"I choose my enemies for their good intellects. A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies. I have not got one who is a fool. They are all men of some intellectual power, and consequently they all appreciate me. Is that very vain of me? I think it is rather vain."

-The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde.

"The Ministry is getting nosier and nosier. If the investigations aren't called off soon, we could lose - "

"Everything, I know." Draco stood impassively as Lucius began to pace back and forth across his study floor. "The plan is going perfectly. I only need more time."

"So you've said." Lucius was growing frantic. "Why can't I make you see? Time is the one thing that we do not have! What is this mysterious plan of yours, anyway?"

"I can't . . ."

Lucius looked shrewdly at his son. Draco tried to disengage eye contact, but it was too late. "I told you not to do that," Draco muttered. He hated it above all things when his father practiced Legilimency on him.

"The Granger girl? What use can she be to us?" scoffed Lucius. A spark of something white-hot and angry flared in the space just above Draco's sternum.

"Don't underestimate her because of her blood status. In case you hadn't noticed, that line of thought has landed you in Azkaban on more than one occasion." Draco was never above gloating about his prison-free past. "Just trust me. Due to my efforts, she got a promotion. Muggle Diplomacy Department." In his haste to justify his inclusion of Hermione in the plan, Draco said more than he meant to say. "She is now indebted to me. With more time, she can get further promoted. I hint to her that I pulled some strings, she feels grateful, she is in my power."

"That will never work."

"The thing that you fail to understand about noble people, Father, is that they are governed to an absurd degree by gratitude. Haven't you ever read Wilde's An Ideal Husband?"

"That's a fair point." The older man stopped pacing. "It might have worked, if we had years in which to act delicately. I already have a web of connections at the Ministry; why can't you use them?"

Draco wanted to scream in frustration at his father's narrow-minded stubbornness. "Your old contacts are worthless. They cut you dead after the Second War."

"Why Granger, though? She hates you."

Draco pressed his forefingers to his temples to stop the pounding. "Granger is a war heroine, thus she has public opinion on her side. She is extremely intelligent, contrary to whatever you may say. Do you think it was random happenstance that I selected her, of all my former school acquaintances? Granger's Achilles heel is that she is entirely too loyal. Look at the way she follows that Weasley character around like a drunken puppy. Sickening." Draco shut his mouth like a trap before anything else came out. He was voicing things that he had never intended to say to anyone. He closed his eyes before Lucius could try Legilimency again.

"Are you hiding something, Draco?" Lucius's voice was drawling and cold. They had made a 180-degree turn.

"No." Draco was defensive, cornered. "Is it too much to ask that I keep my thoughts to myself?"

"Go on, then. Put your oh-so-brilliant plan into action."

"It's not ready -"

"Still hiding things? Tut, tut. Unless your feelings toward Granger have changed? Is that it?"

It was a shot in the dark, but the arrow flew true. Draco felt his emotions spike. It was a far cry from the unfeeling existentialism of a few weeks previous. Who - had - the right - to make him feel like this?! Not Hermione. Not anyone. Draco was confused to the point of desperation by this new spectrum of emotions that had blossomed since she had come back into his life.

"I'll do it." He said it low, tersely mumbling his death sentence.

"What?"

"I'll do it. I will get Granger to stop the investigations into our financial practices in the Muggle world."

Lucius smiled coldly. His son could always be prevailed upon when it came to personal pride. God forbid that he would feel anything.

Hermione sang happily to herself, a deeply off-key version of My Heart Will Go On. She had decided on a whim to actually cook instead of getting Indian takeaway, and a dog-eared vegetarian cookbook was propped open on the counter. With a wave of her wand, the vegetable knife began obligingly cutting cucumbers. Magic-aided cooking was ridiculously easy.

Hermione was forced to revise her opinion when she got distracted by a mysterious ticking noise coming from one of the pipes and returned to find the previously-yellow bell peppers blackening regretfully in the frying pan.

"Oops," she said cheerfully, opening the window to allow the smoke to billow out. Nothing could damage her buoyant mood. She had been promoted to the Muggle Diplomacy Department! True, her NEWT qualifications weren't much help, but it was just a stepping stone. Somehow, Hermione's mind kept drifting back to her conversation with Draco over coffee. "You have all the raw materials of a very influential individual. Brains, talent, motivation, determination . . ." She would never forget the way that his eyes had glittered. . . like frozen grey diamonds.

He had sent flowers. A vase of white carnations stood innocently on the counter, serving for the moment as a place to lean the cookbook. No one had sent Hermione flowers before. Had Draco changed since his Death Eater days? The caustic Draco-ness was still there, but everything he had done for her since he had come back into her life had been either helpful or kind. She was still dating Ron, but . . . who knew? With a really good-looking guy sending her flowers and taking her to parties, who knew?

There was a tapping on the window. Hermione was pleased to see Malfoy's owl Isolde perched sedately on the windowsill.

Hermione,

I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron in half an hour?

-Draco Malfoy

What could be so important? Hermione was intrigued enough to abandon the cuccumbers.

Half an hour later, she Apparated to the pub to find Draco standing rather anxiously near the door. They found a table far away from the door.

"Hermione . . ." She rather liked it when he used her given name. "I have a problem."

"What is it?"

"You know that my father isn't. . . the most ethically concerned of all wizards."

"Yes, I understand something to that effect."

"See, a few years back he dabbled in some Muggle investments."

"What?"

"Nothing too deep! Just a bit on the stock market, you know. It was more of an experiment than anything."

"That's illegal. Everyine knows that wizards have a distict advantage when it comes to Muggle affairs. Article 45 of - "

"I know, I know! The thing is," he wetted his lips, "the Ministry has been preparing to launch an inquiry."

"I should very well think so!"

"You don't understand! We would lose everything. You what they're like - give an inch and they're searching your whole house. The whole thing has the potential to be blown very much out of proportion."

"Blown out of - ! Wait, what are you asking me to do?"

"Sorry?"

"What. Do. You. Want." Hermione was catching on fast. Stupid, stupid! She had been so stupid. Did she even want to hear his reply?

"N- nothing!" He licked his lips again. "I can't ask you for anything."

"I see." Hermione leaned forward, taking his pale angular face in one hand. He flinched, not meeting her gaze. "This has been the plan all along, no?" He didn't respond. He didn't need to. Hermione laughed, more than a little dementedly.

Hannah Abbott, who had come up to offer them the drink menu, slipped away unobserved.

"Stupid me! Do you know, I almost trusted you. Of course! First you discontented me with my life, then gave me that grand speech about ambition. Very tempting! Then the dress and the party and the glittering lights and sending me flowers. . . charming, simply charming. Then, after I had climbed the corporate ladder a bit, all due to you, of course, you would pull the rug out from under me. Oh, I would be a valuable tool, wouldn't I? You were right about one thing, Draco. I do have the 'raw materials' for success. Thank you for boosting my self confidence!" Her voice was getting progressively higher, inching up the scale. "You were wrong about everything else, though. I would never succumb to blackmail." Her face was dangerously close to his. He looked terrified. "I would never succumb to you."

With that, she released him and left.

Draco expected to feel something after Granger left. He didn't know what - just something. But there was nothing. She had plunged her dagger into the chest of a frozen corpse and expected it to bleed. Up until the moment when she left, he had been nothing but a whirl of emotion - fear and shock and something else. After she delivered her parting blow, however, and stormed off like an operatic heroine, he felt nothing.

Draco tilted his head back and began to laugh the same wild, unhinged laugh that Granger had demonstrated a moment before. The nausea was back.

Hermione pressed her face into her pillow and screamed. It was remarkably satisfying, though the sound was muffled, and she sat up a moment later.

So, Malfoy had proven himself yet again to be an utter bastard. Objectively viewed, it wasn't all that surprising. He had never been anything else and he would never be anything else.

"Mais il était si charmant ce moment," she mumbled to herself. Oh, well. What was the old adage? Something about honey. "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." Apparently that was the moral of the story.

Now what?

Well, she would pay for the dress, obviously.

Wait. Knowing Malfoy, it would be much more insulting to send the dress to him instead of just paying. I'll send him the flowers too.

Hermione went busily around her flat, collecting the flowers and the dress. She would put them in a box and owl them to Malfoy Manor to next day. It was a bit like picking up the pieces after a break-up, but much more satisying and much less emotionally charged. Yes, she might have had a little crush, but it wasn't as if it was possible to get seriously attatched to Le Blond.

Now that the trinkets had been gathered, it was time to remove his influence.

If Hermione was honest with herself, her promotion had indeed been due to Malfoy's influence. The Other Minister had been so impressed with her at the party that he had reccomended her to the Minsitry of Magic. She had to resign from that particular department immediately. Of course, she could tip them off about Malfoy's attempted blackmail, but . . . somehow she just wanted to wash her hands of him and move on with life.

As for her future career . . . Hermione had never been enthusiastic about the Muggle Diplomacy Department anyway. She would much rather work in magical law - not as an Auror, like Harry, but as a lawyer. Did wizards even have lawyers? It was worth looking into, anyway. Oddly enough, it had been Rufus Scrimgeour, the former Minister of Magic, that had first recommended magical law as a career for her. She hadn't been entirely gracious in her reply, but the more she considered it, the more appealing it seemed.

So. That was Draco Malfoy, out of the equation for good. It had been an interesting ride to say the least.

Draco opened the box. He already knew what was in it: the dress and the flowers. No note was necessary.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked of Astoria, holding out the dress like it was a distasteful piece of garbage.

"I don't know." They were sitting side-by-side on a sofa in Malfoy Manor. An untouched tea tray was on the low table in front of them.

Astoria sighed. "I'm breaking up with you," she said abruptly.

"That's understandable," agreed Draco absently. "I regret it, but I can't say that I blame you. I would break up with myself if I could."

She didn't move. "Would you like to know why?"

"Because I'm an unfeeling Nihilist who doesn't treat you like you deserve to be treated?"

"Correct, but there's more to it."

"Er. Let's see. I am now a criminal accomplice because I encouraged my father to hack into the Muggle stock market records and remove any fingerprints that he may have left so as not to get sued by the Ministry for all we have?"

"That may be a contributing factor."

"I can't think of anything else. Am I very ugly?"

"Far from it, dear. But you should know . . . you were dating me for all the wrong reasons."

"I hope you don't believe that."

"You don't understand." She took a steadying breath. "Why did you date me?"

"Because you're sophisticated and beautiful and mature."

"Thank you. But you never loved me."

"No. You're not saying that you love me?"

"No, I don't. I never did. What's more, I don't think I ever will."

"That's fair, but it doesn't connect at all to what you were saying earlier."

"Yes, it does. You dated me because I would be the perfect Mrs. Malfoy. Actually, I am quite similar to your mother. Not in a perverted way."

"Not at all, you're right."

"Don't you see? If you hadn't become existentialist and unemotional, we might have ended up married."

"I fail to see your point."

"You can't marry someone based on suitability! At least, I can't."

"You astonish me. What would you marry someone based on, then?"

"Love," she said simply. "You cannot decide who to love. I've never been in love, but I think it's based on some higher level. Love is something that we can't understand, we can only enjoy it. It's irrational and erratic."

"I'm confused."

"You're not the only one." She stood, sighing again.

"If I fall in love," said Draco unhelpfully, "you'll be the first to know."

"Thank you. You too. Good luck, Draco." She exited, casting one final glance over her shoulder.

Draco couldn't help but feel that he had missed the point entirely.

"He was using you the whole time?!"

"Yes, that's what I just explained."

"Wow." Hermione had turned to Ginny for advice/consolation, and they were sitting cross-legged on the Potter kitchen floor. Ginny claimed that she did her best thinking there. "That's really too bad."

"Why? It's good, really. I learned not to trust known bastards." Hermione smiled wryly. "I probably should have figured that out sooner, but sometimes Life just needs to hit us over the head before we fully understand something."

"I mean, your chemistry was so great." Ginny sighed regretfully.

"Sorry?"

She looked at her allegedly-smart friend in surrpise. "You mean you seriously didn't notice? There were practically sparks between you."

"Are we talking about the same person? I said Draco Malfoy."

Ginny looked completely exasperated. "You had to notice! He lit up like a Christmas tree around you!"

Hermione laughed, bemused and amused. "If you say so. I tend to doubt that."

"Honestly, 'Mione, for someone who's so sensitive to other people's relationships, you can be remarkably clueless when it comes to yourself."

Unbidden, a memory of Malfoy leaning against the Westminster Bridge filled Hermione's mind. His posture had suggested relaxation, yet at the same time he practically radiated tension. A waiting wolf.

Hermione shrugged it off. "Whatever 'chemistry' we may or may not have had, he still tried to use me."

"True, true." Ginny gazed into space, hugging her knees to her chest. "I KNOW!"

"Ach! What is it?" demmanded Hermione, startled.

"Vengeance!"

"Yes, that's a fun-to-say word. What does it have to do with anything?"

"You have to avenge your wounded heart!"

"My heart is perfectly intact, merci."

"Your wounded pride, then." Ginny clapped her hands together in excitement. "Public humiliation is the most obvious solution. Are there any upcoming opportunities to publicly humiliate Malfoy?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Never mind, never mind! Something will present itself," she said confidently. Hermione smiled. Ginny's venegeful spirit was infectious.

"How would I do it, anyway?"

"You're smart. Outwit him or something. Make him look stupid. Oh, and look gorgeous while doing it."

"Easier said than done," laughed Hermione.

"Laugh now, but it's a terrific idea. Trust me," she asserted.

"Okay, I'll keep it mind."

"Good. Now," continued Ginny, leaning in slightly, "about Ron."

"What about Ron?"

"You haven't been on a date with him in ages."

"I've been a bit busy."

"Yes, with Maaalfoy," crooned Ginny smugly.

"Shut up! You know very well it wasn't like that. Besides, he has a girlfriend."

"So defensive. I think you're blushing." She neatly dodged Hermione's attempted swat. "The point is, you don't seem terribly interested in him anymore."

"I told you, I was - "

"Busy, I know. But he didn't exactly send you flowers when you got promoted."

"Firstly, I'm going to decline the promotion for afroementioned reasons. Secondly, Malfoy's behavior is not to be used as any sort of juxtaposition, since it was all a lie anyway."

"That's true. Let me just ask you: When is the last time that Ron made you feel happy and/or loved?"

"Er . . ."

"My point exactly."

"Do you want me to break up with him?"

"Look, Mione, as surprising as it may seem, I know Ron a bit better than you do. He's a good person, and he can even be quite pleasant when he tries, but he's not the one for you."

"I think - "

"There's a simple way to determine who's right. Just go on a date with him. If he makes you feel like the luckiest girl alive, then by all means gloat and keep dating him. If not. . . it may be time for you both to move on."

"It doesn't seem fair to base everything on one date."

"Hermione. Look at me."

Hermione hadn't realized that she'd been avoiding Ginny's eyes. Reluctantly, she looked into her earnest brown gaze.

"If he doesn't make you feel beautiful just the way you are," she said slowly, "then he doesn't deserve you."

Hermione swallowed. "Does Harry make you feel beautiful?"

"Most days." She grinned. "Sometimes he just makes me feel annoyed. That's marriage. Anyone who thinks they're going to live happily ever after once they reach the altar is fooling themselves."

"You would know, Mrs. Potter."

"But, seriously. If Ron doesn't make you feel really special, then just drop him."