AN: If you don't want to have any insight into Hermione's side of this story, go ahead and skip to the last journal entry.

Chapter Six: I Should Have Known

Wednesday, 20 October 1999, 9:08 p.m.

When I decided to accept the position with ARDEC, I knew it would be challenging. After a childhood spent running from Death Eaters and dealing with their children's slurs on my birth, I knew that there would be moments in my job when my past would come back to haunt me.

I definitely didn't expect Percy Weasley to march into my office and give me five minutes warning of my first client arrival… and that he would be Draco Malfoy.

I knew I looked horrid. I hadn't bothered to even brush my hair this morning—just shook it out from the shower. My clothes were decidedly not brand-label, and given this was Malfoy, I knew that he would use anything to get to me.

Probably why Percy didn't given me any lead-time.

Malfoy came in as high-and-might as ever, spouting off Muggleisms as if he'd grown up in my world.

Fight Club… please.

He crossed the line, however, when he pointed out that he was closer to Harry than I am at this point.

I would like to point out that I've been quite busy. And yes, while I know my job may not be the academic career everyone expected from me, I like to think I could do some good for my peers. It's not their fault they weren't given the same advantages of loving, accepting parents that I was.

Anyways, ARDEC requires a home-visit as part of its "therapy." I suppose there is no point in putting that off. I'll contact Malfoy after finishing this entry.

I'll admit I was surprised to hear that Malfoy was living in Spinner's End. With Severus Snape. His godfather.

Professor Snape has been an enigma since the end of the War, and more rumors have spread about him since his "death" than ever were spread during his life—amazing given he was only second to Phineas Nigellus Black as the least popular Headmaster award. All of his popularity post-War hasn't made up for the terrorizing he did for the rest of his career as a teacher, no matter how touching his story of love and survival has been.

I'll admit I know less about that last year of his tenure at Hogwarts than most—wandering around a forest fighting for your life daily doesn't give you a lot of time to catch up on the goings-on at Hogwarts. And since the War, very few have wanted to discuss that year…

I think I'll drop by during teatime. It will be interesting to see Malfoy prepare tea and sandwiches Muggle-style. It will be even more fascinating to see Professor Snape outside of his teaching persona—assuming, I guess, that it was a persona.

Thursday, 21 October 1999, 7:12 p.m.

Well that was interesting. Professor Snape (yes, I know he's no longer my professor, but Severus is just too… familiar) answered the door in jeans. JEANS. And not black jeans—denim blues! His hair is short too and streaked with grey. He attempted to be snarky with me, but I'd like to think I held my own. He tried to imply I was spreading Lily-related gossip, but I shot him down. Draco even laughed—that was surprising!

Speaking of Draco, he didn't do as well on as his quiz as he thinks. Not surprising—one does not simply become Mugglized overnight. Though some of his answers were rather inventive. He actually equated the Internet with a "series of tubes"—much like the London Underground. While wrong, I was sufficiently impressed.

I shall be meeting with Professor Snape tomorrow for dinner. Hopefully he will give me some insights into Draco's changed personality, should there actually be a change from our student days. If nothing else, I haven't had the urge to punch Draco in the nose yet. I'll admit, I did enjoy my repartee with Professor Snape today, though I may have been a bit cruel at the end.

Friday, 22 October 1999, 8:30 p.m.

Why I thought spending one of my few Friday nights out with Severus bloody Snape would be anything but awful I have no idea! I even dressed up! Don't know why I bothered… Honestly, I don't!

He ordered for me. Didn't ask first. Didn't actually tell me why he felt the need to do so until after the fact.

The look on his face when I accused him of being gay was priceless! Especially when he's clearly not. That man sat their oozing appeal tonight—as if he didn't care. Men are so infuriating!

And all he told me about Draco is that this Muggle-loving is a ruse. I should have known.

Did I mention I hate stout? Because I do.

Malfoy received a 68/100 on his test. He needed a 70 to pass. I almost was going to let it slide, not because I wanted to be rid of this assignment, but because I thought he might actually be… well… less Malfoy now. Oh, no, we will continue this pantomime of therapy through to the bloody end.

Bugger, writing this out isn't helping at all. Must go yell at someone in person. Harry better not be busy. He also better give me some answers about why he's been talking to Malfoy. But first, must send Malfoy his results.

Saturday, 23 October 1999, 12:08 a.m.

I suppose Harry thought I felt left out of his antics sixth year, as his first suggestion after hearing my story was "D'ya wanna spy on Snape and Malfoy with my Cloak?" Some friendship, Malfoy. Harry likes me better.

I had an interesting night, though. It wasn't often in school that Hermione Granger is in charge of espionage. I Apparated to Spinner's End planning to cast Homenum Revelio over Professor Snape's house. Instead, I found Malfoy sitting on the stoop outside the house, my missive containing his results crumpled in his hand. Malfoy stood abruptly, entering the empty street pacing. Finally, he stuffed the parchment back in his pocket before flopping down on the stoop.

I had to stifle a laugh at what came next. From far down the street, I heard off-key singing. Professor Snape came into view, listing as he walked, stumbling, clearly having imbibed far more than the pitcher I had left him with.

I sneaked close enough to listen to their conversation. I'll not lie I took some satisfaction in seeing Snape… vulnerable. Oh, hell, drunk off his ass. After all that spying he did on us for years at Hogwarts (which, I know, was in our best interest and is quite possibly the only reason we're all alive, i.e. third year Shrieking Shack), it felt quite empowering to be outspying him.

Malfoy kept asking him what had gone wrong, and that's when it happened. Professor Snape… complimented me.

I know!

It was strange. Professor Snape went from trying to get out of trouble with Draco for completely bollixing our dinner to actually complementing me. He even called me pretty! Of course, he was right about my hair. Have since transfigured that clip into something less… plastic.

It startled me, I won't lie. I sneaked down the street away from them to collect my thoughts. Before I could walk back, Professor Snape slumped against Draco, having clearly succumbed to his cups. I watched Draco carefully Levitate Snape back into their home. That was odd—the Malfoy I knew in school would have Levitated Snape to the roof and stolen his wand.

I Apparated home, planning to immediately go to bed with my thoughts. A tell-tale scratching came from my window. I opened it and took a sticky note (!) stuck on the owl, which looked none-too-pleased by the situation.

Granger,

Come over in the morning, and we'll work on your so-called therapy.

D.M.

Alright, Malfoy, we'll see you in the morning.

Saturday, 23 October 1999, 5:32 p.m.

Embarrassed. So embarrassed. This is S.P.E.W. all over again.

I went into that house thinking I knew better than any Malfoy what his life was like. I'd planned out the perfect research project to prove/ that I was right, that his pure-blood heritage was inferior to my own.

And then Malfoy had to poke holes in my logic. With truth. And he's right. My parents raised me to respect my history but also to respect the history and traditions of others. And honestly, I've never done that, at least not in the Wizarding world. I've always clung to my Muggle-born status, as both it and my intelligence made me unique in this world. And all I've done by that is alienate myself even further.

I honestly don't know how to proceed. Having skimmed back through my ARDEC training materials, it seems I've gone completely against most of their suggestions on how to approach the children of Death Eaters. Should Malfoy lodge a complaint, it is entirely possible I may lose my job.

Anyways, in other news, Professor Snape didn't seem to think I was anything special today. In fact, he was back to mocking my personal appearance like the old days. Still, he gave me the perfect opportunity to excuse myself…

Though if he really thinks I believed his "I have Hangover potion to brew" excuse, he really does underestimate my intelligence.

Sunday, 24 October 1999, 11:48 p.m.

Huh?

Monday, 25 October 1999, 7:35 a.m.

Not much time this morning; must be to work soon.

Dinner didn't go at all as planned. Draco was late from work, and Profes… well, Severus made me dinner. Well, technically he made me salad and I made us dinner, but anyways, we had dinner.

An entire dinner. Which didn't end when one of us left in a snit.

We hadn't necessarily ended on amazing terms the last we had seen each other. But I'll admit, I was intrigued by the man I had seen on Friday night.

I had a good night with Severus Snape, Diary. I really don't understand it either. But we had a lovely conversation. I haven't had a close friend in the Wizarding world that I could ever talk to about my interests. And while of course we talked mostly about Potions, it was still fascinating.

I do feel pretty awful about my comment about his being unemployed. I had no idea he was behind Ambergris! Of course he is though—he is the most talented potioneer in England, why wouldn't he also be the best perfumer?

And after how intensely he was viewing me, I'm embarrassed to acknowledge that it is quite a turn-on to know he created my favorite perfume.

What is wrong with me? Hell, I'll even admit I drank far more than I normally would to see if he would loosen up again.

He did.

We ended up eating ice cream directly out of the pint in the kitchen, me sitting on the counter and he lazily leaning against it next to me. Even seated on the counter, I am still a few inches shorter than he.

There was a moment last night, Diary, where I swear he was going to kiss me. We were talking and laughing over the ice cream, and he indicated I had some ice cream on my cheek. Mortified, I moved to wipe it off, but he stayed my hand. He started to lean towards me, when…

Draco bloody Malfoy burst in the front door. Severus quickly stood back from me, his mask of indifference we were all so used to from school falling into place. I quickly rubbed my cheek with my sleeve to remove the offending bit of ice cream.

But I swear, the look on Malfoy's face was worth it.

AN: Thanks so much to clairvoyant! kerravonsen-hope you're still on board! :)

AN2: Took out references to the diary as "Diary." Apparently several readers found it too much to believe that a Muggle-born may have kept up calling her diary "Diary" (as in "Dear Diary"). Any of us who have an old teddy bear named Teddy hidden under the bed or anything else sentimental from childhood may understand it.