"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds'. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."

— Rose Kennedy

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"Your mother also mentions you love dancing, is that true?"

No. No, no, no! No, it bloody well wasn't! Draco hated dancing. There was no way you could get him to dance for anybody, ever. It was something he never enjoyed doing, something he didn't even like watching. 

Well. That is with the exception of exotic dancing. He enjoyed watching that very much.

But to actually dance elegantly like some prissy little...

Draco couldn't do it, he couldn't lie again – he was sick of pretending and answering these questions falsely to impress his stupid supposed to be mother-in-law. All afternoon through little sips of tea (that he had just barely contained from pouring down her throat; the woman drank slower than a dead turtle, for Christ's sake) she'd asked all kinds of questions, from what he enjoyed doing in his spare time (his mother pointing to the bookshelves from behind Hopkins' back so he'd answer correctly), to what his favourite drink was (his mother, again, mouthing profusely to answer with champagne). But none of those answers had been true. When Hopkins asked what kind of books Draco enjoyed reading, he had started to believe he'd be allowed to answer truthfully (because he genuinely did like reading) but then his mother pointed hastily over to the geography section. Geography. What kind of sane person read about the earth in their spare time! And his favourite drink was not champagne, but whiskey mixed beverages dammit!

He wouldn't do it. He wasn't going to lie again.

"I love dancing," Draco found himself lying through his teeth, "especially ballroom."

She was ecstatic. "Ah, wonderful! And I hope you're good at it?"

"He's marvellous," Narcissa answered, a fake smile on her mouth.

Draco felt his fists clench.

"And you also like...?"

Porn, he thought bitterly.

"Classical music," his mother supplied. "Mozart, Vivaldi, Beethoven, Brahms, Debussy to name a few."

She nodded. "How do you feel about red meat?"

Red meat? Red meat? What the hell did that have to do with being worthy to marry her daughter? Was she allergic to everything decent?

Draco shifted in his seat, hoping he didn't appear as uncomfortable and irritated as he felt, and, for the hundredth time, lied.

"I'm not a fan of red meat, but the protein and vitamins are important to maintain a healthy diet, so I generally try to incorporate beans and other alternatives."

 "You cook?"

Draco opened his mouth to tell her that's what house elves were for, but caught his tongue at the warning look Narcissa sent him, and, again, lied.

"Yes." His fingers itched to strangle the woman. 

She studied him dubiously. "We'll test that out next time I drop by, shall we? You can cook afternoon tea."

Cook afternoon tea? Cook afternoon tea?

"He'd be delighted," Narcissa said.

"Wonderful. Now," Hopkins leaned forward in her chair, expression turning serious, "how's work coming along?"

Horrible, horrible, horrible!

"I'm adjusting," Draco said forcefully.  

"You work for Ms. Granger?"

"I do." 

"And how do you get on with her?"

Horrible, horrible, horrible!

"Fine."

Hopkins cocked her head to the side at this, and Draco thought maybe he hadn't been as convincing as he should have. She seemed to sense there was tension. But to his surprise, she didn't press the matter and continued on with her pointless questions.

By the end of it, Draco felt sure he had never lied more in his life and couldn't stem feelings of unease. The Hopkins' seemed to disapprove of everything he liked. Meaning, if he was successful with this year, it was likely farewell to everything Draco enjoyed, and, these days, there wasn't a lot that made him happy. Not anymore.

He suddenly felt very trapped.  

***

By the time Draco reached the flat, it was nine thirty. His mother had insisted on staying for dinner and showed him the newly done parts of the manor, though he really couldn't have cared less. He was miserable, irritated and the dire need for sleep was growing more and more insistent.

Lazily, he kicked off his shoes once inside, not even bothering to take them up to his room, and his sock-covered feet almost sang with joy as he felt the soft carpet underneath them – finally free of uncomfortable leather dress shoes.

His foot was on the first stair when Granger, as though she had Apparated soundlessly, appeared beside the stair railings.

Her hand was curled around the end of the polished railing, her body lightly leaning on it and expression sombre, not unlike his own. Draco didn't know to gain a little comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one feeling like shit, or to rejoice that Granger wasn't in high spirits.

He had just opened his mouth to speak when she cut him off, voice soft.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" he said, tone harsh with impatience.

"Don't act as though you don't know, Malfoy."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't in the mood for her little word puzzlies. He wanted sleep. "Pray tell, Granger, what I should know so I can leave."

"You think I enjoy standing here and talking to you?" Her voice was hardening.

"If you didn't, wouldn't you be out with what you have to say and, oh, I don't know, gone?" He took another step up, and another and another, until his path was blocked again by a very unhappy looking Granger.

"What have I ever done to you?" she said shrilly.

"What are you talking about?" he snapped. 

"The Slytherin scarf!" she blurted out with such vigour and ferocity, it made him jump. "The tie, the deodorant, the –" And she seized Draco's hand before he could make sense of what was happening and thrust into it something small and cool. A jolt of understanding swept over him. The ring.

Due to his horrible time at the manor, he'd completely forgotten about what he'd done to make sure Granger had as a rotten time as he had.

With the knowledge that his plan had worked, despite the drowsiness and that this was the worst possible moment, Draco was unable to contain a snigger.

"Oh, I see. You think this is funny?" she said, advancing awfully close, eyes furious. "What have I ever done to you to deserve this? First you totally barge your way into my flat, my life, make those atrocious rules; you have your own side of the bloody fridge for Merlin's sake! And now you're carelessly throwing your belongings about the place and going out of your way to ruin my friendship with Harry! How petty can you be, Malfoy? I have given you the benefit of the doubt when no one else would, is this how you treat everyone who helps you?"

She had gotten louder as she said all this, but Draco was not about to be deterred. If anything, her anger for him only intensified his. Because it was fucking late, and he didn't need her crap, and who the hell did she think she was, talking about him and his life as though she had a clue to what was going on?

He stood taller to intimidate her, speaking quietly but no less furious. "I didn't want any of this. If there were a way, any other way, that would have prevented me from having to spend this time with you I would have taken it. So make no mistake in thinking I'm eternally grateful. And stop with the act, Granger. It's getting old."

"What act?"

"You act as though you're completely innocent. Like you could do no wrong! But I'm not the one whose been setting ridiculous tasks for my assistant all in order to starve and exhaust him!"

"I only did that because from the moment we ran into each other – literally – you have been nothing but rude and intolerable! I thought you'd have matured or maybe put some of your childish issues aside when you came to me, but once again Malfoy, you never cease to amaze me with how low you will swoop."    

"Granger, how I feel about you is not some childish issue. I just happen to really loathe, not only what you stand for, but you as a person. Sometimes hate is not something that can lessen with time. Sometimes, it's there for life."

"That's a load of rubbish! I've never given you a legitimate reason to hate me!"

"Yes, being precious Potter's best friend, poverty stricken Weasley's little crush, and being a vile Mudblood yourself would –"

"SHUT UP!" she yelled. "Don't you dare say a word against Ron and how dare you call me that in my own home?"

"It's mine now!" he yelled back. "Remember? You agreed to all of this!"

"That doesn't mean you get the flat! This," she gestured wildly around them, "is all mine! You just happen to be an inconvenience for the next year."

"No, you gave it up for the next year!"

"No, I didn't! For the time being, maybe it's considered ours but on the whole –!"

"Nothing will ever be ours, Granger! I don't share with – with people like you!" He put so much hate into the last word; he might as well have called her a Mudblood again.

"Please, you'd never share with anyone, no matter who they were," she spat, and Draco saw what little control she'd had was gone. "You're nothing but a loathsome, spoilt little brat and finally the rest of the public has picked up on that. You're shallow, you're ignorant, you're conceited, and you're afraid to actually stand up for what you believe in. How much of your life has been spent following your father around and lapping up any sort of pitiful praise he'll drag up for you? Tell me, who're you sucking up to these days now that you've finally realised your father wasn't as grand as you believed him to be, no longer your idol? Who's on your next list to please, or does everyone really want nothing to do with –?"

It happened before Draco could process what he was doing. Quite out of nowhere, he found his hand had risen and before he had the chance regain himself, to stop and think, he had acted on the pure fury running through his veins and slapped her.

In his state of exhaust, it wasn't anywhere near as hard as it could have been. But he was also thoroughly pissed with her, so it hadn't been lacking either. It didn't matter whether or not he had hit her with his full potential. It had still happened.

The sound as his hand smacked against her cheek echoed in the shocked silence that followed. Granger turned her head to look back at him, bravely meeting his eyes before Draco cowardly dropped his. But he knew her big brown eyes, unmistakably shiny, staring at him with an all-new kind of hatred, would never fade from memory no matter how hard he looked at the floor.

Touching where his hand had contacted with her face, Granger turned and went to her room without another word.

***

The following morning had to be the longest of his life. She sat as far away from him as possible, always at the other end of the apartment and hadn't even spared him a glance. Usually the woman wouldn't go out of her way to keep out of his way as he did to her, but this time it was all her who did the avoiding.

Draco didn't think it was because she was scared; she certainly wasn't cowering away in the corner. He suspected it went deeper than that – couldn't help but feel she was disappointed in him. But why would she be disappointed? They weren't friends. Definitely he didn't care for her and she didn't care for him, she'd said so herself, and he didn't care what she did, like she didn't care what he did. Or did she? Did she care what he did? He didn't think so.

He wished he didn't, but he felt terrible about what happened. He told himself she was just a Mudblood and she had it coming anyway, but somehow that made him feel worse. He hated her for what she said, but he hated himself more for letting her get to him. He hadn't realised how much she could dig up from his past and throw at him. She had more dirt on him and never once used it until last night. He felt she probably had many more insults buried deep inside her but hadn't said them because she restrained herself all those times.

Many times he found himself wondering whether or not to apologise, but had almost immediately dismissed that ludicrous thought. Draco had only ever apologised to his parents and Blaise in his life and no one else. Though, the slightly red mark on her cheek bothered him immensely. He wondered how red it looked before she'd gone to bed. Had his handprint been imprinted there in crimson? 

The rest of the day droned on in the same silent manner. Why hadn't she gone to see Potter or somebody? It was Sunday; she should be somewhere! Had she stayed to torture him? Draco desperately wanted to go over and see Blaise, but he didn't know if he wanted to recount the nights events – best friend or not, there are some things best never to be retold. 

But he found he had trouble maintaining what little sanity he had left. She was too bloody quiet. He was so used to her never-ending chitchat, always trying to get a decent reply out of him when she was bored, but there was plainly nothing. Absolutely nothing whatsoever. It was like she was merely a ghost living with him, never to be troubled.

By dinnertime (she was yet again sitting as far away from him as possible), hearing nothing but the frequent scrap of cutlery finally did him in. Slamming down his knife and fork, he got out of his chair loudly and marched over to her.

Granger was sitting, crossed legged, on the armchair in the living room, blankly staring at the television as she quietly ate. 

"We need to talk," he said firmly, towering over her form.

She didn't look up, just shook her head and placed another mouthful of salad in her mouth.

"I'm sick of it being so quiet! Even that blasted cat's not making any noise –"

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked tiredly. "Because when I'm talking, you want me to shut up. When Crookshanks is in your way, you push him aside."

"I just..." What did he want? For the first time, he had no idea. He hated that she kept making valid points. He hated that nothing was working out the way he wanted it to.

Draco composed himself after a long pause and tried again. "I didn't mean to hit you."

"I know."

Another pause.

"I suppose we're even for third year now."

Draco didn't know if she'd meant that to be a joke, but even if she had, he didn't find it amusing. He'd slapped a woman; he could hardly believe it, even if it had been Granger. Draco had never so much as thought of hitting a female, let alone actually act on it. But here he was, in front of Granger, a part of him wishing he had the courage to say sorry.   

It seemed that was what she'd been waiting for: an apology. But when she received none, she got up, walked past him, placed her plate on the sink and went to the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Not to rat you out to Harry, if that's what you're worried about. I need a walk. Clear my head of some stuff, and seeing as I forgot to have the silencing charm on, maybe explain to some of the neighbours not to worry. I think the whole building heard us last night," she added somewhat to herself.

"What are you going to tell them?"

Granger considered for a moment, and said, "That my roommate and I don't get on, but I'm working on that."

"You want us to get on?" he asked with distaste.

"No. See that's where the lie comes in. I plan to stop our arguing, but by doing that, I'm not working to make us get on. No offence or anything Malfoy, but I was foolish to think we could ever cooperate."

"So what –?"

"We're now going to interact as little as possible. I think that's what'll be best for this... situation. Every day's going to be like today." And then without further ado, she closed the door behind her and disappeared, leaving her remaining words hanging in the air.

Every day's going to be like today.

Draco, feeling miserable once again, looked around at his belongings lying around the flat and wondered how long it would take to collect them all. He wanted to leave and move to his own island, where countless apples grew on trees and there were no Ophelia Hopkins's or Hermione Granger's. 

He slumped back to his room in desperate need for the day to end.

Too often, the only escape is sleep.  

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Next chapter; Draco gets cornered by a bunch of 'old friends' and is forced to make a decision that'll risk everything. A few spells are thrown, and what's got Hermione's office into chaos?

And don't hate Draco too much, I know it seems like they couldn't hate each other more but they'll get there. I just don't like it when Draco suddenly turns into Prince Charming. 

New note: I want to clarify that abuse is never okay. I was fifteen when I wrote this and obviously I didn't endorse abuse then either, but I understand now that there's a lot of young girls who read this (I sound like an old woman omg) and I just want to make it clear that hitting anyone isn't okay and it's not romantic or cute and is completely inexcusable and Draco is very naughty in this chapter and if it weren't for the vow Hermione would have walked her cute lil bum bum right outta there.