Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter

Prologue

It's two a.m. in the morning when she runs to get the door, and it swings open to reveal a staggering Draco, beer bottle in hand. His state of dress, or undress, is obvious as he stumbles into her flat and collapses on the couch.

"My head hurts so badly," he moans.

"Where the hell is your shirt?" Hermione demands at the same time.

They stare at each other, both equally confused, but then Draco breaks the spell by shrugging. "At least I still have my pants and my cloak," he slurs, in a misguided attempt at humour.

It doesn't work.

Because although her brain is still hazy from sleep, and her thoughts still foggy, Hermione manages to recognize that while he and Harry might have come to an understanding, no way in hell is Draco Malfoy invited to her flat.

"This is ridiculous," she snaps. "Are you crazy? What did you come here for? And where did you get my address anyway?"

Draco grins uneasily.

Hermione is half in mind to throw him out, but her neighbours probably wouldn't appreciate it. And to tell the truth, she's sort of curious as to what has transpired. And to tell the whole, unedited version of the truth, his abs are also rather impressive. Draco has a seeker's build, slender and wiry, but muscular, and it shows.

It's funny how someone can be utterly despicable and completely gorgeous at the same time.

She crosses her arms.

"Ah," Draco says in reply, still clutching his head. "To answer your questions, I have been deemed perfectly sane by experts. I'm here on pure whim, though the amount of liquor I've consumed might also have a say. And I got your address from Potter, a while ago actually. Hmm, it's actually weird that I remember it."

He tilts his head, and several platinum blonde strands fall into his eyes. "Oh, I heard that Lovegood is having twins. Congratulate her for me, will you?"

It takes a few seconds for everything to sink in. Hermione evaluates the situation for a moment, mystified at her former enemy's appearance in her flat and disgruntled at being woken up in the middle of the night. Her brain slugs on, taking much longer than normal to process the current state of affairs.

"You visited Harry?" she finally manages to grind out.

Draco shrugs fluidly. "Obviously not now," he intones, "but I spoke to him at the Charity Gala a week ago. He let it slip where your flat was, so clearly, I had to come visit you sometime." He catches her skeptical look and grins. "You can blame Blaise for the drunkenness. He got dumped by his latest girlfriend and needed a guy's night out. Theo said he'd buy the drinks, so I figured I'd go along."

Hermione stares at him incredulously, and tries to take the logical approach. Throwing him out of her flat wouldn't solve anything, especially because he's drunk. "You're crazy," she tells him.

He offers her a lopsided smirk. "Well, I am talking to you, so yes, I guess I am."

She lets out a huff of annoyance at the comment and turns around to make her way down the hall. That box of aspirin sitting on the kitchen counter is starting to sound real inviting, and more sleep is starting to sound like a miracle. Fortunately, tomorrow is Saturday.

Unfortunately, Draco stops her by suddenly getting to his feet.

"You should probably change, you know," he says sagely. "You current attire doesn't leave much to imagination."

Hermione doesn't take the bait. "Then don't look," she shoots back, arms crossed. "You're the one who decided to come at two in the bloody morning."

"Two's a good number," Draco says, with an uncharacteristic grin curling his lips. "Seven's a good number too." He furrows his brow then nods solemnly. "I'll stay until seven. Is the couch free?"

There is a moment of silence, and she spins around, then stares at him, torn between surprise and incredulity. "You're really drunk, aren't you." It's not a question. "And you were lying about Zabini and the pity party. Where did you really go?"

"I went..." It takes him a second more than usual to think up a suitable lie. "I went shopping with Astoria. Woman and any place with clothes, a formidable pair, I tell you."

"No you didn't." Hermione shoots him a sharp look. "You can't fool me, Malfoy. You didn't go shopping at all."

Draco sits back down abruptly. "Can't I?"

"I'll kick you out," she threatens. "In fact, I should've already done that. You're drunk, so I've been easy on you, but your minutes are numbered, let me tell you that."

"Yeah..." He yawns. "Well, I wish you good luck." He sprawls across the couch, and props a pillow behind his head. A second later, his eyes are closed and his breathing is deep.

She doesn't believe for a second that he's asleep. In an instant, with a non-verbal summoning charm, her fingers grasp her wand.

"Aguamen-," Hermione starts to say, but she's interrupted by a pale hand knocking her wand out of her hand. It skids across the floor, but neither of them turns to look at it.

"Okay," Draco mutters, sitting up. "I'll tell you. I went to visit someone in Azkaban."

There is silence for a few moments, but she can predict what it is before the whole sentence is even been spoken. "You went to visit your father, didn't you?"

His face tightens visibly. "Yes."

Hermione bites her lip, uncharacteristically awkward, torn between sympathy and righteous satisfaction. Lucius Malfoy is a former Death Eater, with crimes against muggle-borns under his belt, but he's also Draco's father. She's not sure what to think or say in terms of him being judged guilty for crimes of war and sent to Azkaban.

"How was it?" she manages to finally say.

His eyes, luminous in the moonlight, narrow. "It was bad and good, a double edged sword. He was happy to see Mother."

"But unhappy to see you," she guesses.

There is a pause. "He told me to cut all contact with him. He told me to clean up the Malfoy name." His throat bobs. "If not for our money, we'd be outcasts, pariahs, and he wants me to change that."

Hermione presses her lips together. "Pride," she says aloud.

Draco's heavy gaze turns on her. "Yeah, pride."

There is another bout of silence.

"So will you do it?" she questions.

His eyes are silver in the moonlight. "I'll do it."

For a moment, she just studies him, the angle of his chin, the planes of his face, and the shadows under his eyes. They've come a long way from being first years on the train, yet their coexistence is still uneasy.

Voldemort's gone, and soon, muggle-borns and purebloods will be equal. There's no reason to despise each other, she thinks.

And before Hermione can stop herself, she blurts out, "I'll help you."

This fic's my first attempt at multi-chap. I'm hoping to get some feedback on this, so any reviews, criticism, or whatever is welcome. If it sucks completely, I tried. So yeah.

Uh… happy reading.