When the war had ended Hermione, Harry and the twins had forcibly sat Bones down and had told her that weekends were a time for rest; and that if she insisted on working through them measures would be taken. If it hadn't been for the formidable glint in Hermione's eye, Bones might have protested more vehemently.

As it was, she gave in with good grace and assured her friends that she would relax on weekends.

"Chasing criminals is only for weekdays?" asked Fred after three hours of increasingly violent demands that Bones cease and desist with all the working. His suspicions were evidently roused by how easily she had given in.

She sighed and nodded. "Chasing criminals is a weekday pastime," she said. "Weekends are for relaxing. Boring, boring relaxing."

George studied her closely before finally nodding, a smile breaking out across his face. Fred's stern features eased too; and he looked incredibly relieved that he didn't need to play the authoritarian any longer. Neither twin suited the role. Hermione watched the twins until they smiled and then she laughed in relief. She knew Bones, but couldn't read her like the twins could.

"Good," she said. "Now that's settled, let's do lunch."

George leant forward and hugged Bones; brief and hard enough to hurt. "It will get better," he murmured. At the time he'd thought it was the truth; and so had she. With the war only just over most people were still tense.

As George pulled away to follow Fred and Hermione out of Hottie's lounge area Harry tilted his head at Bones. "The war's not really over for me either," he said. He'd never had the kind of tone that gentled so the statement came out curt and a little irritable.

Bones stretched and turned to look at him. He was leaning against the tea and coffee bench, arms folded in front of him. He'd lost the aura of willing concern somewhere along the way and now just looked hard. She thought that he'd taught himself to look that way so that people would stop pitying him. Still, he was probably the most beautiful man Bones had ever seen. "What was it like to grow up without parents?" she asked.

She knew it was still a subject that he didn't like to be surprised with so his sudden ferocious scowl wasn't unexpected. "I don't need sympathy," he said flatly.

She smiled. She didn't know why it was so thoroughly calming to have wizards so much more powerful than herself furious with her. "I'm not sympathetic, Harry," she said. "I'm jealous."

For a moment Harry watched her. Eventually he shook his head. "You should be glad you still have parents."

That made Bones laugh. "You should be glad you don't," she countered.

He hadn't killed her for that. Hadn't even hexed her, which Bones had thought was impressive. Now, almost ten months later, Bones was still keeping her promise about weekends. Chasing Death Eaters was for weekdays; on weekends she filed paper-work and finished reports and worked through budgets and accounts.

She was almost grateful that there had been that intervention. Weekdays tended to go more smoothly with the paperwork out of the way, and if she didn't think about her cases for a full weekend she usually came back to them refreshed.

This weekend didn't work so well. She got everything she needed done, but the situation with Malfoy was an unpleasant distraction throughout.

The snow had let up when she arrived at Hottie Monday morning. Fleur Delacour looked up from the receptionist desk, her mouth curving.

She had a scar running the length of her cheek-bone now, cutting through the right side of her upper lip and when she and Bill stood side by side they looked as though they matched. The ring finger of her left hand was missing too, but she did well enough without it. "The twins will be late," Fleur said as Bones stopped by the reception desk.

"That's hardly news," commented Bones.

Dimpling once more, Fleur shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Fait mon devoir," she murmured.

Bones didn't speak French. Previously she had assumed that Delacour had been swearing at her whenever she switched to French in a conversation. She'd soon learnt that Fleur was perfectly capable of cursing furiously in English though, and thus had abandoned the theory.

"Are you taking reception today?" Bones asked, reaching for the files in her inbox. They tended to work rosters on reception because no one really liked it; but Fleur disliked it more than most so it was surprising that she was there.

"Eh bien, non," she said. Smiling her Veela smile that pulled at something in even Bones' chemistry this close, she fanned herself with her own sheaf of papers. "I feel that receptionists ought to be...hn...beautiful."

Flicking through the notes in her file, Bones smiled. "George then," she said. "He's the good-looking twin."

"Damn straight."

The girls turned to see the twins walking through the front door, George beaming happily.

"Slander," said Fred. "Lies and slander against my stalwart reputation!"

Fleur laughed. It reminded Bones of singing crystal. "The pretty twin must be on reception," she said. "Appearances must be maintained and if we cannot so much as procure a pretty receptionist, people will talk."

Both twins made identical faces of distaste. "Viktor Krum!" exclaimed Fred suddenly.

"Yes?"

Bones looked past the twins. Viktor was leaning in the doorway looking dour, as he often did before he managed to find his first coffee of the day.

"You have to take reception," said George gravely. "Bones says that people are talking because we are not keeping up appearances."

Eyes narrowing, Krum slanted a questioning look at Bones. She shrugged. "Fleur wants a beautiful receptionist. You were selected on such criteria as that."

Viktor grunted irritably and strode past the group, heading for the staff kitchen. He'd take reception for the day and the twins would flirt with him shamelessly and by lunch-time he would have forgiven her for sacrificing him to such a boring task yet again.

"I need the Pressfort files and the Grosvenor files," said Bones, turning to Fred.

"Do I look like your assistant?" he asked.

"Not particularly, but you'll have to do. By lunch, please." She was about to head for her office when Draco Malfoy walked in.

The twins both moved closer to Bones, shoulders tensing. They knew her well enough not to speak for her, but she could tell they were ready to back her up at a moment's notice. She couldn't imagine what they thought she would need protection from.

"Not now," she said to Malfoy. "I don't have the time and I don't have the temperament."

He smiled and held up a stack of files in one hand. "Make the time. I can deal with your foul temper," he said easily. "Shacklebolt sent me."

Biting into her lower lip, Bones frowned. Shacklebolt had not been particularly accommodating of Hottie since she had pulled an operation that had been closing in on the pack of werewolves that had run with Greyback. "I'm not apologising if that's what he's angling for," she said.

"Not really sure why he'd be angling for an apology," said Draco. "But I'd never ask you for one."

"My office," said Bones flatly, turning away from him as she spoke. She didn't really want to deal with politics that day, but as the head of Hottie it wasn't always optional.

She didn't wait for Draco to close the door of her office behind himself before spinning on him and saying, "Speak."

Draco tossed the files onto her desk and ran the tip of his tongue across his upper lip. He didn't look nervous but, for a moment, Bones had the strongest feeling that he was. Then she remembered that her feelings could not be trusted and bit the inside of her cheek to steady herself.

"We need results in the next few days," Draco said, settling himself into one of the armchairs opposite Bones' desk. He didn't ask permission, which Bones approved of. She found such things unnecessary and time-consuming. "It's the first anniversary of the fall of You-Know-Who, it's the forefront of the wizarding world's thoughts and they will want concrete evidence that we are locating the remaining Death Eaters."

Smiling grimly, Bones leant back against her desk. "And the fact that elections are right around the corner and catching some high profile Death Eaters would look really good for Scrimgeour has nothing to do with it?"

Shooting her a look of exasperated amusement, Draco shrugged. "Be that as it may, Shacklebolt knows that Hottie is more likely to deliver results than the Ministry Aurors. I'll be working with you and if you need any resources, I'll secure it with Shacklebolt."

"We don't use go-betweens," said Bones. "If I need resources, I'll go to Shacklebolt myself."

Draco gave a short bark of laughter. "Hufflepuff," he said in a tone that almost sounded affectionate. "Why do you think he sent me?"

Setting her jaw, Bones scowled at him. She knew that it wasn't the worst idea in the world. By reputation Draco Malfoy was far better at negotiation and diplomacy than she was. Had he offered to mediate without having been sent by Shacklebolt, Bones might have even been appreciative. "I might have insinuated that his mother could have done the world a favour by opting for abortion," she said finally.

Draco stared at her. "Merlin, Bones. His mother would not admit him to her room when she was on her deathbed, did you know that?"

"Yes." Bones tilted her head back, stretching her neck. The last thing Shacklebolt's mother had ever said to him was that she wished he had never been born. Sometimes, Shacklebolt had told Bones, he wished that he had never gone against Voldemort. Bones had used everything he had ever told her to cause him as much lasting damage as she was able. It wasn't as though it was the worst thing she had ever done.

"You would never have done that at Hogwarts," said Draco, still looking shocked by her admission. "You would have died before causing anyone that kind of pain, let alone someone who was on your side."

Bones wondered why he sounded as though someone was tearing his soul to pieces. Surely someone who had killed their own father would have no soul left to tear. "Are you the same person you were at Hogwarts?" she asked.

"I'm kinder," said Draco, though his voice was infinitely sad.

Bones hated the small part of herself that analysed his tone, searching for something that she could hurt him with later if she needed to. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and told herself that she was strong enough to stop herself from hurting the people around her. Some days it was true; most it was not. "I'm not," she said.

The corner of Draco's mouth tugged upward. "Let me negotiate for you," he said gently. "I won't get in your way. I'm not expecting continuous reports on your progress. I've kept up with Hottie's activities since you guys went public; I know that you're good at what you do."

Walking around to the other side of her desk, Bones sat in her chair and studied Draco, frowning. "You're on our side?" She wasn't asking whether he went against Voldemort; she knew he did. She was asking whether he would chose Hottie over Shacklebolt.

Draco smiled and his words, when they came, were a little too much like a promise. "Of course. Always."

Always was a long time, and Bones didn't really believe in it. "There are some files I need from the Unspeakable archives," she said, reaching for a quill. "Shacklebolt will have the clearance for them. Talk him into it and I will consider you my new go-between."

Draco merely laughed. "Compared to this, it will be easy," he said.