Malfoy sat at the back of the teacher's lounge, perched as far away from Hermione as the cracked vinyl loveseat would allow. He'd shown up for late for the very first staff meeting of the year, and there had only been one free seat left - next to Hermione. At the front of the room Headmistress McGonagall droned on about school rules, patrol schedules, and work hours. The other staff paid rapt attention; Hermione couldn't listen with him sitting next to her.

Hermione leaned over. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"I could ask you the same thing." His lip curled. "Aren't you supposed to be off doing Auror things with your two pals?"

"Auror?" she replied. "Why the hell would I become an Auror?"

"Because that's what self-righteous war heroes do, even if they don't have the entrance requirements like decent grades or even a school leaving certificate," he replied bitterly. "What are you doing in this Godforsaken hole?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm apprenticed to Minerva and I'm going to cover any teaching absences in Muggle Studies."

He snorted disdainfully at the mention of muggle studies.

"You haven't answered my question," she replied. "Why are you here? Surely an apprenticeship at Hogwarts is a bit pedestrian for the Most Noble House of Malfoy."

That one hit home. He scowled and crossed his arms petulantly over his chest.

"Trust fund," he muttered.

"Pardon me?" she replied.

"Trust fund. I'm here so I can get access to my trust fund." He frowned. "Believe me, Granger, I want to spend the year here with you as much as you want to spend it with me. But my father believes that I lack responsibility and that I need to rehabilitate my public image."

"Let me get this straight. Your apprenticeship here is a PR stunt?" She crooked an eyebrow. "That's moronic."

"It is not moronic. Think about how I'm mischaracterized by the Daily Prophet. I'm supposedly a two time attempted murderer who only was exonerated because of my age and the fact that my parents switched sides at the last minute. I'm known only for being a semi-decent Quidditch player, bedding half the Slytherin girls in my year, being able to outdrink half the Slytherin males in my year, and winning first place in Potions class."

"If that's how the Prophet characterizes you, I think it's rather accurate."

He scowled. "Anyhow, my father got the bright idea of sending me to this cesspool for a one-year Potions apprenticeship with Slughorn. It makes me look like a young man dedicated to his studies, who's willing to work with his hands at a pittance pay, a young man who loves children..."

"And how, exactly, is the Daily Prophet going to find out about your hardworking new life up here in the wilds of Scotland?" she asked.

"My father's set it all up. He bribed a paparazzo to come up here and snap photos of me." He yawned. "I've got to trot myself out to Hogsmeade once in awhile and pose affectionately with cute children and their familiars. Preferably muggleborn children. Once my father thinks my image has rehabilitated - and in his words, 'When you've learned some responsibility' - he'll give me access to the trust fund."

"And then?"

"I'm going to travel through America's sluttiest states - I'll begin in New Jersey - drink plenty of beer and Jack Daniels, and get stupid witches to shag me by wooing them with my English accent."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, if there's anything I can do to speed up the process, let me know."

"The feeling's mutual, Granger."

They fell into an uneasy silence. Malfoy tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, and it took all Hermione's effort not to slap his fingers at the irritating noise.

"Did you mean that?" he whispered after a moment.

"Mean what?" she asked.

"That you'd help me get the fuck out of this school."

"If it means less time with you, Malfoy, then yes."

"Fan-fucking-tastic." He smirked. "All I need is a photo op."

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "A photo op of what?"

Malfoy looked her up and down. "We head out to Hogsmeade. You look like you're talking with me and we're generally being friendly. Daily Prophet photographer snaps a picture, it gets into the Celebrity Spotting pages. I instantly gain points by being friendly with a mud-muggleborn war heroine."

"It'll take more than a picture to wipe your reputation clean," she replied disdainfully.

"Small steps, Granger," he replied. "Every little bit helps get me out of here and into some hot young witch's bed."

"Ugh. And you wonder why you have difficulty rehabilitating your image."

He continued to smirk and ignored her, turning his eyes back to Minerva at the front of the room. The Headmistress gestured to Draco and Hermione.

"...our two new apprentices, Draco Malfoy in Potions, and Hermione Granger, who'll be studying Transfigurations with me. The two of them will be working closely together over the coming year to plan several important events for the students."

Hermione cringed. Working closely with Malfoy. For ten full months. It sounded like a prison sentence.

"Let's get that photo this weekend, Malfoy."