"When you get to know someone, you'll learn exactly when, where, and just how deep to cut." 

— Unknown

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The next week of work went a lot like the first one. Although, now that Draco realised Granger wasn’t as pure and kind as she made herself out to be, he was much more alert when she set him tasks to do. He now refused to go searching all over the building for particular employees and instead resorted to leaving the messages Granger would send them at their doors. Draco figured it was just his job to deliver them, what happened after he’d set the notes to their destination wasn’t of his concern. Whether or not the recipients got them, he didn’t know, only that Granger hadn’t noticed what he was doing just yet. He also, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, went slightly out of his way to make her tea and lunches wrong as humanly possible without it being too obvious. He was beginning to start looking into tasteless and unrecognisable potions to sneak into her food – he wasn’t a former Death Eater for nothing, and he had some tricks up his sleeve. Not that he intended to kill her of course, because, due to the Unbreakable Vow, that would kill him too, but he also needed the bint. The year wasn’t anywhere near over, much to Draco’s pique. He was really beginning to hate his life. Sure, it had its quirks when he finally got under Granger’s skin, but he was starting to grow tired of seeing that same stupid bushy head everywhere.

She was driving him insane and she didn’t even know it.

What kept him going, he supposed, was that he was slowly gathering background information on her. He paid close attention to what ticked her off, what made her upset, and what made her happy. So far, he’d figured out Potter had no idea he was there and she wanted to tell him on her own. Well, no way was Draco going to let that happen. He had a very good idea what he was going to do Saturday afternoon when she met up with him.

He also knew that she was very protective of her cat. Draco used this to his advantage and often threatened it’s life when he didn’t get what he wanted – this new method allowed him access to the bathroom before her. She probably didn’t think him capable of murder, but she was aware he was almost as good with spells as her, and wasn’t going to take the chance. Whoever said ladies first, had not met Granger. She was a Mudblood and barely classified as one.

And finally, all thanks to eavesdropping that night Potter barged in, Draco had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, so to speak, and learned possibly the most important and best advantage he had over her:

Weasley.

Something most definitely had happened between Granger and Weasley, and Draco was making it his business to know. The more information he found out, the better he could use it. She hadn’t snapped yet, and Draco had to admit she had good self-control, Potter would have probably killed him or himself by now, but she would lose control eventually. He was going to verbally abuse her until she was a sobbing, blubbering mess. He was going to drive her insane just as she was unintentionally doing to him. He would regain some of his will to live seeing the composed bookworm lose it.

The rest of the week continued as usual, and soon Saturday did roll around. Draco hurdled down the stairs with a new bounce in his step, highly excited for Granger’s little meet up with Potter he was sure to ruin. Grabbing himself an apple from his side of the fridge – yes that’s right, his side of the fridge – he sat gleefully at the table, for once not even minding he and Granger were sharing it (he’d usually try to eat earlier than her to avoid eating together).

Granger raised an eyebrow, a spoon of yoghurt halfway to her mouth. Still watching him in puzzlement, she settled the spoon back in the little carton.

“What are you so cheerful about?” she asked timidly. She knew anything that would have Draco behaving this way ought to be something to be wary of.

“What’s there not to be cheery about?” he said lightly, juices of the apple spurring his body into gear. In the mornings, he would have something to say about that mop of fuzz on her head, it looked positively dreadful in the morning, but today he ignored it.

“Well…” Granger paused, conflicting emotions playing out behind her eyes. “It’s just that…” She didn’t finish though, and with a shake of her head, placed the last spoonful of yoghurt in her mouth and left the table.

Draco nearly smiled. His attitude had her on her toes. Good.

However, Granger didn’t stay gone for very long, and soon she was back again. Albeit this time she was not alone. A large black owl that was painfully familiar to Draco swept through the window she had apparently just opened, flew cleanly above her head, almost catching her bushy hair in its talons, and landed fluently on the vase of dead flowers in the centre of the table.

Right in front of Draco.

Reluctantly, he reached out and unclasped the note that was tied neatly to the owl’s leg. Dread filled him as he read the back of the note, signed Narcissa Malfoy, and his good mood slowly drained out of him completely as he unfolded the note and began to read:

Dear Draco,

How have you been? How are work and your new roommate treating you? I haven’t read anywhere in the Daily Prophet of any recent deaths so I trust that must be a good sign, seeing as neither one of you has murdered the other yet. I congratulate you. Do tell me how your first few weeks have been; I’d be interested to hear about it.

Draco’s mood lifted again as he skimmed through the next paragraph, going on about the refurnishing of the manor and different wallpapers and the new colour of his room, but then dropped just as fast as it had came when he reached the next paragraph, explaining the real reason his mother had wrote to him.

I regret to inform you that you are required by the manor at three fifteen today, sharp, for tea. Natalie and I will accompany you. Terribly sorry about the short notice darling, she hadn’t informed me of this meeting until late last night. I strictly advise you to be on your best behaviour and do not let me or your father down. Be polite, patient, speak kindly when asked of your inferiors and at least pretend to enjoy work. The sooner she likes you, the easier this will all be.

Dress well, hair brushed, teeth cleaned and flossed, I’ll see you at three.

Love always,

Your mother.

Draco stared at the parchment, reread it over, looked up at the ceiling, glared at the owl as if this were his fault, and then swore loudly.

Granger, startled, looked up from the book in her hands. If Draco had not been in such a state, he may have been appreciative he’d managed to tear her attention away from it. He didn’t think even Potter or Weasley were capable of that.

But right now, he couldn’t care less.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

“Malfoy –”

“Bloody fucking hell!”

“What happened?”

He almost answered her, but caught himself in time. As if he’d let his guard down around Granger and spill out all his feelings – this wasn’t one of those damn soap operas that were always on daytime television (he hadn’t even watched much television and he knew well by now daytime TV was horrible).

Instead, Draco promptly left and went to the only person who could even remotely improve his mood.

***

“So,” said Blaise, strolling lazily around his flat, “you’ve come to the great Zabini in search of help.”

Draco glared darkly at him, but went on, “I need some excuse to get out of it. I don’t want to have tea with my mother and future mother-in-law! That’s every mans nightmare!”

“Mate, you knew what you sighed up for when you agreed,” Blaise said in a nearly pitying way. “What else did you expect?”

“I didn’t know what I sighed up for when I agreed!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t realise how fussy all these women are, what, between my mother, possible mother-in-law, potential wife, and Granger. Mother doesn’t want me to mess up, Hopkins expects so much, and frigging Granger…” he took a breath to calm himself, “don’t even get me started on her.”

“She’s not that bad. I could at least come to accept her if I were you.”

Draco groaned, ignoring him. “And I was looking forward to today.”

“What was happening today?” Blaise asked, watching Draco closely from across the room.

“I was going to mess up Granger’s play date with Potter,” he mumbled, slumping down on one of the many boxes scattered around the flat. Blaise hated unpacking and had convinced himself he wasn’t going to live here forever. Thus, not seeing the point in taking everything out of its box. Sloth.

Blaise watched on, his gaze heavy on Draco, who had dropped his head in his hands in an impossible attempt to stop his thoughts from spinning. He was particularly good at dramatics, everyone knew this, but he had seen the brief sympathy in Blaise’s dark eyes. And though Blaise, as much as Draco hated to think about it, mightn’t dislike Granger as much as he should, when it came down to it he was still Draco’s friend, not Granger’s, and this is why with a sigh and roll of his eyes, he said hesitantly, “Maybe you still could mess up her day.”

At that, Draco looked up at him through his hands hopefully. “What?”

“When’s she meeting Potter?”

“Uh…” Draco thought. “I think I heard her say something over that phone thingy about him arriving at the apartment and then deciding where to go for afternoon tea.”

“So same time you’re seeing your mother?”

“Yeah…”

“So you won’t be able to be there?”

“Obviously,” he said impatiently, hands dropping away from his face. “I wanted to be there when Potter showed up before the know-it-all could explain so he’d go off his nut at her.”

“If you just made peace with the woman, you’d save yourself a lot of –”

“Are you going to help or not?”

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you. What I suggest is to leave some of your belongings around for him to see, things that’ll make it perceptibly clear she’s got a male former Slytherin living with her. Even better if you’ve got something Potter will recognise straight away as yours.”

Draco’s mood improved so much that he jumped up from the box, a look of wondrous delight on his face. “That’s brilliant! But what would he immediately know as mine?”

Both men thought for a moment, long and hard, when abruptly Blaise also jumped up from his box. “Leave your old Slytherin scarf out, your cologne, and the ring,” he pointed at Draco’s right hand, “that your father gave you in third year.”

Draco hesitated. “But… what if Potter tries to blow it up?”

Blaise grinned. “Then you’ll have a reason to blow him up.”

***

Hermione sat in front of the television, not really watching it, as she stroked a purring Crookshanks nestled comfortably in her lap. Malfoy had left for the second time today. Not that she had been expecting him to stay, it was the weekend and they spent practically every waking moment together, so of course he’d want to leave and have some time away the first chance he got. But Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what had been in the letter, what had destroyed his peculiar and overly happy mood in the blink of an eye. She was naturally a curious person and had fleetingly considered looking through his room for the letter, but had immediately scolded herself. She may wonder a lot about Malfoy, but she was not about to go snooping through his stuff.

It was mind-boggling though, the first time he’d left the flat this morning, he had been furious. When he’d came back, however, he’d been happier. And just now when he’d left once more, he had been angry again. This man did not make any sense whatsoever to her, and the more she thought about it, the more he confused her.

Or maybe he just really hated her.

The knock at the door pulled her away from her thoughts. She quickly stood up, Crookshanks jumping off her lap with a very grumpy look.

Just as Hermione was starting towards the door, a sudden gleam of something metallic caught her eye. A men’s deodorant can. Reaching out to hastily throw it out of sight, she also saw a deep blue tie around the back of a chair. That was odd. Normally, Malfoy kept his belongings in his room.

The door opened of its own accord and Harry stepped through.

“Hey, sorry I couldn’t see you sooner. Auror stuff, you know. I hope you don’t mind I let myself in,” he added, seeing her expression and frowning a little.

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said a tad anxiously, trying to block the table from his view. “Should we go?”

“Actually, do you mind if I use your toilet?" he asked, already walking past her.

“Why didn’t you use yours before you left?”

“Ron just used it,” he explained, nose wrinkled.

Understanding dawned on her straight away. “Say no more.”

He was close to the lavatory door when quite out of nowhere he stopped, his eyes fixed on something ahead.

Looking where Harry was, at first she didn’t understand what he was looking at until her eyes landed on it, and she mentally cursed herself for not seeing it sooner: a Slytherin scarf was, very plainly, draped across the stair railings.

“Hermione…” he said very slowly, “why have you got – that – in your apartment?”

Hermione bit her lip, her stomach turning. She didn’t know what to say when she was going to be telling him Draco Malfoy had been living with her for the past few weeks anyway. She couldn’t lie now, but somehow she found herself unable to form the words.

He turned back to her, but that was an even worse mistake, for the open window let the bright afternoon sun shine through the flat and captured the metallic shine of a very expensive looking deodorant can.

“Is that men’s deodorant? Is that a tie?”

“Harry –”

“Are you seeing someone?” he asked, now walking back up to her. He looked very torn between wanting to hear her out, and having trouble not jumping to conclusions, but as his eyes swept the room, signs that more than one person living there became evident to him; the pairs of socks laying about the place, the second bedroom door wide open, men’s clothing on the floor, more dishes in the sink than usual, and there was a smell… a smell to the place… a more masculine scent that had never been there before.

Hermione’s eyes did a quick scan over the downstairs of her flat, and then bit down on her lip so hard there was a faint taste of blood. She hadn’t noticed until now how much the apartment had started showing evidence that Malfoy was also there. But she also knew that some of it was a bit exaggerated. A Slytherin scarf? Seriously? It wasn’t even winter, and Hermione highly doubted Malfoy still wore his old school scarfs.

No, she had a suspicion that he had done this on purpose – there was no way she’d let her flat get this disorganised, but how had she not seen it earlier? Had he put some kind of Disillusionment Charm on it all to only reveal itself at the proper moment?

Her blood boiled. So that’s why he’d hid the first time Harry dropped by. He’d planned to ruin everything at the proper moment.

“Is that Malfoy’s ring?” Harry asked in pure astonishment.

“W-what –?”

He pointed to the table. Sure enough, there beside the deodorant can was the exquisite silver ring, also gleaming impressively in the sunlight, with the same central silver serpent she remembered observing a few times while he was taking down notes in potions.

“Are you and Malfoy living together?” Harry asked so quietly, it was as though he were afraid to ask the question.

Hermione dragged her gaze away from the ring to her best friend, who looked as though he’d never seen her until now, and was deeply ashamed when she felt tears sting her eyes.

“Harry – this is what I wanted to tell you, you weren’t supposed to find out this way – I’m so sorry – I didn’t –”

“Are you seeing him?” he voiced in that same quiet tone.

“No!” she said quickly. “I –”

“Sleeping with him?”

“NO! Oh god, no!” She was repulsed at the very thought and it stung that he seemed to think she’d do a thing like that. But what other conclusion could he draw from this? She shouldn’t feel hurt, if Pansy Parkinson was living with him, she might very well ask the same things, but…

Her eyes watered some more.

“Why is he here then?” he demanded, voice fierce as he watched her closely. “Is he threatening you? Hurting you? Hermione, he’s a former Death Eater –”

“I know Harry! Just let me explain, all right?”

And she told him everything she knew, both sitting at the dining table, Harry’s eyes increasing in size every now and then, sometimes looking as though he desperately wanted to interrupt, but restrained himself. He hung on her every word, perplexed just as she was by Malfoy’s strange and sudden decision to work for her.

“But, if he’s started working for you, why wasn’t it in the Daily Prophet?” he asked when she’d finished, hands crossed on the table.

“I don’t think it’d be that important, but even if it was, the Prophet doesn’t do much reporting on the Malfoys anymore unless it’s negative.”

Harry shook his head. “I wish you’d said something sooner, you wouldn’t have to go through all of this alone if you had. I mean, you made an Unbreakable Vow with him. What if there had been loopholes in it? You should have asked Ron or I to go with you so you wouldn’t have to face that place again.”

“Ron wouldn’t have come.”

“He cares a lot more about you than you think,” said Harry seriously.

“It’s different between us now,” she said, voice weaker than she’d intended it to be.  

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“He misses you, Hermione.”

Something in her chest ached. She missed him too, more than she was allowing herself to think about. There were nights when she was curled up with Crookshanks, wishing she had both her favourite gingers by her side again. Ironically, while Malfoy made life somewhat more complex and damn right infuriating most of the time, he had taken her mind off a lot. That horrible emptiness was easier to shove aside, and so without even knowing it, Malfoy eased her pain.

“I never meant for you to find out about Malfoy like this, Harry,” she said softly after another brief silence.

“I know. I’m not mad, Hermione. I just don’t think he deserves it. You’re too nice for you own good, and people like Malfoy know it too. They’ll take advantage of it.”

“You don’t think I should have done it,” she stated.

He hesitated and said slowly, thinking as he spoke, “It’s not a simple yes or no. See, people always deserve second chances because people understandably mess up. Everybody makes mistakes, big and small. But – but people like Malfoy…” He paused. “Well, he’s had his fair share of second chances, hasn’t he?”

Hermione’s eyes fell on the serpent ring in front of them, and said nothing.

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Next chapter; how's Draco going with Ms. Hopkins? What's got Hermione avoiding Draco completely, and a large fight forms between two characters, one in which someone gets hurt.