A/N: Here's a bit of an exposition sort of chapter- don't own any of the characters, but I thought writing the interactions between them as I explain this situation would be really fun. This is happening very nearly after the War. Also thanks for everyone that read or commented!

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes that morning, numbly taking in the outdated wallpaper and the bubbled-up ceiling that seemed to be taking in water damage. It wasn't his home.

Since he had come to stay at Grimmauld Place for the foreseeable future, he had taken some small pains to transfigure a little bit of "his own" room. The formerly black walls had a green sheen to them and he'd had his rough blankets morphed into shining silver cotton sheets with as high a thread-count as he could fathom. Anything to make it feel a little bit more "his."

Before he got up, he rolled onto his stomach trying to smell his own bedding – and quickly wrinkling his nose as a result. Without any real help, his sheets had received several treatments of Scourgify, but no actual washing.

He got out of bed slowly, looking for a clean shirt. Of course, none would have previously passed his standards for clean, but it would have to do. The Black family's loyal servant is not good for much besides getting in our way, Draco thought, shuddering a bit. Grimmauld Place was crammed enough as it was, already.

Before leaving the room, he cast a quick revealing spell, to check for anyone in the narrow hallway. Just don't want to brush into any grubby Weasel at this hour, he said to himself.

Slowly and quietly – he hoped – he made his way down the stairs, slipping into the kitchen once he was assured he was alone.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Potter's mess of hair bobbing over some papers at the table. But then he squared his shoulders, tipped his chin up, and walked on in.

Potter didn't even seem to notice.

"Reading over fan letters already, Potter?" Draco asked, not altogether unkindly – he thought.

Harry scowled. "I think 'Mione charmed the windows to incinerate any errant messages being flown in."

"Really?" Draco cocked his head to the side, hoping to mask any actual interest from his face. "Doesn't seem quite decent to scare up the owls like that for what they're told to deliver."

"I'm not hurting the owls," Hermione said, grimacing to herself. "I made perfectly sure that the messages get destroyed only after they've been dropped off."

She walked pointedly toward the kitchen windowsill, covered in soot. She briskly opened the window and brushed away the remnants, looking for The Daily Prophet or any other actually useful communication.

"What are you reading Harry?" she asked, perching herself next to her best friend.

Draco remained standing, looking between the floor and his cup of tea that he'd just warmed.

"Got an owl from McGonagall this morning. It's not for…err.. me. It's all of us, I mean," Harry backtracked awkwardly.

"What is it?"Hermione pressed eagerly.

"Looks like we are all expected to return for our last year at Hogwarts," he said, drooping his shoulders.

"But Harry, that's marvelous! It means all of the renovations are on track!" Hermione said brightly.

Draco just looked as his tea. Suddenly, he didn't want the sodding tea. So he transfigured it to coffee: black.

"I don't want to go back to bloody Hogwarts," Harry sighed, relinquishing the pages to Hermione – positively ready to jump out of her skin with excitement.

"But Hogwarts is our home!" she looked at him lovingly, before starting to pore over the pages from McGonagall. "You're name's on this too, Malfoy!"

Draco nodded toward them at hearing himself addressed, but did not look directly at the table. Instead, leaning back into the sink, he pushed his tongue into the back of his teeth, thinking.

"I suppose I was gone away about as long as you lot were traipsing around for horcruxes," he said evenly, still not looking at them.

"Hunting horcruxes," Harry corrected.

"Yes," Draco rolled his eyes. "And we're so very grateful you did," he added with less biting sarcasm than usual.

Harry laughed maybe in spite of himself at that. He tried to catch Draco's eyes, but the Slytherin was resolutely looking through the bottom of his cup.

Just then, the old Black elf ambled in, upset as usual. My family would never allow such open disobedience, Draco thought quickly.

"Some breakfast, Kreacher?" Harry called after the crouched figure before it could disappear into the pantry.

The elf wheeled around slowly.

"And what would Master like?"

"Just make some toast and eggs and things for everyone," Harry waived dismissively.

Kreacher started to go, before his eyes landed on the petite brunette whose morning curls seemed to bounce out in every direction.

"Kreacher does not serve for filthy mudblood," he drawled out.

Harry made to throw his shoe at him, as Hermione put a hand out to stop her friend, rolling her eyes.

Well, she is one, Draco thought briefly. Suddenly he looked up, almost to check if either of the two had heard his thoughts. Draco often found himself recoiling at the almost-reflexive thoughts that ran through his mind. How could that have been such a big part of his life, of the Malfoy legacy?

In truth, he had started to fear the fanaticism behind blood purity in his sixth year, but he still couldn't seem to shake off his unconscious prejudices.

"Ron, they're goin' to force us back into Hogwarts for an extra year," Harry called out, snapping Draco from his reverie.

The redhead's lanky frame slunk right past Draco to the other end of the table.

"That's total bollocks!" said Ron loudly, suddenly very much awake and alert. "What's it good for being war heroes, then?!"

"Don't recall you working on arithmancy while we were gone, Ronald," Hermione tutted at him. "Nor potions – hardly herbology, really – no transfiguration, either-"

"Transfiguration?! Hermione! I was a truly compelling Death Eater when we snuck into Grin-"

"Yes, but who transfigured you?" she smiled teasingly.

Draco kept a smile to himself as he took in the site.

"I still saw'r 't, di'n't I?" he grumbled, with his face in his arms. Sagging over the table, Ron called for food.

Always with the food, Draco thought, sneering a bit to himself. Of course, he didn't usually make it his business to taunt Ron anymore. Draco could conjure up something close to pity when he thought of how personally that hothead would take anything he said. Any resulting fights with Ron were a waste of his time.

And he didn't fully know how much longer he would be staying here.

"Will Slytherins be returning to school too, do you think?" Hermione asked, glancing across toward Draco. Harry looked up too, but Ron just growled lowly into his arms – his head still on the table.

Draco tried to simply shrug off their glances.

"I'm not their bloody spokesman," he said finally.

"No, just'a prince of Slytherin," Weasley mumbled, still into his hands.

"Do you expect others will come back at least?" Harry pressed on, ignoring his best friend.

Draco raked a hand through his ice-blond hair. Did he even want them to come back?

"Most of the third years and fourth years, I reckon. Probably all the younger ones. Hard to say with anyone old enough to have tried to fight," he told them noncommittally.

"Are you… still in touch with any of those…?"

"No," Draco shook off Harry's follow-up question. "No, they've all got their own charges to…mitigate."

Harry nodded absently, perhaps remembering that he hadn't seen any of Draco's compatriots at his arraignment hearings.

Had been pretty pathetic, Draco thought back darkly, losing all my money and finding out I'd lost all my friends.

The sizable allowance that he had access to had gone toward paying for an excellent counsel and representation within the Wizengamot to argue against the Ministry that he had been forced to take up the Dark Mark and join Voldemort's ranks while underage. Perhaps he had escaped any serious repercussions for fighting alongside the Death Eaters, but many of his close friends hadn't.

The full funds of the Malfoy fortune, of course, were frozen - seized by the Auror Department. They had taken up any asset that would have been given to him in name. He really had nothing, he thought as he looked down into his mug once more.

"Mmm, our year is going to be much smaller too," Hermione mused sadly. Harry cut her off before she could start listing out the losses.

"We're done mourning before breakfast, 'Mione," he said sternly. Still he reached out a hand to squeeze her shoulder affectionately.

Draco watched as Granger leaned into Harry's touch. Would she simply recoil if I ever did… his thoughts trailed off. Likely.

A/N – So here is where Draco is at – lost a bit, trying to just get by and find his place. Also, for once, not filthy rich. My question to you is how do you think he got to being so head-over-heels for Hermione? How did this change of heart start for him?

And I wonder what could've happened to have Harry warm up to Malfoy so much?