referring to your dalliance with my cousin?"

"Perhaps," he smirked. "But I was actually talking about the large sum of money Z-Consulting paid to your uncle two years ago. I helped him avoid bankruptcy, not to mention a Ministry investigation into his…possessions." He paused for effect. "If you get my drift." He threw her a lewd wink and Vivienne sat back in her chair.

"You're lying," she whispered. "You're just saying that to get what you want."

"I admit, I'm not above blackmail," he shrugged. "Though I do try to use actual facts; it can get a bit messy when it comes time to deal consequences, if I've lied about information."

"What is the consequence?" Vivienne licked her lips. "If I refuse your request, what exactly are you threatening to do to my uncle?"

Blaise grinned, and then dropped his gaze to admire his finger nails. "I'll ruin him," he said in a tone one might use to comment on the weather.

"How?"

"Your uncle is paying back the loan, in very small, almost worthless, amounts. There is no contract, except for the one he signed to say he would pay me back in full. I don't believe in due dates; not when there's money involved," he grinned again. "If you don't do as I've asked, I'll ensure your uncle is locked up and your cousins destitute before the end of the month."

"You'd do that to Daphne?"

"What do I care about Daphne?"

"You evil son of a bitch!"

"Ah, Vivienne. I knew you'd get me." He offered her another seductive grin, though his tone was impatient.

She glared at him from across the desk, her hands balled into fists in her lap. How her cousin had ended up pining over this manipulative prat for the better part of a decade, she would never understand.

"Fine," she bit out. "I'll have Granger reinstated."

"Excellent!" He rose from the chair and clapped his hands together once. Vivienne scowled, but stood to bid him goodbye. "Lovely doing business with you," he offered her his hand, and she took it reluctantly. He squeezed once, and then dropped her hand.

"Goodbye, Zabini." She waved from her desk, her tone sarcastic.

"Ciao, Greengrass," he returned the gesture over his shoulder. "Oh, wait." He pivoted and fixed her with a cold gaze. "It's Weasley now, isn't it?"

Vivienne fought the snarl that threatened to rip from her throat. Blaise inclined his head in lieu of a salutation, and then he was gone.