Author's Note: Sorry, guys! I was kind of busy last weekend, so I didn't have time to update. Here is the new chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series.

Where to find Malfoy?

Hermione had grudgingly accepted Headmistress McGonagall's request to deliver a letter to Malfoy, and she was wondering why se had ever taken it in the first place. But the thing was that Hermione couldn't let her favorite teacher down, even if it meant confronting her archenemy.

She didn't start looking immediately for him. It was a glorious Saturday in Britain, so she decided to get some sleep. Hermione had spent the last several weeks in the library, and had borrowed all the books that she could (there was a "32 book per day" limit imposed, which she thought was stupid), and read them all within a weeks. Even her colleagues at Hogwarts were mildly surprised when she came to work with huge bags under her eyes.

"You really should get some sleep, Hermione. Why are you reading so much? You don't even have to take tests anymore," they told her.

But none of them understood. Hermione felt as if it were her duty, as both a teacher and a student, to learn more. She still had several major topics to cover—for example, the developing process of dragon fetuses, the effect of magically affected water on Snargaluff pods, and the history of magical space exploration. Science and history usually came naturally to Hermione. She also wanted to catch up on Muggle literature—she hadn't read any classics in years.

At exactly five o'clock in the afternoon, she brought her dinner up to her room and began reading. Hermione had specifically instructed the Potter family to leave her alone during this period of time, and they agreed.

Hermione finished the thick tome near seven and went outside for a breath of fresh air.

"I guess I'll start looking for Malfoy now," she said aloud to herself. She groaned. Where else would he be besides in Malfoy Manor?

She was just about to Apparate when she realized that she could just owl him McGonagall's letter. That would save time, money, and the trouble of seeing his face again. It would also give her more time for studying. After their encounter a month ago, Hermione was still livid over Malfoy's too-good-for-you attitude. She never wanted to see him again, and she planned not to. She went back inside.

Draco Malfoy found himself walking into the Leaky Cauldron more often than necessary. Now that there were several things going on in his life, he needed a reprieve.

"Merlin, Longbottom, what's taking so long? Where's my drink?"

Neville glared at Malfoy in disgust, and grudgingly brought over his bottle of Firewhiskey. Draco snatched the bottle away from Neville and took a long swig.

He was now getting more and more accustomed to the burning sensation that the alcohol produced in his stomach. He wanted it to burn away like his father, who had been caught selling illegal magical spider eggs in the black market. Draco realized that Lucius Malfoy did something new every month.

In July, Lucius started torturing freed house elves in sporadic fits of anger. Where he found them, Draco had no idea. But Lucius would take immense pleasure in watching them suffer, and when Narcissa tried to stop him, she received a large cut on her back that would take months to heal without magic. When Draco tried to intervene, he was brutally kicked aside. Luckily, the Ministry caught him, and fined him eight hundred galleons. The Malfoy family was slightly poorer after that incident, but it was wounded pride that was the first straw for his son.

In August, Lucius had decided to stick to the black market, purchasing some kind of weapon Muggles called "guns." Draco had heard it was extremely dangerous—with one press of the trigger, it could kill a man.

What about the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra? Draco thought to himself. Weak mudbloods couldn't kill anyone if they tried.

And then, finally, the magical spider eggs. He was sure that his father would be thrown into Azkaban again for his increasing madness.

With a long sigh, Draco left the bar the way he had come—back to Malfoy Manor.

There was a small, folded single sheet of paper lying on the table. Draco cautiously approached it. No traps. It was safe.

He opened it and read it. The lines were slightly blurred from the state he was in.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are awaiting your response. Please owl us back by next Thursday, or else we will be forced to report you to the Ministry.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

P.S. I have depended on Miss Granger to deliver this note to you. If you don't respond, I will also send her to deliver another note to you again…personally."

For a moment, Draco stood rooted to the floor. Granger? Granger was sent by that old woman to deliver this note to him? Thank Merlin he didn't end up talking to her dumb Mudblood face. Then he snickered to himself. He could take on that old woman McGonagall any time he wanted to. She called herself the headmistress and couldn't even successfully defend the school from Voldemort. He ignored the note and threw it into the fireplace. Before he could go up to his own room and sulk, a thick red envelope caught his eye. It was a brilliant shade of crimson and beautifully crafted.

Draco snickered again. It was probably one of his admirers.

Oh, well. There was no harm in reading it anyway.

He staggered over to it in his drunken state and ripped it open. Some rose petals floated down to the ground, but Draco subconsciously stepped on them.

It began with, "My dearest Narcissa."

Horrified, Draco kept on reading. He might certainly have looked cool and collected on the outside, but his insides were churning around dangerously.

"Every minute I spend away from you makes me miss you even more. You are my light in this dreadful world of-"

Gritting his teeth, Draco snapped the letter shut and tore it apart. He didn't even want to see who it was from. He had had it. This was the last straw. The last straw.

He stormed upstairs and started to pack in a rage. Draco tore some suitcases open and threw some clothes in, stuffed in some of his prized possessions, and then crammed them shut. Before he left, however, he made sure to leave a short but cold note on the drawer for his mother.

He banged the door shut behind him.

It was Hermione's third, and probably the most dreadful day she ever had. It was probably because Headmistress McGonagall called her into her office and asked her to personally deliver a new letter to Malfoy.

She didn't want to admit it, but she thought the Headmistress of Hogwarts was being silly. She could deliver it herself, if she wanted the letter to get to Malfoy so badly. What was it even about? Why was it so important?

After going back home, Hermione secluded herself in her room and stared at the envelope.

"I should trust you not to open it," Headmistress McGonagall had told her sternly. "Granger, I'm pretty sure I still know what you're like after all these years."

That was still an extremely ambiguous comment on her part, but Hermione couldn't help herself.

Opening the envelope so that no one would ever know, she slid the thin sheet of parchment out and read it.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We wish to inform you that our offer expires the day after tomorrow. If you decide to ignore it or decline the offer, I will ask Miss Granger to give a short talk to you.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Horrified, Hermione dropped the letter. She would have to give a talk to Malfoy? Out of all the other people, McGonagall had sent her? Why?

She and Malfoy had never really reconciled. They still considered themselves to be each other's archenemy, because Hermione thought Malfoy was an arrogant, privileged piece of scum, and Malfoy thought Hermione was a stuck-up Gryffindor teacher's pet. She probably was. But she was the teacher now.