Disclaimer: Lots of plot, action, sexiness and love! Just recently fell in love with this pairing. A little late to the party apparently. Also I don't own Harry Potter or it's characters. I just love it.

Also- some of my details may not be exact so plz don't nerd rage me if I make some mistakes. I had an idea of a story with them that's been rattling around in my head for a couple days now.

Now plz enjoy!

Chapter 1: Life after the War

Draco stared blankly at the crackling fire. Silence seemed to fill every corner of the empty manor. It was unnerving to him, especially after 5 years in Azkaban when muffled screaming and sobbing had been his nightly company just beyond his cell walls.

He had been released last week and had yet to adjust being back in the wizarding world. He felt out of place when leaving the Ministry of Magic after his release.

Now he felt like some bloody shut-in. Trapped in a creaking, empty, dusty old house with nothing but his dark thoughts and his late mother's house elf, Linx, for company. Draco felt his mood shift at the thought of his mother. He sat forward in the large wingback chair and reached down between his legs and tipped the bottle of Firewhiskey into his empty glass and poured himself another round.

He would have to send Linx out to fetch him some more whiskey soon, he thought, settling back into his chair, and returning his gaze to the fire.

He wondered vaguely the last time he saw his mother. She had visited him in Azkaban almost once a month during his first year there. She was granted special access to him as he was the youngest prisoner ever to enter Azkaban. He had barely turned 18 when was sentenced to 5 years. She came faithfully to their visits, despite the sorrow in her gaze whenever she looked at him. Draco believed his mother possibly saved him from going mad that first year as her steady and frequent visits made him remember that there was life outside those desperate walls.

The Ministry dropped their charges against his mother once Draco pleaded guilty to all the alleged Malfoy family crimes during the second wizarding world with Lord Voldemort. He spared his mother from facing that lifeless island. He wanted to protect her. Draco realized later that he could never protect his mother from the true enemy—herself.

In his second year, she stopped coming as often and on her final visit with him, informed him that his father had been killed in dark magic deal gone wrong.

Draco knew his father's life had turned against him when Lord Voldemort was defeated. His job at the ministry disappeared, his friends were being hunted down and imprisoned, his son was in Azkaban and the shame he felt was so overwhelming, that his only option seemed to be to escape through his old ways. Draco found out later that his father was dealing in dark magical relics and sold too many fakes to the wrong people and... with a flash of brilliant green light, he was killed.

His father's murderer was never caught.

Draco hated his father for this. His father was a coward. His cruelty was proof of this. Draco remembered watching his father tremble in terror at Voldemort and yell viciously at Draco the next. His father never had real power and seemed to spend his whole bloody life chasing it. Draco refused to do the same. He wanted nothing to do with the family name or the reputation of it.

A deep, yawning sadness filled him as an image of his mother's face appeared before his eyes. He closed his eyes briefly, the pain settling in his chest like a heavy weight. He attempted to take a breath but his lungs seemed constricted. His mother. His sad, unhappy mother.

Linx had found her body in the stairwell. She had stepped off the third-floor steps of the manor, hanging herself. He did not hate her for her choice like he did his father. In fact, he understood it all too well.

How many nights had he dreamt about that very thing for himself locked up in Azkaban? When he couldn't take anymore screams… the cold chilling feeling of death from the Dementors… the endless days of torment…

Draco took another swig of his whiskey, barely feeling the burn down his throat.

"Master…" Linx said in a soft, squeaky voice.

Draco glanced towards the small elf. Her big brown eyes were filled with uncertainty as she said, "Forgive me, Master, I don't mean to interrupt…"

"What is it, Linx?" He asked, his voice gruff from the lack of use and now the whiskey. His vocal cords were damaged by his own doing. When word came to him of his mother's suicide, all hope evaporated from him and he screamed for days. Days, or maybe weeks. He wasn't sure. His voice had never been the same. It was harder, gruffer.

"There is… a man… It is Harry Potter, sir." She said his name with barely suppressed reverence. "He's here. He's asked to see ya." She shifted uncomfortably under his sharp gaze.

Draco was not surprised to hear Harry Potter was at his door. He knew he would turn up sooner or later. He merely nodded, "It's okay, Linx. Let him in."

She dashed away instantly to let in the legendary, heroic Harry Potter into the home of the disgraced and hated Malfoy Manor.

Draco sat up stiffly, fluttered his wand and another wingback chair appeared across from him and a black marble table between them. The whiskey floated on top of the table and another glass materialed.

Harry walked into the dark room, only the golden firelight gave it any feeling of welcome and warmth. The Manor was a cold and dreary place. It at times reminded him painfully of Azkaban.

The youthful appearance of Potter never seemed to make him very intimidating, yet he was the greatest wizard alive. He stopped the second wizarding war after he killed Lord Voldemort.

"May I take your coat, Harry Potter?" Linx asked.

"Sure, thanks." Harry said, handing the house elf his rain dampened grey peacoat. He smiled kindly at Linx, who squeaked in awe, grabbed his coat roughly and dashed away once more.

Harry's gaze moved to Draco and his expression seemed edgy and drained.

"Drink?" Draco asked.

"Love one," he said and took the seat across from Draco, letting out a deep sigh.

The two men shared a brief air cheers and drank out of their glasses.

"Congratulations on the new job," Draco said.

"Thanks- only took four years." Harry replied with a slight irritation in his tone.

Harry Potter was the youngest Auror in the Ministry of Magic and made yet another historical move when he became the head of the department last week. His first official act was to release Draco Malfoy from Azkaban. The Daily Prophet had a field day on his release, claiming Potter was clearly bewitched into letting Draco out a few months early.

To Draco's everlasting surprise, Harry Potter visited him secretly in Azkaban almost a year ago. He had been at the height of his Auror days, making a splash in the wizarding world, outside his defeat of the Dark Lord, with his keen ability on knowing the inner workings of dark wizards and witches. The cells in Azkaban were filling up with Potter's catches. When he came to Draco's cell, he gave him a proposition. One that Draco couldn't refuse.

Harry leaned forward, looking serious now. "I know what I'm asking of you Draco. You agreed under terrible circumstances in Azkaban. If I were in your shoes, I would've done the same thing to get out of that place."
Draco sat back, stared darkly at the man before him. A man he once thought was his enemy. School boys that tormented each other. Draco being the biggest of the tormentors, believing all that rubbish of dirty blood and mixing with the enemy.

Yet so much had changed. The world had changed. And Draco had changed, whether he fully understood it or not. He had felt the shift inside him begin when the Dark Lord was alive and the height of his power. He realized how little he genuinely believed in Voldemort and what he stood for, what his family stood for.

None of that mattered now to him. Yet to the world, Draco Malfoy still represented the last remaining darkly powerful pureblood family that stood in line with the Dark Lord. Even if he didn't. So when Harry Potter came to his prison cell and offered him a life outside of his name, to redeem whatever was left of his soul, Draco saw a way out. He no longer had anything to lose or to prove.

Potter sipped his whiskey slowly and suddenly looked older, much older. Maybe it was from the exhaustion of the work he was doing. Or maybe it was this moment. Draco knew what Potter was asking him and the reality of it was maybe finally setting in for the hero of the Wizarding World.

But Potter didn't have to worry about Draco. He made up his mind the minute he asked him in his prison cell.

"I'll do it, Potter." Draco finally said. A sudden stillness washed over Harry's grave features.

"I want to make sure, Draco. Make it clear that you understand what you're getting into…"

Draco interrupted with a short, harsh laugh. "Five years in Azkaban can't be any worse than what you're asking me."

"It could mean your life."

Draco felt his jaw tick. What was his life worth these days anyways? Who would want Draco Malfoy working for them, or with them? He had nothing to offer, nothing to give. He was a convicted Deatheater, former loyalist to Lord Voldemort and had an entire family that followed the Dark Arts. And that family was dead. Voldemort was dead. The only thing left, according to Harry, was Deatheaters, deep in hiding and looking for their next Lord or Lady of the Dark to follow and support.

He suddenly stood, feeling an untapped rage filter through his veins as he tossed his entire glass into the fire. The fire sparked brightly from the liquor as the glass shattered.

"And what life is that exactly?" He gritted his teeth. "My mother—she couldn't bare the idea of a life without a family and made her choice. My father is a shameful disgrace and the Malfoy name is almost as tragic as Riddle's. Whatever life I would have had was taken from me by my family and my own bloody choices."

"I was sorry to hear about your mother," Harry said solemnly. "I don't want you to believe this is any kind of penance for you or your family's mistakes. Five years in Azkaban was more than enough."

Draco gripped the edge of the stone fireplace. Five years was the standard sentence back then for a known affiliate of Voldemort. Potter was working on changing that law. Both men knew that no one truly deserved Azkaban—it was a hollow, sinister place that would turn even the innocent mad. Draco knew he was not innocent and was nearly dead by the time his sentence was up.

"It really doesn't matter what I believe, does it? Either way you need me and maybe… I need this." His voice was steady as he spoke.

Harry nodded and stood, setting his unfinished glass down on the table. He withdrew a copy of the Daily Prophet. "There will be rules. We will communicate once a month by post. Your orders will come directly from me, no one else will know of your connection to the Ministry or to me. I suggest getting a cover job, something that looks normal." He hesitated, "I don't know how long this will last, Draco. It could months, maybe even a year or two. But if it is successful, that's all that matters."

Draco watched as Potter set the rolled copy of the Daily Prophet onto the table. "Your first assignment. Page 3."

Linx reappeared suddenly, holding a freshly dried coat for Harry Potter. She beamed proudly up at him as she handed him his coat. He thanked her and slipped it on.

"Potter," Draco said abruptly. "If I…" he hesitated, feeling a heaviness with his words before he even spoke them. "If I die, don't bury me with my family. Burn me and take me back to Hogwarts."

Harry nodded carefully. "I will."

Draco felt an unexpected trust begin to form with his former enemy turned ally.

Potter left Malfoy Manor and Draco retrieved the copy of the paper, unrolled it and a black velvet bag dropped out. He opened the bag, discovering it was a hefty some of galleons with a note scrawled in Potter's handwriting on a slip of parchment. "Payment for services and travel expenses. Good luck."

Draco opened the newspaper to page 3. His icy blue eyes scrutinized the page and found what he was looking for. The article was titled: Rumors of Bulgarian Deatheaters Destroy Muggle Town. International Wizardry Committee Will Not Allow Ministry of Magic Officials to Interfere!

Time for retribution, he thought. Dark magic destroyed his family and his life. His old life was gone. Draco was about to toss the paper in the fire when he noticed a picture of someone familiar. A ghost from his past.

He hesitated, eyes transfixed on the moving image of Hermione Granger. She was older now, the black and white picture made her features darker, yet he could still see that light she possessed, a light that haunted his fantasies. Draco smirked slightly at the thought, knowing he would have never admitted that to her or even himself back at Hogwarts.

He saw that glowing beautiful light around her the first day he saw her in their First Year at school together. It was not until he was older that he realized that it was her spirit that glowed from her very skin somehow. And it was beautiful—she was beautiful. Her quick wit, her incredible mind, her ability to know what was instinctively right. He was jealous of Potter and Weasley and bullied her for his own confused feelings.

Confused, he thought dully, yeah he was real confused all right as he fantasized about her in his Forth Year as he laid in his bed, curtains drawn, late at night. How many times had the mere thought of her created that building arousal between his legs? Too many to count.

Hermione Granger was the one woman that he couldn't have. And she certainly didn't want him. Most girls at Hogwarts gladly yielded to him when he set his eyes on them—or they pursued him, wanting the taste of the bad boy, which he happily obliged. Hermione was different. She was defiant and stubborn, even punching him in the face. He was cruel to her. She didn't want him, and this angered him.

As a grown man, the bullying days of Hogwarts behind him, he was filled with sudden regret and shame for his actions towards her. She never deserved any of it. He recognized what his behavior was—a crush on a girl he wasn't supposed to like and frustrated at his own desire for her.

Draco scratched the stubble on his jaw, staring at her picture. Bloody hell she was stunning and incredibly sexy. She had no idea how gorgeous she truly was either. That was evident to him the year of the Yule Ball.

Draco caught himself thinking of her in Azkaban, especially on the darkest nights there, whenever the screams were unbearable. On a spare piece of Prophet paper and dull pencil he sketched her in his prison cell, trying to think of happier days, before the darkness fell over his life.

When he was just a stupid kid with a stupid crush on a girl who wouldn't like him in a million years.

He studied her features on the newspaper now as she smiled politely at the photographer, the smile never reaching her eyes. She looked… sad. He was surprised. He knew she was a war hero along with Potter and Weasley. He assumed that her life would be easier now, no longer hunting Voldemort and getting to live her life to the fullest.

The article was in the gossip section of the Prophet, which read: "Will they? Won't they? We reader's of Miss Beatrix's column all what to know if Weasley and Granger will finally wed? It has been five years since the lovers were captured holding hands and smooching. Yet no word yet on a future wedding in sight. We all are holding out for our favorite wartime couple to commit! Stay tuned for more next week on the Weasley Wedding Update!"

Draco shook his head, wondering how Hermione could ever love a prat like Ron Weasley. Yet she did. He hadn't a chance even if he had changed. He looked once more at the beautiful Hermione Granger and tossed the paper into the fire. She deserved to be happy, he thought. To find someone who didn't cause that sadness in her eyes. He sighed and let his thoughts and feelings for Granger burn out with the newspaper. There was work to be done.

TBC