Okay, everyone who’s been patient enough to come back for an update, remember what’s happened? After going on trial for war crimes committed against the Weasley twins, Draco was stripped of his family legacy and sentenced to five years with a Muggle family in America. Draco has returned to England and the wizarding world, where Harry, Ron, and Hermione have been leading their lives as war heroes. Harry as a Ministry Official, Ron starting a career in professional Quidditch, and Hermione teaching at Hogwarts.

Ron has just returned after a couple of months of training.

Kyra (aka the awesome and prolific kyra4) – This one goes out to you, in memory of your poor, terrible cat, and your recent dental work. I also hope that everything you are hoping for comes to pass.

CHAPTERTHREEBEGIN

“Ron,” Hermione gasped loudly. In that one word, her voice revealed far too much of what she felt – anger, surprise and hurt. Why hadn’t he told her he was coming?

“Oh,” he said sheepishly. “Hi, Hermione.” He looked different. His hair was cropped extremely short and his face was weather-beaten.

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione uncomfortably. Draco was the next to speak. “When did you get back, Weasley?”

Ron switched from guilty to angry in a split second. He glared at Draco in ill-concealed outrage. Before he had a chance to demand why Draco was there, Glenda laughed melodically. “Ronald Weasley, of course. You promised Harry Potter and delivered the whole glorious triangle, Draco,” she said approvingly.

Ron gaped at Glenda, recognition setting in. He had, after all, grown up listening to her voice. He looked suspiciously at Draco. “What’s going on?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Hermione nearly growled at Ron.

Ron ignored her. He continued glaring at Draco. Draco answered him nonchalantly. “Hermione asked Glenda and myself to stop by.”

Everyone turned to Hermione, who nearly spluttered in surprise. It was a downright lie and she was sure Draco had used her given name solely to unnerve Ron, but at the moment, she didn’t care. “Right,” she said, knowing the surprise on her face was evident, but not caring. “Glenda, this is Harry. Enjoy. Ron, would you come with me, please? I’d like a word in private.” Harry and Ron both balked in annoyance, but Ron grudgingly followed Hermione out of the room and Harry dutifully held out his hand to Glenda.

Ron and Hermione closed the door behind them. They were in Ron’s old room. Very little had changed. She had tidied up the clothes he’d strewn across the room, but the Chudley Cannons posters still flashed on the walls, an unnecessary reminder of why she was so furious.

“So, Ronald, you got a holiday.” Her voice was unnaturally high, barely contained.

“Why is Malfoy here?” Ron demanded.

“He wanted to introduce Glenda to Harry,” Hermione answered quickly. “How long are you in town?” she continued, anger definitely breaking through the breezy tone she was attempting.

“It’s just my regular one-day holiday,” Ron said impatiently. “Why are you inviting Draco Malfoy,” he said the name as if it were a dirty word, “over to Harry’s flat?”

“Does it matter?” Hermione countered.

“Of COURSE it does!” Ron exploded. “He could have gotten you ALONE with him.”

“What’s your point?” Hermione shot back. “You don’t seem to care who I’m alone with. You never find time to spend time with me. You don’t even want to see me, your girlfriend, on your one day off!”

Ron fumed. “Stop being such a bloody idiot, Hermione. Can’t you see he’s using you? He just wants the glory of being Harry’s friend!”

Hermione shook her head in shock. “Did you not hear what I said!? This has nothing to do with Malfoy! This is about you.” She tried to steady her breathing, but her breaths were coming in fast, livid bursts. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Ron considered her expression and rolled his eyes. “Is this really why you’re upset? Or are you just angry because I finally have my own life?”

Hermione blinked. “What are you talking about?” she asked, flabbergasted.

“All this time, I’ve been around to take you to Ministry functions and watch you mark essays. Now that I’m doing what I want, you –”

Hermione interrupted, surprised. “Ron!” she said, her voice softening. “That’s not it at all! I want you to be happy, of course I do. It’s just that I wish you’d at least told me you were trying out for the team.”

“Why should I have?” Ron retorted. “You never told me you were going to publish potions reports every month. We never talked about your decision to be a Hogwarts professor. You didn’t even give me a choice about that stupid sodding Elf Rights campaign.”

For a few seconds, Hermione could only stare at him in stunned disbelief. “So what are we going to do?” she finally managed.

“I don’t know,” Ron said coldly. “But do me a favor. Tell me when you decide.” He turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

Hermione sat heavily on Ron’s bed, grinding her teeth. She couldn’t believe he could be so stupid, so pigheaded. Could it really been the way he’d said? Had she really been dragging him along behind her all these years?

Yes, answered the honest part of her mind.

But hadn’t he come along happily? Willingly?

The question threw a wet blanket over her raging temper. She didn’t let herself think about it. She had to go out and face Harry and Draco or whoever was still there. She had to admire Draco’s Slytherin-esque method of molding every situation to his benefit. He’d invited himself over and seen the opportunity to leave her with the consequences. He’d somehow snaked his way into Harry’s circle without having to surrender the tiniest hint of information. With his slithery ways, it was a wonder he’d been punished at all for serving Voldemort.

She went out into the living room. Harry was sitting on the sofa, waiting for her. He was the only one there and his face was set in a sympathetic grimace. It made Hermione’s heart ache. Harry was always there while she and Ron fought, supporting them both, forever caught in the middle.

“Ron left,” Harry said. “Draco and Glenda left when you started yelling.”

Hermione plopped miserably down next to Harry. “Draco?” she queried.

Harry winced. “It slipped out. That Chittock woman kept saying it. But if both of us are having him ‘round….”

Hermione considered explaining the truth, but it hardly seemed worth it. She wanted to forget about the complications in her life. “Let’s go out,” she announced suddenly.

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Oh, come on, Harry. I need to get my mind off things,” Hermione continued. And she did. If she thought about Ron, she might fall to pieces. Either that, or rip something to shreds.

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Harry asked. “You have classes tomorrow.”

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione psshed. “I’m a grown woman.”

55555

Harry eventually succumbed to Hermione’s pleading. They locked up and walked down to the local pub. They talked for a while, but lapsed into a comfortable silence when they ran out of insubstantial things to say. After a few drinks, which Hermione drank quickly enough, she was on the brink of telling him about what Ron had said, but how could she?

She truly hated Ron at the moment. He had spent years acting perfectly normal and now, suddenly and completely without warning, he was hurtling outrageous accusations at her. That’s what they were; outrageous. She could have laughed if she weren’t so angry. She had always thought of him, made time for him, smoothed out his often-rumpled ego.

Why, she’d treated him too well! She’d taken care of him! She could have had someone taking care of her! She could have had anyone!

The pub was busy. Hermione looked around from her perch next to Harry at the bar. There was a sea of eligible-looking men around. “I could still have anyone,” she mumbled unsteadily under her breath. Harry didn’t notice. The music was loud.

She stood up, intending to go and introduce herself to someone, to see what she’d been missing, but was surprised when she swayed on her feet.

Harry caught her arm and she clutched at his. In the dim light of the pub, he didn’t look like himself. He’d taken off his glasses and set them on the bar some time before.

Maybe she would try her little experiment with someone safe.

Harry’s mouth was cool from the ale, but only yielded for a moment before he pulled her away.

“Oh, god,” Hermione gulped, slapping her hand over her mouth. “Harry, I’m so sorry.” Tears sprang to her eyes but she struggled to hold them back. She sat back in her seat. “I should get some water. I think I’m drunk.” She ordered the water and fell silent.

They never mentioned the kiss to each other again, but Harry did ask, just a moment later, “Are you all right?”

She answered as truthfully as she could, and given her state of inebriation, the answer came out with enough honesty to make Harry cringe. “It’s growing differently, you know, my relationship with Ron. He’s changing.” Hermione considered the way she’d just acted and the way she’d played along with Draco’s little lie earlier. “I suppose I’m changing too.”

After absorbing this information, Harry looked at her with both pride and a sad sort of resignation. “You’re growing smarter.”

“What!? Harry, no I’m not,” Hermione said, embarrassed and relieved.

“You are,” Harry insisted. “You were right about Draco. He’s not the same narrow-minded prick. Who else would have known?” Hermione didn’t point out the fact that he’d said Draco yet again. “And you’re growing more beautiful.”

“Honestly, Harry, now you’re just being ridiculous,” Hermione laughed, swaying on her barstool.

“No, Ron and I talked about it. You’re an amazing witch, in every way.”

Hermione bit her lip, smiling at him. He was so different from Ron. He could forgive her so easily. He meant what he said, despite what she’d just done. “C’mon, Harry, you’re just sauced,” she whacked him on the arm.

“Well,” Harry snorted, “maybe so, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.” He finished his drink as Hermione drained her water.

She sighed and stared out the windows. “Let’s get you back, Harry. I need to be on my way.”

“Back to the scholars?” Harry asked. “Do you think you’ll be able to get back okay?”

“Oh, I’ve done it before. Do me a favor, Harry,” Hermione said, a rush of regret flooding over her for what had been said between her and Ron today. “Get those answers out of Draco so he’ll stop hanging around our apartment all the time.”

“Where’s this coming from?” Harry cocked his head to the side. “Hold on. Weren’t you originally supposed to do the questioning?” Harry asked, squinting at her.

“Yeah, well…” Hermione trailed off and slid off the barstool.

“And weren’t you the one who invited him over today?”

Hermione frowned. “Honestly, Harry. Fine, we’re a team.”

4444

Harry navigated his way through crowded Diagon Alley toward Gringotts. It had been several weeks since the incident at the pub. Neither Ron nor Hermione had divulged any information about their relationship to Harry. Harry hadn’t even seen Ron, though Hermione had been around about as often as usual.

Just as he reached the front of the goblin bank, Harry spotted Draco walking out.

“Oi,” he said casually.

“Potter,” Draco answered, nodding.

Several people walking by stared at them.

“How’s Patricia?” Harry asked. Patricia was an excruciatingly pretty half-veela that Draco had recently brought to Harry’s. It had been one of the very few times Harry’d been glad Ginny was away for her apprenticeship. He hadn’t been able to keep himself from drooling one hundred percent of the time.

“Golden, last I checked,” Draco answered.

“And Glenda?” Harry continued.

“You’d know better than I,” Draco said. “She said she was going to ask you for an on-air interview.”

Harry scowled. “Yeah, she did.”

That made Draco smile. “Oh, thanks for dinner the other night,” he said.

Harry nodded. True to their agreement, he and Hermione continually “worked” on Draco. Harry had long ago decided to be patient. Draco himself wasn’t bad to be around – an astounding realization that added to the novelty of having a new person in Harry’s weekly routine. And soon enough, he would crack. Draco had artfully avoided, eluded, and downright refused to answer any of Harry and Hermione’s questions so far, but it was only a matter of time.

It was frustrating that Mundungus Fletcher had died or disappeared in the war; if Harry had had him around instead of Draco, finding Knockturn Alley would only have been a matter of intimidation. Still, Harry found himself – he was man enough to admit it – enjoying Draco’s company as he waited for some hint to be dropped. Besides, he had many other assignments to occupy him as well.

“Are bank runs part of your service, delivery boy?” Harry asked. “I thought I saw you coming out of Gringotts last week.”

“I was making a deposit, Sherlock” Draco answered. “I’m planning on buying back the Manor.”

“Is there a lot of gold in errand-running?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I’d better be going. Time is money, Potter. Unless you’ve got a cushy Ministry job, I suppose.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Harry said curtly.

“I won’t,” Draco said, brushing past him. “Oh, four-eyes,” Draco halted, remembering something. “When are we going to play two-on-two?”

“Can Patricia ride a broom?” Harry asked warily.

One corner of Draco’s mouth lifted. “Not so much.”

“Good,” Harry said. “Hermione’s hopeless.”

The other corner of Draco’s mouth lifted. “I remember.” He raised a hand in farewell. “Make it soon, Potter.”

333

Draco stumbled out his front door in the wee hours of the morning. He hadn’t been able to sleep. There was a two-day event at Mariah’s that held a fair amount of his funds in the balance. He made his slow and unusually clumsy way to the nearest Internet café. He bought a bottle of water before sitting down in front of the computer.

Draco opened his email.

Hi Draco!

Thanks for sending those pictures. They’re my first-ever wizard photos! I can’t believe how beautiful that girl is! She looks like she’s made of silver and gold.

Speaking of money, no, we absolutely do not need any more help. It’s good to know that you’re back on your feet and don’t worry, Dad is too. He said once was enough. We’ll never need money from you again. We really are fine, too. I might even be getting an iPod for Christmas!

They’re going to hold a memorial for Michael next spring. My art teacher suggested I submit something. I don’t know if I can, Draco. Michael was my brother. I loved him, but I just don’t think I can create something fit to honor his memory.

So what’s happening with you and Harry Potter and Hermione Granger? I hope you really mean it when you write that you’re “trying to be civil.” I can tell that you like them, which is really ironic considering the way you first talked about them. Why didn’t you send a picture of them? Especially Hermione! You keep saying she’s a know-it-all like me, but I think you “fancy” her, as you Brits say.

Love,

Becca

Draco logged out. He couldn’t answer that email in his current, groggy state. The part about Hermione was just… well, truthfully, his opinion of her had changed, but he wasn’t about to say anything to Rebecca. And as for Michael, he didn’t know what he could say to help Rebecca. Just reading Michael’s name had made Draco feel angry and guilty all over again.

Draco left the café and stumbled back up the road to his place, barely registering that he had left the door unlocked before he fell into bed, shoes still on.

22

The next morning, Hermione was fully intending to enjoy her weekend. Harry’d said he had a surprise for her. They were doing something different, something she hadn’t done since she was a Hogwarts student. He’d asked her to meet him in the park. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling that had given her.

Once she was dressed, she apparated to the park situated across from Harry’s flat. Crossing the street, she tried not to notice that the handful of other people in the park were concentrated near the street, nowhere near the grove of trees that surrounded a small field. She walked through the mulberries, knowing she was not going to like whatever she saw on the other side.

And she was right.

There was a hoop on each side of the field. They hung expectantly in midair, taunting her with their unreasonably small diameters. And there was a pile of equipment in the middle of the field: a large box, a mess of brooms, and protective gear – for her, undoubtedly.

Suddenly, there was tinkling laughter on the other side of the trees. A moment later, Harry tramped through, catching sight of Hermione and grinning. Draco was next, gliding briskly over fallen leaves. They were followed by three stunning women Hermione had never seen before. Last came Fred and George. That explained the laughter.

Hermione suppressed the urge to chastise Harry for duping her into a Quidditch match and ran over to hug the twins. She hadn’t seen them since well before Ron had started training. “Hermione,” George said warmly, “it’s been a while.”

“But you’re early!” Fred said. “I didn’t think you’d be so eager for a game.”

“Who’s at the store?” Hermione asked.

“It’s always business with you, Hermione,” Fred said, putting an arm around her shoulder and leading her to the center of the field. “Here we are to enjoy a spot of Quidditch with some very old friends—”

“—and some very new friends,” George added. Hermione glanced at Draco. He was walking level with her and the twins. One of the girls was walking next to him, staring at him with a sickeningly gooey expression, talking about the game. He wasn’t paying her any attention. His eyes flitted between each of the twins and Hermione. He was understandably tense.

“And you’re worried about the store,” Fred continued. “Well, don’t fret. We’re testing our newest product on our assistant. It’s an antidote to U-No-Poo.”

Hermione groaned.

“That’s right,” George grinned proudly. “Hairy Plopper – better than bran muffins.”

The other girls made disgusted faces. Fred smiled conspiratorially. “I won’t go into details, but the hair adds a certain… silkiness to the experience.”

Hermione shoved Fred’s arm from her shoulders. “That is revolting.” She couldn’t help smiling, though. Far from attacking Draco, the twins were jokes as usual. Still, it couldn’t be easy for them. Hermione wondered what Harry had said to convince them to come along.

“Hermione,” Harry admonished playfully, “you shouldn’t say that about my first namesake.”

One of the gorgeous women giggled nervously and stood next to Harry as they reached the center of the field.

“It’s a masterpiece,” George said. “Although, it works a little too well.”

“Our assistant is lucky we have a loo inside the store,” Fred added. “He won’t be farther than a broomstick’s length from it all day.”

“So there’s no way for him to skive off. The store should be safe for the day,” George concluded. He grabbed a broom from the pile and handed it to one of the pretty girls.

Fred threw his arm around Hermione again and whispered in her ear. “And, present company excluded, we don’t know of anyone who might try and blow it up.” Hermione frowned, her eyes flashing to Draco. She was glad Fred hadn’t said that out loud. She was hoping they could keep this lighthearted camaraderie, but Draco was eyeing them suspiciously. He hadn’t heard Fred, had he? He was frowning as well.

“Mr….” It took Draco a long time, struggling with what to say. “Fred?” he said, unsure.

“Yes, Mr. Draco,” George said, from next to Draco.

“Er…George, then,” Draco corrected, turning back to Fred. “Do you mind if I introduce Granger to my friends?”

“That would be lovely, Mr. Draco,” Fred answered smilingly, his arm still comfortably around Hermione’s shoulders.

Draco proceeded to introduce Hermione to each of the beautiful girls, whose names she soon forgot. They had all gone to Beauxbatons and played on the Quidditch team there. Hermione was the only one who hadn’t spent years on the Quidditch field.

Harry and Draco, who had organized the game, divvied up the players. It was Harry, Hermione, Fred, and the girl who had laughed at Harry’s joke against the others. Of course, it wasn’t a full 14-player game. Harry and Draco both had to divide their time between seeking and chasing. Fred and George were opposing beaters and only used one bludger.

Nevertheless, the game was intense. Hermione, as keeper, remained stiff and slightly frightened in front of her hoop. Draco’s chaser was unquestionably a knockout, but that did not prevent her from abandoning all ladylike civility once in the air. She elbowed her way past Hermione, scoring time after time, until it seemed unlikely that Harry would be able to salvage the game.

In the last few seconds, Harry and Draco both darted across the field after a flutter of gold, completely diverted from what they had been doing. Draco’s chaser remained set on target while Hermione willed herself not to fall off her broom. “I gotcha, ‘mione!” Fred yelled from somewhere above.

The bludger came tearing toward the chaser just before she reached Hermione. It knocked her squarely in the back, catching her by surprise. Hermione saw the woman’s face slacken in shock before she flew clear off her broom and into Hermione. They were both too stunned to realize what was happening until the woman started slipping to the ground.

Hermione had lost her seat. She was still hanging on, both hands gripping the broom which was now above her head. The other woman wasn’t as lucky, but Hermione wasn’t able to help. The woman slipped quickly down the length of Hermione’s body. “I think it’s too far for us to let go,” she said, almost calmly, as if this had happened countless times before.

“Of course it’s too far!” Hermione screeched in agreement.

“Can you lower the b –”

Pop!

She had been interrupted by a sudden jolt. Then, slowly, but inescapably, Hermione’s jeans started to slide down. The woman seemed to realize what had happened. She scrambled, trying to hold onto Hermione’s hips instead, but that just made things happen more quickly.

Hermione became aware, at that point, that Harry and Draco were back.

Everyone was watching.

“WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING!?” she screamed. “GET ME DOWN!”

The woman kept struggling to get higher. Hermione glimpsed a flash of moment among her captivated audience. And then things got bad.

Hermione felt a shift.

“NO! NO! STOP!” she bellowed. “YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE!” The woman had inadvertently begun to yank down Hermione’s knickers as well.

“WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?” the woman yelled back, equally panicked now.

“I DON’T KNOW!” Hermione shouted back, although her next instinct was to yell LET GO!

Thankfully, in the next moment, they were rescued. Someone lowered them both quickly but carefully to the ground. Hermione sighed in relief as the woman’s feet touched the ground and the strain on her underwear was relieved. It came not a millisecond too soon.

As soon as her own feet hit the ground, she released the broom, turned her back to the others, and repaired her jeans to salvage what was left of her dignity. The rest of the players were quickly on the ground. “Are you all right?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. George whistled. Fred shook his head laughingly. “Nice work, Hermione. If you hadn’t distracted Draco, I don’t think Harry would have gotten the snitch!”

“Yes, I would,” Harry barked, holding the furiously-beating ball up for everyone to see.

“I’m so sorry,” the dazzling woman said apologetically.

“Don’t apologize,” George grinned.

Hermione was vaguely aware of Draco repocketing his wand. “Good game,” he said, clapping his hands together once. “I might not have gotten the snitch, but at least I saved the day, right?”

George waved his comment aside. “Seriously, that was how girls should always play Quidditch.”

Draco looked disgruntled. “Well, I’ve got to go soon.”

“We’ll clean up,” Harry answered.

“Ladies?” Draco asked. The girl who had smashed into Hermione looked relieved but the other two seemed reluctant.

“I vould like to stay,” one said in a slight accent. The other, the one starstruck by Harry, nodded in agreement.

1

“No point in denying yourself, Draco,” Lucius said, smirking triumphantly. “Dumbledore may have been daunting, but I know you’ve been craving a free shot at Potter for years.”

Draco felt calmer than he would have thought possible. He had always enjoyed his free shots at Potter. He could still remember the crunch of bones beneath his boot as he’d stomped on Potter’s face at the beginning of sixth year, not two years earlier. But now was his last opportunity. Potter was prone, at the ugly end of Draco’s wand, and Draco was about to exact sweet, spiteful revenge for years of animosity, second-bests and being shunted out of the limelight. And he was thirsting for vengeance. The spell he’d been rehearsing for weeks coursed through his brain, a perfect combination of enunciation and form.

But then Voldemort arrived.

And Draco woke up.

Harry would have been deeply disturbed had he known how often Draco dreamt about that final battle. About all the details Draco remembered, about the hateful satisfaction he’d felt at the sounds of Harry’s half-sobbing, half-shrieking in pain, and about how he’d been ready for that free shot – his last chance to make Potter’s life just that much more miserable.

He had been itching for his opportunity to torture Harry into insanity.

It was why, now, he could never be Harry’s friend. Harry and Draco could talk, but Draco would never be able to get that moment out of his mind.

And Lucius would have been satisfied to know he still haunted his son. After all the years and many changes, Draco could not escape constant memories of his father. Of course it was Draco’s lot to remember everything. Having survived the war, and having thrown in his lot with the side that lost, his hindsight had developed to the point of replaying every gesture, every word of certain moments, all against Draco’s desire. The experiences he had had to go through after the war, for five years after the war, experiences Lucius would have rolled over in his grave had he known of, had further perfected Draco’s perception of the past. He knew how deeply he’d been wrong.

He was still Draco Malfoy, a pureblood, Slytherin, self-acknowledging, exceptional wizard, but he knew he’d been wrong. He knew Lucius had been wrong, Narcissa, Bella, and Voldemort. But he couldn’t help remembering those moments that marked that great, terrible transition between being on the winning side to suddenly losing everything.

“Ugh,” Draco grunted, throwing a hand across his head. What had he done last night? His dreams were even more intense than usual. What time was it? Good thing it was Tuesday, his day off. He didn’t know how Harry did it sometimes. They had gotten completely pissed the night before.

Draco rolled out of bed. His room was starkly white, far too bright. He stumbled into the kitchen, which also served as the dining and living room. There was a vial on the counter, along with a scrap of parchment. Draco picked up the note.

Draco,

I thought you could use this: Pepper-Up potion with my own special hangover cure.

Your friend,

Hermione

Draco groaned, his head collapsing into his hand. She was so sweet. She had never been to his apartment before. Had Harry been too drunk to take him? Draco unstopped the vial and downed the potion. His head cleared in the time it took for him to walk into the living room and fall into a chair.

“Oh, no,” he whispered. Something had happened. Did he really remember…biting her?