Hello, my friends! I'm on a roll this week! This is the longest thing I've written since the summer! I admit to stealing part of the plot from an episode of How I Met Your Mother, to stealing a few of the lines from both Starkid and Potter Puppet Pals, and to stealing the whole "house elves" bit from one of my favorite Druna fanfics.

And, of course, I admit to "borrowing" the characters and setting from J.K. Rowling and Warner bros. Entertainment.

Enjoy the love :)

"So start from the beginning," Hermione tapped her notebook with her quill.

"Don't all stories start from the beginning?" Draco smirked a response.

Hermione's lip twitched in indifference. "The faster you finish, the sooner you can leave and never come back."

Draco laughed bitterly. "You sound like you're trying to get rid of me."

Hermione made no response.

"Not in a laughing mood, huh?" Draco sighed. "Well I'm not in a talking mood." His smirk dropped, and he leaned back in the chair.

"Malfoy, you were arrested for assault. This is court-ordered therapy. It's my job to decide whether or not the attack was provoked or not. If you attacked with malicious intent, you could serve time in Azkaban. This is serious business. You could lose your wand for this."

"I already have," he muttered.

"Huh?"

"They took my wand when I was arrested. I had to fly my broom to get here. I won't get it back until you decide to give it to me."

"Well, yes, I know; I already have it." She tapped a locked drawer in the desk behind her. "But I get to decide if you get it back. So I suggest you just cooperate and tell me why you attacked Cormac McLaggen."

"No." Draco crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue.

"Stop acting like a child and just talk to me!"

He cocked an eyebrow.

Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Alright. We can talk about your recent descent into insanity, or we can sit here in silence. Your choice."

He didn't respond.

Fifty more minutes passed in absolute silence. Neither took their eyes off of each other. Neither said a word. When the clock struck three, Draco stood, turned, and walked out.

This became routine for them. Draco, on court order and penalty of imprisonment, was forced to endure weekly therapy sessions with his old nemesis, Hermione Granger. Every week he'd fly to her ministry office on his broom, sit on her couch, and remain still and silent as she berated him for not opening up to her. Each time they'd sit in total silence for most of the hour. And each time he'd get up and leave without saying a word.

He wasn't allowed to stop coming until she reached a decision, and she couldn't reach a decision until he opened up to her.

And so every week he'd fly to her ministry office on his broom, sit on her couch, and remain still and silent as she berated him for not opening up to her.

But on the sixth week, something else started happening.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy, let's-"

"Draco," The man interrupted.

"What?"

"My name is Draco."

She paused for a moment. It was awkwardly silent for a little too long.

"Okay. Draco. Let's begin again. Why did you attack Cormac McLaggen?"

"I told you, I'm not talking about that."

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"Alright," she began. "Let's talk about something else then. Something entirely unrelated."

"Like what?" she'd peaked his interest. A single golden eyebrow on his forehead rose.

"I don't know. Quidditch, maybe?"

"Oh, don't even get me started. Puddlemere United is on the way to the championship this year, and I'll be damned if the Appleby Arrows come in the way of that…"

And so this was added onto their routine. Each week he'd arrive and she'd ask him about his assault. Each week he'd deflect her questions, and then they'd begin discussing other topics. She was tricking him, he knew, into learning to trust her, so that he'd open up to her later, but he didn't seem to mind. He thought himself smarter than she.

"…I told you, Granger, I agree with you. But I don't know what more we can do. I've tried paying the poor things, but house elves don't want to be paid. They just want to serve. I can't change that, and though I applaud your efforts, I doubt you can either."

Hermione sighed. It was their fifteenth week, and he was beginning to discuss his home life. She took this as a good sign.

"I have to try. I just have to."

Draco pondered for a moment. Then, barely audible, he whispered, "Why?"

Her eyes grew wide. It wasn't the response she was expecting. It was more personal than any question he'd asked her before; rarely did they talk about her life, her ambitions, her motivations. She supposed she'd have to at some point, if she expected him to open up about his own.

"Have you ever wondered if house elves had their own civilization before wizards? If they had schools and jobs and families before we came along? It had to have been thousands of years ago. Where did they come from? Where are their cultures' ruins?"

His eyes grew wide as he considered the implications of her speech. "Okay."

"Okay? What does okay mean?"

"Okay. I'm ready to talk about my life."

Her smile was bright enough to light up the whole room.

"Excellent. Let's start with your father."

By week twenty four, it was obvious to everyone but them that there was something more going on between them.

They began to meet outside of her office, even on actual, scheduled appointment days. They'd meet for tea, or ice cream, or lunch, but never for dinner. As far as they were concerned, they were just friends who trusted each other, which was, at least for Draco, a wildly new concept.

They talked about everything there was to discuss about either of them, from his childhood with his father to her failed relationship with Ron (which she still hadn't opened up to Harry or Ginny about). Their trust and faith in each other went beyond normal patient confidentiality; against all odds- against Draco's intentions- against Hermione's will- they'd actually become friends.

The only thing he refused to talk about was, ironically, the reason they talked in the first place: his assault charges.

Even still, she'd given him his wand back by week twenty.

"…You're right. You're absolutely right."

"And another thing, I- sorry, what?"

It was week thirty three. They were making good progress, but, like usual, they were arguing about something. This was normal for them; as far as they were concerned, it was healthy to see others' points of view.

This, however, was new.

"I said you were right."

"Say it again."

"You're right. You're absolutely right."

"One more time, please?"

"You're right."

"Well Voldemort's nipple. Hermione Granger just conceded defeat."

"Yeah, yeah, live it up. Now get out of here; my next patient mixed a liquid luck potion wrong and now he thinks he's God. On the off chance he's right, I don't want to keep him waiting."

He laughed, standing. "Alright. It was nice talking to you. We still on for Friday?"

"Absolutely." She smiled at him, extending her hand for their usual handshake.

Draco paused a moment, hesitating, then embraced his companion. She was surprised, but not unhappy. Her arms wrapped around his back, and she dug her nose into his chest, sighing happily.

It was long after he was gone when she realized he'd smelled delicious.

By week forty, hugs became another part of their routine. He was taking her out to fancy dinners, surprising her at home, and treating her to lavish gifts, courtesy of his estate, and his late parents' fortunes.

She objected every time, but always gave in. It was the least he could do, he'd say. After all, she wasn't getting paid much to listen to his problems- not by the ministry, and certainly not by him- and he wanted to show her how much he appreciated what she'd done for him.

Everyone else wondered when the wedding would be announced.

On the anniversary of his first appointment, Draco strolled into her office, sat on her couch, and kicked his feet up.

"So I thought we might start with the assault this time. Is that okay?"

"No," he replied, "It's not."

She closed her eyes and counted to ten, willing herself not to get angry with him. "Draco, we need to talk about this. It's been over a year. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, it's just-"

"Just what?" she shouted. Neither of them had realized their voices had risen.

He sat up straight, looking her in the eyes, taking his time.

"If I…" he began, then closed his eyes and started again. "If I tell you why I attacked Cormac McLaggen, you'll give the courts your decision. I'll go free, and I won't have an excuse to see you anymore."

She smiled sadly. "You'll see me every day, if you want. You're not getting rid of me that easily, Draco. That was a weak excuse."

"That's my excuse and I'm sticking with it."

"Fine, fine. I promise if you tell me why you assaulted Cormac McLaggen, I'll still spend time with you. All the time you want."

"Unbreakable Vow?"

"Draco!"

"Alright, alright." He chuckled.

"You have to admit, it is a little weird. I mean, you didn't even use magic; you physically struck him. And since neither of you ever told the court why you attacked him, as far as I know, it was completely unprevoked. It wasn't something awful, was it? I mean, I've spent all this time thinking that you'd tell me and I'd set you free; am I going to send you to Azkaban?" She was extremely distraught at the idea.

"If it were, would you? I mean, if it was something that I'd deserve imprisonment for, would you let me go?"

"I don't see how it-"

"I'm asking. Please. If you answer, I'll tell you why."

"No. Of course I wouldn't. I wouldn't give you up, even if you murdered him."

He smirked, an old smirk, a Slytherin smirk.

"I attacked Cormac McLaggen because he was saying things about you," he sighed.

"That's it? A year of meetings and that's your reason?"

"He said you were- and I'm quoting him here- 'a great shag, for a mudblood,'" he deadpanned. "So I dragged him out in the alley and kicked his ass."

"That explains why he didn't tell the courts his story… Why'd you defend me like that? You hated me."

"So I did. But I always respected you. Even then. And to be honest, it didn't even need to be you- if I heard any guy talking like that, especially a well-known bag of leprechaun piss like McLaggen, I'd have handed his ass to him with a rusty wooden spoon. Like I did."

She giggled. "You put him in St. Mungo's for months. He was banged up real bad."

He smirked. "I know. I remember his casts at the trial."

"You didn't have to defend me like that."

"I know. I chose to."

He stood, smoothing out his pants. "If that's all, I'll be going then. It's been fun."

She waved her wand, locking the door. "No."

"No?"

"No. You're not leaving. Not until I thank you."

By the time he turned around, she was kissing him.

It was great luck that he was her last appointment that day, as anyone waiting for their session to end would've been kept waiting for several more hours before they emerged, flustered and disheveled.

Hermione laughed as he left. "You know, it's against the law for a doctor to date one of their patients."

He smirked back. "It's a good thing you're not my doctor anymore then, isn't it?"

He proposed three weeks later. Most of their friends were surprised he'd taken so long.

He toasted to Cormac McLaggen at the wedding.

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