Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

Thanks goes to Littlered1992 as always - she is an amazing human being and an even more amazing beta. Thank you!

Also, shout out to Mhcalamas who has reviewed almost every single story and chapter I've ever written!

Much love to all of my favouriters and followers and reviewers xx

"You're going to wear a hole in my carpet," Harry joked. Hermione scowled at him in response but did not break her stride.

"This isn't funny, Harry," she seethed. "An innocent man was left without proper care for a fortnight due to that bimbo's negligence!"

Harry made a face. "Bit of a stretch, isn't it? 'Innocent man'…" he trailed off as Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously and she came to stop in front of his desk.

"In your opinion," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

Harry felt the fight go out of him; there was no point in arguing with a wound up Hermione.

"Did you see Vivienne after you returned from the Manor?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Of course I did," she spat. "I was so angry, Harry; I don't think I've ever been that angry."

Her hands had started to shake at the memory and she clasped them behind her back as she continued to pace.

"What was her excuse?"

"She didn't give me one; just a bold face lie – that Malfoy had been seen by a case worker. As if I hadn't double checked the file after he'd made the claim." She made a noise of derision through her nose.

"That's it?"

"No," Hermione grinned. "I threatened her job."

"You what?" Harry was going for cool intrigue, but the smile on his face gave away his mirth.

"Malfoy missing his case worker meetings because the Ministry failed to provide a case worker flies in the face of at least five different policies; three of which were drawn up specifically for the Malfoy case after Draco was released."

Harry's smile slipped at the mention of the blond's first name, but Hermione didn't seem to have noticed that she'd said it.

"So why not turn her in? At least then you'd be rid of her."

Hermione made a face. "As tempting as that is, I'd probably also lose the case…again. Plus, the Wizengamot would likely throw Draco back in Azkaban, and all my work will be for nought."

Harry blinked at the mention of his name again. Before he could query Hermione, she continued.

"I figure that slowly torturing Vivienne would be much more fun anyway. This whole thing has me wanting revenge with every fibre of my being."

"Revenge, you say?" He arched an eyebrow. "How very Slytherin of you."

Hermione grimaced. Slytherin? What a terrible thought.

She placed her hands flat on Harry's desk and loomed over him. He leaned back slightly so that he could still look her in the eyes.

"What were you thinking?" He frowned.

"Nothing that I wasn't already planning," Hermione replied innocently. "Now it will be that much sweeter when I make the impossible possible."

The witch stood up straight and resumed her pacing.

"Which is…?" Harry prompted.

Hermione stopped in her tracks and exhaled slowly. She turned back to face him, her expression now apprehensive but also determined. Harry winced; he knew that look too well.

She was walking a fine line, having this conversation with Harry. Hermione knew where Harry stood on this matter; they had had many rows over it. Unfortunately for Hermione, while she knew Harry would not meet her request with positive enthusiasm, he was also her only hope.

"I need you to understand this Harry." Her eyes were glassy and bore in to his as she spoke. "I know that you don't really get why I took the Malfoy case in the first place, but please, try to wrap your head around the fact that I need to finish what I started."

Hermione moved back towards him and came to rest in the centre of the room. Harry sighed and slowly removed the round spectacles from his face. He ran a scarred hand across his mouth, and Hermione noticed for the first time the puffiness of his eyes. He raised his head slowly, and met her gaze.

"You're right, Hermione," he said softly. "I've never understood why you'd risk anything for Malfoy, let alone your own happiness." His eyes had hardened into an accusatory glare.

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together and she opened her mouth to defend herself, but Harry held up his hand. She snapped her jaw closed, though the frown was still etched on her face.

"Whatever your reasons, while I may not understand them," he continued, "I do respect them. So," his face had softened and Hermione felt her heart leap in her chest, "I will do what I can to help you."

Hermione couldn't help but grin as relief settled like a stone in her stomach.

"Oh, thank you Harry!" She squealed. "Thank you!"

"On one condition," he ducked his head slightly so that he was looking at her from over the rim of his glasses. Hermione gulped, but nodded, her grin fading fast. "I'm not getting involved – I won't speak at a trial, I will not be giving a statement, and I flat out refuse to ever being in the same room as any of them." His mouth settled into a hard line, a rare instance when Harry Potter resembled their old Transfiguration teacher. Hermione knew it would do her no good to argue.

"I accept your terms," she said quickly. "I promise you won't need to go before the Wizengamot, or sign anything, or ever lay your eyes on the Malfoys," Harry bowed his head in thanks. "But I do need you to talk to Dewsong." Harry's head snapped up again and Hermione flinched at the look on his face.

"Dustin Dewsong?" He snapped. "Why?"

"Because," Hermione huffed and threw herself into a chair. "He hates me."

Harry rolled his eyes. It was okay for him, Hermione thought; he didn't have to answer to the money-hungry git on a daily basis.

Hermione had never suffered fools easily; she'd prided herself on this even when she was a child. Dustin Dewsong might have wormed his way up the slippery corporate ladder, but he was one of the biggest fools Hermione had ever had the misfortune of meeting. When she had to deal with him face to face, she was often reminded of the troll she, Harry, and Ron had met in their first year at Hogwarts.

"And what do you need me to say?" Reluctantly, he reached for a blank piece of parchment and his quill.

"I need you to convince him that I need to visit Narcissa Malfoy."

Harry's hand paused over the top of the parchment. He gripped his quill tighter in his fingers and pursed his lips. Hermione could practically hear his brain working.

"Is there any point in me asking why?" He finally asked, his tone clipped.

Hermione hesitated. She really did want to tell Harry about the case she was currently working on; she knew that Harry would have good insight into how best to go about realising her goal. But those same opinions were a source of tension between her and the emerald-eyed wizard, and while she valued his input probably more than anyone else's, she wasn't ready to have that fight.

"No," she replied slowly.

Harry sighed. "Have you spoken to Vivienne about the visit?"

"No," Hermione scoffed. "I've screamed at her twice in the past week; she'd sooner grant me a million-Galleon raise than allow me to pursue this case."

Hermione indicated Harry's hand that still held the quill, poised above the blank parchment.

"I don't know why you think he'll listen to me," he grumbled as he signed his name.

Hermione snorted. "You're Harry Potter," she said. "Think of Dewsong like Slughorn, only sleazier and way more willing to break the law." Harry raised his eyebrows and Hermione nodded. "He'll listen to you because he'll want to be kept in your good books. Also, he's a total misogynistic pig, and if it's one thing Vivienne doesn't have, it's a male appendage."

"A dick?" Harry smirked, clearly pleased with his crude attempt at humour.

"No, she's got one of them," Hermione quipped. "His name is Ronald."

Harry spluttered as Hermione smirked at him from across the desk. She stood slowly and regarded her friend, who was still caught between mirth and shock.

"Thanks Harry," she said, suddenly serious. "I mean it; I really appreciate you doing this for me."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry waved a hand dismissively. His actions suggested annoyance, but his tone was kind. "Just remember I'm doing this for you, Hermione; not them."

Hermione nodded once and bid him goodbye.

Draco had thought of little else but his brunette case manager since her last visit the previous week.

At first, he told himself that it was because he still hadn't asked her to help him with his mother's case. No letters had come from Narcissa or Lucius, despite Draco writing almost every second day. He could not be sure his letters were reaching the remote island, but this thought did little to assuage his fears. The growing sense of dread had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach.

But when he caught himself thinking about the way Hermione's face would scrunch in concentration as she took notes during their meeting, and how she often tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear, he blamed his house arrest. Being cooped up without anyone for company – unless you counted the elves, which he didn't – even in such a large house such as his, it was bound to happen. It was normal, he reasoned, to fixate on the one regular source of communication, which just happened to be Hermione Granger.

That's all it was. And he'd believed it…until, that is, he stupidly compared his case manager with Pansy Parkinson.

If he wanted female company, it would have been all too easy. Pansy would leap at the chance to spend a night or two warming his bed sheets; and yet, the thought of contacting Pansy made him feel physically ill. Besides, she didn't smell as good as Granger, wasn't as smart, and was definitely nowhere near as pretty…

It was at the end of this train of thought Draco had realised Blaise may not have been grasping at straws when he had given his warning.

By the time Friday arrived, Draco had resigned himself to the fact he was mildly attracted to Granger, but was also of the firm opinion that it was entirely her fault. This had to be a case of Stockholm syndrome, or something like it. He'd done some reading about psychotic infatuation, though he wouldn't admit his feelings ran that deep for the witch, and stumbled across the term.

It was definitely her fault. She was essentially holding him as her prisoner, and now thanks to her manipulative nature, he was under her spell.

Unsurprisingly, he was very cross about it.

He refused to wait at the door as he had done last week, and instead sat with a bored expression in the sitting room. The lights were once again on, though he assured himself this was for his convenience, not hers; his plan was to look for every flaw in her features and demeanour, with the goal of reminding himself that she was nothing more than an evil hussy.

Except…when Hermione trotted into the sitting room at exactly 9am, she didn't look like an evil hussy.

Her hair was down; fluttering around her shoulders like a larger-than-life halo and her face was flushed with exertion. Her eyes danced and she smiled easily as her gaze fell on him.

"Good morning," she greeted him as she made her way to her seat.

He nodded in response.

She stopped momentarily to regard him, a small frown gracing her features before she sat.

"How are you, Mister Malfoy?"

"Fine," he bit out.

Hermione ignored his tone. "Let's begin, shall we?"

"As if I have a choice…" he muttered under his breath.

If she heard him, Hermione didn't let on.

"Any visitors this week?" Her tone was still cheery, but her eyes had turned cold.

"No."

"Definitely no Pansy?"

"I said no, Granger. Surely one syllabic words aren't too difficult for you to understand."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I only ask because it's imperative to your case that we keep any romantic relationships a secret."

"Trust me Granger," Draco spoke in a monotone. "If I was dating Pansy, it would be a bloody secret. I wouldn't want anyone to know." He made a face but Hermione's eyes narrowed as if trying to detect him in a lie.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, woman!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I'm not dating Pansy. Anyone would think you'd developed a crush, Granger, the way you carry on."

His heart was beating a staccato in his chest and every fibre of his being was screaming at him to stop talking; with the amount of time he had spent thinking about the witch this week, this was a dangerous path to walk.

"I mean," he continued despite the voice in his head screaming at him to stop, "I know I'm handsome, but surely the Brightest Witch of Our Age must know when she's barking up the wrong tree!"

Hermione felt her cheeks heat. What a ludicrous thing to say!

Draco knew that he was being unfair. As if someone like Hermione Granger would ever be interested in him. Half of him felt guilty; the other, unfortunately stronger half, felt anger at this realisation.

"Weasley still married to your boss?" He quipped.

"Excuse me?"

He revelled in the blush that darkened her cheek bones. So she should be embarrassed; serves her right for being all holier-than-thou around him.

"Don't you think it's time you let him go?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Granger ground her teeth together, her chagrin quickly turning to anger.

"Don't I?" Draco leaned back in his chair and shot her a smirk.

Though he looked relaxed, Hermione detected an underlying simmer of rage; but why he was so stroppy, she could not place.

"No. So drop it."

"Why?" He countered. "You seem to have taken a personal interest in my love life," he looked her up and down as if sizing her up. "It's only fair that I should return the favour." He emphasised the word 'favour' as if it were something deliciously forbidden.

Hermione felt a shiver run up her spine. She realised, probably too late if the smirk on Malfoy's face was anything to go by, that her jaw had dropped. She hastened to snap it shut.

"I do not have a personal interest in your love life," she hissed between gritted teeth. "In case you've forgotten, it is my job to know the company you keep so that I can keep you out of Azkaban. I apologise if that's inconvenient to you."

"Not at all, Granger." He drawled. "Just highly unfair, don't you think?" He arched an eyebrow and attempted a pout that came off as more of a satirical simper.

"No, I don't." She cleared her throat. "I'd like to get back to business, if you don't mind."

She hurried on as Malfoy opened his mouth as if he were about to insist that their wayward conversation was business.

"Actual business," she amended. "The kind I'm paid to do."

Her words hit him like a bucket of ice. He had often thought of Hermione Granger as a bit of an ice queen, though more in the sense that she'd be the type of girl who would make a guy wait for it. The type of frigid prude who relished in the idea of keeping a man waiting by dangling sex like a carrot in front of him; all talk and no walk.

To him, Granger's public side had always been warm; fiery, even. He could recount any of their interactions, and in not one of them had she been as cold and as cut off as she appeared now.

And that angered him like nothing else.

"Of course," he bit out.

His tone was venomous and his face fell into a sneer worthy of his fifteen year old self.

Hermione recoiled as his eyes flashed. What in the world…

"You're here because you're paid to be. Tell me, Granger, what percentage of my Gringotts vault have you taken for yourself? I'll bet the Wizengamot would have agreed to just about any sum, if it meant keeping the Golden Girl happy."

As the words left his mouth, Draco instantly regretted them. Though, as he rationalised with himself later, at least they seemed to have melted the icy façade.

"How – how dare you!" Hermione rose from her seat and dropped her parchment into it. "I would never – why you'd think that – what am I saying?" She ran a hand through her hair, eyes darting around the room. "Of course you'd think that."

She began to pace.

"As if you could ever believe that someone would do something for you just because it was the right thing to do." She rounded on him. "You know what, Malfoy?"

Hermione stepped slowly forwards until she stood in front of him, the toes of her sensible work heels brushing the foot of the arm chair.

Draco didn't have time to realise that she was effectively standing between his legs, and that the way she stood over him gave him the opportunity to admire her cleavage. Hermione Granger wasn't a witch you perved on, at least not when she was angry and spewing truths you didn't want to hear.

He concentrated on her face and worked to keep his impassive.

"I feel sorry for you," she whispered, her gaze locked on his. "You've never had anyone – not one person – stand up for you because they actually believe in you, or like you. Your parents threw you to the wolves to protect themselves; even your own mother couldn't save you, or wouldn't, I guess that's a possi- "

"Don't!" He stood quickly, his movement causing the brunette witch to stumble backwards.

He chased her, until their chests were almost touching. She had to look up at him now, and this change in the distribution of power seemed to snap Hermione out of her tirade. Her eyes were wide and her mouth parted, and had she not insulted his parents, he might have forgotten why he was pressed against her, chest heaving with emotion.

"My mother loves me," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "And I don't need you to know that."

"Mister Malfoy, I –"

"Save it, Granger." He spat. "I don't care that you don't understand my family; I don't want you to. And at least," he took a step back, seemingly collecting himself. "I have a family…"

He let the implication hang in the air and watched as what remained in Granger's lungs left her in one harsh exhale. She slumped back into the armchair she had vacated moments ago, crushing her notes beneath her.

He could not deny that some part of him enjoyed the fact that he had cracked the Gryffindor witch, even if the rest of him felt like a right bastard.

"How do you even know that?" She whispered.

Granger stared down at her lap as she used the back of her hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"I – " Shit. He hadn't meant to make her cry.

What did you think was going to happen, you arse?

He sighed and tried again, hoping his voice wouldn't crack.

"I read about it," he said as he returned to his seat, hands in his trouser pockets. "I had all of the Daily Prophets from the past five years delivered straight after my release. I wanted to know what I'd missed…"

Hermione sniffed. Of course he had.

"Right," she cleared her throat and slowly raised her head. Her cheeks were tear stained and her eyes red rimmed, but she seemed more determined than ever. "Do you think you've had enough of this game?" She asked. "Or would you like to torture me some more?"

"I didn't – "

She snorted.

"Oh please," she said. She tugged at the parchment beneath her and smoothed it out over her knees. "Now," she picked up a quill. "Where were we?

Draco watched, the guilt slowly mounting, as he answered Granger's questions. He attempted an apologetic tone as he spoke, but even to his own ears he just came across as squeaky.

"Right then," Hermione stood and began to gather her things. "That's it for today." Her tone was monotonous, as it had been throughout the duration of questioning.

Draco Malfoy had effectively put out her fiery spark.

Today couldn't possibly get any worse.

She sighed as she entered her office, slumping against the closed door and breathing deeply.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Gods were intent on proving that today could indeed get worse.

A memo in the shape of a heart lay in the middle of her desk, the garishly pink parchment reminding Hermione for one terrible moment of Dolores Umbridge. She swallowed thickly as she advanced towards her desk and picked up the note gingerly between two fingers.

Hermione,

Please come to see me in my office as soon as you return from Malfoy Manor. I have urgent business to discuss with you.

Vivienne Weasley

Hermione groaned, a long, low sound that became increasingly animalistic as it went on.

Hermione marched, impatience rolling off her in waves, down the corridor towards Vivienne's office. Without knocking, she forced open the door, ready to face whatever Vivienne wanted to throw at her this time.

She was greeted with an eyeful of Vivienne's cleavage as it bounced in Ron's large hands. He had her leaning backwards over her desk, his groin rubbing furiously against hers. His Auror robes had been flung over the back of one of the visitor chairs, and her skirt was hitched around her thighs. The pale pink jacket hung loosely from her shoulders, and the white blouse was completely unbuttoned. They looked up as the door swung open, revealing a shocked Hermione.

"I'm so sorry!" She squeaked, and fled to her own office.

Breathing heavily, she slammed her door shut and waved her wand towards it, successfully locking it from anyone who would want to disturb her.

She dropped her files unceremoniously on to her desk and slumped in her seat. Dropping her head into her hands, she began to sob. Despite what everyone thought, she really was over Ron; she had been the same day he'd run out on their wedding and married Vivienne instead. But she wasn't over the loss of one of her best friends and a future that was no longer possible. Finally, she allowed herself to mourn as tears poured from her eyes and splashed down the front of her robes.

She sobbed until the tears dried up and her shoulders ached. Wiping her eyes, she forced herself up, supporting her weight against her desk. She began rearranging her desk, stacking papers and sorting quills into parallel lines.

As she was finishing, there came a knock at the door, and she waved her wand to unlock it.

"Come in," she called and positioned herself in her chair.

"Uh…Hermione? Can we talk?"

Her stomach dropped as Ron appeared around the door.

"Sure, Ronald. What do you want?" she crossed her arms against her chest; a defence mechanism.

"I'm sorry…for what you saw back there," he shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. Hermione noted that the tips of his ears were red, and she felt a savage pleasure ripple through her chest.

"I should have knocked." Hermione waved her hand dismissively.

"Well, I'm sorry anyway." Ron looked at his toes.

"Apology accepted," she said stiffly.

"Would you like to get some lunch?" Ron glanced at her for the first time, his blue eyes locking on to hers. Her voice caught in her throat and she coughed determinedly.

"No, thank you." She tilted her chin up, "I am very busy at the moment."

"Oh," Ron looked down at the mess that was her floor. "Maybe another time?"

Hermione gave him a tight smile. "I don't think so."

Ron sighed. "I said I was sorry," he muttered.

"And I said that I accept your apology."

"Then go to lunch with me." His voice held a familiar whine which Hermione recognised as the tone he had adopted during the latter stages of their relationship; apparently, it got him what he wanted with most other women. Unfortunately for him, Hermione wasn't anything like most women.

"No."

"Why not?"

She stood suddenly, her palms splayed on the desk in front of her as she leant over it. Though she was a good foot shorter than Ron, and had to look up into his face to seethe at him, he took a step backwards as he met her gaze.

"You broke my heart, Ron! You broke my heart and now you think you can waltz in here and ask me out to lunch? You're an arse, Ronald Weasley, and I want nothing to do with you. Get out!" She growled the last two words, her face hot but her eyes blessedly dry.

Ron looked bewildered, but didn't need telling twice. He hurried from her office and she slammed the door behind him. Breathing heavily, she bent to continue cleaning her office floor.