Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

Thanks to my alpha/beta Littlered1992 as usual! :D

Enjoy my little cliffhanger *cackles evilly* xx

Hermione visited the Ministry the following morning, arriving early and making her way to the underground archives. At this hour, the place was deserted, which meant that it was the perfect time to snoop around. Hermione reached the bolted door and held up her Ministry identification card to the magical scanner. She was not expecting it to be valid, so she jumped back in surprise when the light glowed green and the doors slid open; obviously Dewsong had forgotten to cancel it.

Hermione quietly slipped past the doors which shut with a clang behind her. For a fraction of a second, the room was pitch black, but then hundreds of candles burst into life, throwing the rows of doors on either side of the corridor into sharp relief. Hermione began to walk, her shoes clicking softly on the stone floor. At the end of the corridor she stepped into the elevator and pressed the golden '3', tapping her foot impatiently as the doors closed.

Landing on the third floor of the archives, Hermione exited the elevator and began her journey down an identical corridor to the first. This time, when the doors were lit by overhead candles, numbers appeared on them. She located number four to her right almost instantly, and made her way over to it.

She had never needed to open one of the archive doors before, so she was unsure how to go about it. Hermione reached for her identification again and held it up to the door. The door did not respond. She tried again with her palm, and with her wand to no avail. Feeling nostalgic, she even attempted Alohomora, but she was not surprised when that one didn't work.

"Hermione?"

She jumped at the sound of a familiar voice. The tall figure of a black-haired wizard was making its way towards her.

"Harry?"

"What on earth are you doing down here?"

"I – "

"Come with me." Harry stopped beside her, his gaze fixed on the door. "Now."

He turned and strode back down the corridor towards the elevators. Hermione wanted to argue, but she knew by the tone of his voice that it would do her no good. She sighed emphatically and stomped after him, stowing her identification in her jeans pocket.

The elevator ride and subsequent ascent was silent. Hermione seethed silently as she stared at the back of his head; Harry's hair still stuck out in all directions as it had done when they were children. Finally, they reached Harry's floor and Hermione followed him into the Auror's corridor.

Harry smiled easily as he moved through the space, greeting his colleagues as if nothing more was happening than a friend visiting him at work. He offered one last wave at a squat wizard with teal-coloured hair before he ushered Hermione into his office and closed the door. His calm manner disappeared as soon as it had clicked shut.

"What the actual fuck were you thinking, Hermione?" He rounded on her. "What were you doing in the underground archives?"

"I'm here on confidential business," she folded her arms across her chest. "I need access to that vault."

"Do you have any idea what that vault contains?" Harry hissed.

"Of course I do."

Harry paused as her words sank in. "Of course you do," he echoed.

"Harry, now is not the time to be having this argument." Hermione moved towards the door. "I really need to get back down there. I promise I'll come and see you the second I'm – "

"You're not going back down there." Harry shook his head and moved to stand behind his desk. "It will be heavily guarded now, and I forbid it. Give me your identification card."

"What? No!" Hermione's eyes widened. "I need to get into that vault!"

"You're no longer a Ministry employee," Harry warned. "Your identification should have been cancelled."

"I just need it for a little bit longer." Hermione sounded pathetic to her own ears.

"This is about Malfoy, isn't it?" Hermione remained silent. "Ron told me about Azkaban." His eyes flashed accusingly and Hermine felt fire bubble in her chest.

"He deserved what he got," she spat. "And if you think otherwise, then perhaps you should reconsider our friendship."

Harry looked like she had slapped him. "Hermione," he began, "this isn't about Ron; you stunned an Auror. That's a criminal offence! Not to mention he's married to the Head of Case Management; have you no concern for your own wellbeing?"

"Did he tell Vivienne?" Hermione asked. She knew the consequences would not be pleasant if he had, but part of her still hoped he had run home to cry about it.

"No," Harry answered. "But that isn't my point!"

"He was in the way," Hermione snapped.

"Of what?"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione shook her head.

Harry appraised her and had she not known how terrible he was at legilimency, Hermione would have sworn he was looking inside her mind.

"You saw Narcissa again."

"She's dying, Harry." Hermione saw a flash of regret glow briefly behind his glasses.

"Why," Harry slumped in his chair, "do I get the feeling that this has more to do with your feelings for Malfoy than concern for his mother?"

Hermione felt her cheeks heat and she took a step forward, hands on her hips. "How dare you," she seethed. "I care very much about Narcissa's wellbeing, and I have worked for years to free both her and Draco from Azkaban!"

"You have always been one to save those you deemed worthy of saving, Hermione," Harry said quietly. "Your hero complex is second only to my own. I'm not questioning your morals." He rose from his chair and leant forward, his palms resting on the top of his desk so that he could look at her in the eye. "I've been your best friend for over a decade," he continued. "I know that look; you're falling for him."

"I'm not falling for anyone!" Hermione replied hotly, though as the words left her mouth she registered the falseness on her tongue. She pushed the thought aside before it could fully form.

"What I don't understand is how someone as sensible as you fell for a cold-hearted prick like Draco Malfoy." Harry began to pace, his movements becoming more agitated as he spoke. "You do remember who he is, right?" Harry pivoted as he reached the far end of his office and adopted a dry, sarcastic tone. "Stupid pointed face like a rat, personality of a blast-ended-skrewt...actually I think I'd prefer to dine with the skrewt..." he trailed off, but the implication of what he was thinking hung in the air.

"I know perfectly well who Draco Malfoy was, thank you Harry," Hermione sniffed, her own voice laced with heavy sarcasm. "However, if you would take a moment to climb down from your high hippogriff, you would realise that he isn't the same person anymore! None of us are!" She glanced around the room, as if to point out the crowd of a thousand people, though they were alone.

Harry made a noise of dissent through his nostrils. "Give me a break, Hermione," he scoffed. "It's written all over your face; you like him."

"Not like that I don't!" Hermione replied shrilly.

"Then why are you fighting so hard for him? For his family?"

"Because Draco and Narcissa don't deserve that fate."

"Draco and Narcissa? Merlin's saggy Y-fronts, Hermione, do you even hear yourself?"

"You are completely blinded by the eleven-year-old in you, who met another eleven-year-old boy who had been raised in a completely different way!" Harry tried to interrupt, but Hermione barrelled on. "Don't you see?" Her tone was pleading now. "Don't you see how similar you both are?"

"Hold it right there!" Harry was growling now, a finger pointed accusingly at Hermione. "I am nothing like that slimy snake, and I would have thought you of all people would see that!"

Hermione stomped her foot, exasperation getting the better of her. "Think about it for just one second!" She pleaded, her voice high and loud. "He was raised to believe that he was superior to everyone, not only for being a wizard, but for being a pureblood and a Malfoy!"

"He was - and still is - the biggest dick I've ever had the misfortune to meet!" Harry retaliated. "Have you also forgotten that he was the twelve-year-old who relished in the idea of you being killed by the fucking basilisk? He literally said, 'I hope it's Granger.'" Harry opened his arms again, palms facing out in a stance that clearly said 'see?'

"He was a child. We all were!"

"And let's not forget fifteen-year-old Malfoy, taking up a position next to Umbridge like he was the next Dark Lord himself!" Harry continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And sixth year - at sixteen years old your precious Draco led a cohort of Death Eaters into Hogwarts; an act!"

"He had no choice on which side of the war he fought on, and if you would just take your head out of your own arse for five seconds, you'd be able to see that!" Hermione licked her lips, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She was unsure if they were from hurt or frustration. "He didn't kill Dumbledore! He couldn't do it - you said so yourself! He lowered his wand."

"Only because he was a coward!" Harry roared. "A coward who didn't make a fucking decision! See Hermione, can't you see? Not making a choice is just as bad as making the wrong one!"

"He didn't have a choice!" She screamed back, tears now running freely down her face. "He was a child, just like you! He was just born in to the wrong side. You were the Chosen One; The Boy Who Lived...you had no choice either, Harry!"

"Except me not making a choice would mean that HE WOULD HAVE BEEN ON THE WINNING SIDE!" Hermione hiccupped, but narrowed her eyes at Harry. "How do you think you'd go with Malfoy if he had have come out on top? Do you think you'd have found him after all this time and canoodled up with him? Do you think Voldemort would have spared you as a gift for dear old Draco? Would Lucius Malfoy welcome you with open arms in to his fucking drawing room? A nice family reunion with Bellatrix under the chandelier."

Harry's eyes flashed first with unbridled anger, and then instant regret. He knew he had gone too far.

"Hermione, I - "

Hermione held up a hand to stop him as he took a step towards her. The tears were still leaking steadily from her eyes, but she now felt more in control of her emotions.

"Save it, Harry." She whispered. As she opened her mouth, tears ran in and she tasted salt on her tongue.

"What is going on in here?" The door to Harry's door opened and they both looked around to see Ginny.

"Nothing," Hermione shook her head and began to side step towards the door. "I was just leaving."

"Hey," Ginny caught her by the shoulders as she was making her exit. "What happened?" She glanced up at her husband, who was staring at the back of Hermione's head like he'd only just realised she was in the room.

Hermione pulled herself from Ginny's grip. "Nothing," she sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "I'll see you around, Gin."

Draco had been moping around the Manor ever since his argument with Granger, and Blaise had just about reached his limit with the brooding blond.

"Just call her," he said as he lounged on the sitting room couch.

Draco glared at him from his position in an armchair. "I'm not upset about Granger."

Blaise made a sound of derision through his nose. "Mate, I know you're upset about your mother, but you can't deny that you feel something more than friendship towards Granger."

Draco screwed up his face. "Yes, I can. Because I don't."

Blaise sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "She's doing the best she can, you know. It would be the least you can do to extend the olive branch."

"I know," Draco bit out.

He was aware of Granger's hard work; he had had a front row seat for the past few months. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for all she had done – he was. But that didn't mean he wanted to talk to her, and he certainly wasn't missing the brunette witch…

Blaise shifted in his seat and Draco watched him from the corner of his eye. When he was upright, the Italian wizard licked his lips and dipped his head so that he could make eye contact. "Mark my words, Malfoy," Draco jumped a little at the use of his last name; they only ever used surnames during banter, "if that witch walks through this door before you've made amends, whatever chance you have with her will be gone forever. Do the right thing."

He stood as Draco spluttered incoherently. "I don't – that's – not even what – who are you?"

"She deserves…" Blaise trailed off as Draco sat bolt upright, his head whipping round to face the front of the house.

"The wards," he explained. "I think she's here."

Blaise swore under his breath. "Of course," he muttered sarcastically. "Don't say I didn't try to warn you."

Draco glared at his friend as he rose to look him in the eye. "When did you say you were going back to Italy?"

Blaise sneered, but retreated from the room as Draco moved quickly in the direction of the front door. He pulled on the handle just as Hermione arrived on the other side. Without so much as a greeting she rushed inside, shouldering past him and continuing in to the house.

"Zabini?" She called as she stopped in the foyer. "Are you here?"

"How lovely to see you too, Granger. Do come in." Draco deadpanned, coming to stand behind her. "Would you care for some tea? Blaise? Yes, he's just – "

"You called, Granger?" Blaise appeared on the staircase which led to the upper floors.

"I need to speak with you."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Hermione glanced briefly over her shoulder. "In private."

Draco's teeth ground audibly together, but neither Blaise nor Hermione paid him any attention. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room. Blaise descended the last few stairs and came to stand in front of Hermione, his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Not that I'm not delighted to see you," he murmured, "but I think it would be best if you talk to Draco first. He's been absolutely unbearable the past few days; he could use some good news."

"I don't have any," Hermione held her hand up to silence him. "I went to the Ministry, but Harry caught me before I could open the door."

Blaise snapped his mouth shut and exhaled heavily through his nostrils. "And he wouldn't help you?"

"He accused me of having romantic feelings for Draco and threw our past in my face as if I have no more intelligence than a flobberworm."

"I see." Blaise's tone was conversational, but Hermione didn't miss the way his jaw tightened.

"I'll work it out," Hermione rubbed a hand over her forehead and glanced around; they were still alone. "I did actually come to see Draco," she whispered, a small smirk tugging on the corners of her mouth. "But I figured he deserved a little more salt in the wound before I make my apologies."

Blaise shook his head. "Don't make any apologies; he's the git. Let him be the one to say sorry first," he raised his head towards the hallway, "for once in his life."

Hermione's smirk widened and she nodded before turning on her heel and retracing her steps towards the sitting room. She found Draco in there, sitting in an armchair with his arms folded tightly across his chest. His face was like a thunder cloud, and she wondered if he would be able to utter an apology with his jaw clenched so hard.

"Malfoy," she greeted him coolly.

"Granger." He did not unclench his jaw, so the salutation was garbled.

Hermione stood in the middle of the room and placed her bag on the floor. She regarded him for several long minutes. Having never been much good at the waiting game, or the silent treatment, or just not talking for that matter, it was no surprise that she was the first to break the stand-off.

"I went to see your mother."

Draco's head snapped up so that he could gaze up at her properly. "You did?" Hermione swore she heard his jaw click as he loosened it.

"Yes," she nodded. "She's okay."

Draco was up and out of his chair in one fluid movement. In another, he had wrapped both his arms around Hermione's waist and tugged her into a bone crushing hug. She registered his smell; expensive cologne and crisp linen mixed with something masculine she couldn't place.

"Thank you," he murmured into her hair.

Too stunned to reply, Hermione simply stood there as he continued to hold her against him. She was sure that the embrace went on far too long for it to be considered an act of simple gratitude, but she found that she didn't mind being in the arms of Draco Malfoy as much as she once would have. When he finally loosened his hold on her, Hermione felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. Looking up at him, she saw that Draco was wearing a similar colour on his cheek bones.

He cleared his throat and dug his hands into his trouser pockets. "How did you manage it?" Draco took another step back as if keen to put some distance between them.

Hermione ignored the clenching in her chest as he moved. "It was Blaise, actually," she said. Draco's eyebrows shot up towards his hair line. "He brought me the portkey on Monday morning."

"Oh," Draco replied.

"There's more that I need to tell you," Hermione licked her lips and shot a sideways glance towards the entrance of the sitting room. She missed the way Draco's eyes darkened at the brief movement of her tongue.

"Like what?" His voice was hard, though his pupils were still dilated.

"I saw Lucius." She met his gaze and held her ground.

"You what?" Draco's lips barely moved, his words leaving his mouth in a breathless whisper. His eyes had returned to stone cold grey, and by the way the material of his pants shifted Hermione guessed he had fisted his hands in his pockets.

"I had to," Hermione stated. "It was the only way to find the answer to the code."

Draco shook his head emphatically. "No," he said. "There's always another way. Please tell me he wouldn't help you. Please tell me you walked away without making a deal."

Hermione smiled weakly, though the gesture did not reach her eyes. "I had no choice, Draco."

"There's always another choice." His voice was still soft, but it held an icy edge. Hermione winced as he continued. "You of all people should know that."

"I didn't have a lot of time," Hermione rushed to explain. "Blaise turned up unannounced, threw the portkey at me and told me I had an hour. I ran on instincts; I stunned Ron…" she shrugged and trailed off.

Draco looked like he wanted to smile at that, but the corner of his mouth only twitched once before falling back into a hard line. "Your instincts steered you wrong this time, Granger."

Hermione huffed. "Well I know where to get the key to the code."

Draco ignored her. "What did you promise him?"

"I made a deal with him," she answered slowly. Hermione watched as Draco tensed. "I promised I would free him, too." She whispered the last sentence, but he recoiled as if she had shouted them.

"No," Draco growled.

"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione shook her head. "It's the only way to – "

"You don't understand!" He shouted. "He doesn't deserve freedom!"

"Maybe not," Hermione shot back. "But your mother does."

"So then focus on getting her out rather than making deals with the devil!"

"I did what I had to do!"

"Come off it," Draco scoffed. "You're smarter than that."

"Perhaps you're right," she conceded through gritted teeth. "I could have left without the information, and Lucius would be none the wiser to my role in Narcissa's case. But your mother will not last much longer," Draco inhaled sharply at her words, but Hermione continued as if she hadn't heard. "I did what I had to do to ensure that your mother won't breathe her last breath in a dank cell."

"You said she was okay."

"She will be, because of the deal I made with Lucius."

Draco was silent for a long time. He brought his hands up from out of his pockets and crossed them tightly across his chest. His expression looked as if he had never properly seen her before. She watched with baited breath as his chest rose and fell erratically in time with his breathing.

Several times she thought he was going to say something. She expected him to yell some more, perhaps stomp and rage and maybe even throw something. But he just stood there. Just as Hermione thought he might finally speak, Draco shot her one last look of fury before turning on his heel and stalking from the room.

Hermione exhaled heavily and slumped on to the couch, her head in her hands. She had known Draco would not take the news of Lucius well. She had run through all of his possible reactions so many times in the past week, but somehow it did not prepare her for the look of disappointment on his face.

In many ways, Hermione understood why he was unhappy about her decision to enter into a deal with Lucius. Draco's father was a manipulative, self-serving cockroach who would turn on his own family if it meant a better life for him. But it was frustrating that Draco couldn't see how Hermione's choice would help free Narcissa. They could worry about Lucius later.

I just need a plan, she thought, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

"I take it that didn't go well." Blaise appeared in the entrance, leaning casually against the wall.

Hermione tilted her head and regarded him closely. His gaze dipped to the front of his suit before flicking back up to meet hers. "What?"

"Zabini," she stood and walked over to him. He straightened as she stopped just before she hit his chest. "I have a plan."