"Malfoy, pass me the Hellebore," Hermione demanded from her spot by the boiling cauldron. She was stirring the potion counterclockwise while taking care to lower the flame. She needed to add the unstable ingredient within the next couple of minutes to the mixture she had been working on for the last three days. The Blood-Replenishing Potion was one of the more unstable potions that Hermione had ever tried concocting for the Order of the Phoenix. If not brewed precisely, it would be poisonous to the imbiber.

Luckily for her, and much to her chagrin, Draco Malfoy, the second best potions student in Hogwarts, was her assistant. He had shown up at the doorstep of number 12 Grimmauld Place midway through October of what would have been their seventh year at Hogwarts. It had set everyone on edge when Ron found him, half-dead, begging for sanctuary from the Order while claiming that Severus Snape had told him the location of the Order Headquarters and helped him escape. If it hadn't been for Remus and Kingsley, Hermione was sure that Harry would have hexed the blond to oblivion for knowing Severus Snape's location.

After being questioned under Veritaserum, Harry had allowed him to stay. However, he was to be watched at all times and had to earn his keep. In addition, Draco was forced to take an Unbreakable Vow, so that if he ever left and went back to Voldemort, he'd die if he tried to reveal any of the knowledge gained during his stay. Harry had mostly allowed him to stay because, as the former Death Eater put it during questioning, "Dumbledore promised me safety, Potter. The Dark Lord has killed my parents. I wasn't able to save them. I have no reason to stay by his side; it'll only be a matter of time before he kills me, too. I got out as soon as I could."

As it turned out, he was rather useful for research purposes, creating counter–jinxes, and curses. Also, to Hermione's surprise, he made for a decent assistant, sans the attitude.

"No. I think not," drawled the voice of the aristocratic blond from across the room as he fiddled with a toy Snitch he had found in the attic earlier.

"Excuse me? You're currently under my charge whilst under the protection of the Order. Or have you forgotten that it was you who came to us begging for your protection. If I'm not mistaken, you showed up bloodied and half dead, crying like the coward you always have been, and let's not forget–"

"Enough, Granger, here's your bloody Hellebore," he retorted angrily, violently throwing the entire contents of the unstable ingredient towards her. They both stood stock–still in shock as the ingredient flew across the room, and landed with a soft plop over the potion.

"Bollocks!" Draco shouted. "Get it out!"

"How?" Hermione demanded helplessly as the ingredient slowly sunk to the bottom.

"Are you kidding me? Are you a witch, or not? Summon it back!" Hermione frantically reached for her wand, but it wasn't fast enough, the entirety of the plant had begun reacting with the potion. Hermione stared angrily as the potion turned black and simmered dangerously. Draco took a couple of steps back from the cauldron.

"Malfoy!" Hermione screeched. "You prat. You added the entirety of Hellebore – this potion is now useless. Do you know how long I've been working on it?" she screamed, pointing her wand at him.

"You're not the only one who's been working on it, Granger," Draco snarled. "Or have you forgotten that I was the one chopping up the ingredients, squeezing out the salve, and stirring in the middle of the night."

"Shut up," she glowered.

"No, I'm a Malfoy, I don't have to listen to you," he snarled.

"We'll have to start from scratch," she spat angrily.

"Does it look like I care, Granger?" he drawled. Hermione's eyes narrowed as she took in his words.

"Oh, you wouldn't care would you, Malfoy? The only reason you're here is to save your sorry excuse of a life. Couldn't save your parents, could you? Slytherin to the end, I suppose."

"Well, it took you long enough to finally figured that one out. I only watch out for myself, Mudblood – no one else," he answered derisively, hiding the pain her words had caused.

"You're nothing but a coward, Malfoy."

"As you lot are fond of reminding me," he replied mockingly.

In a desperate fit of anger, Hermione grabbed the potions book she had been working from and threw it at Draco. Not expecting physical retaliation, Draco had been busy inspecting his fingernails in a manner that indicated he was above this pathetic conversation, when suddenly he got nicked by the thick volume across the forehead.

Hermione gasped in surprise at her actions.

"Oh no! Malfoy are you all right?" she asked the Slytherin sprawled on the floor.

"You cow," he bellowed as he picked up the offending object. "You're going to pay for that."

***

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose at the scene before him. Part of him wanted to hex Malfoy first and ask questions later, but Remus had insisted that he question the Slytherin first.

"Malfoy," he began, "I'm only going to say this once. What happened?" He waved his arms around to the disaster before him: parchment was scattered everywhere, a cauldron was overturned, Hermione's wand laid on the wood floor, and a little girl with bouncing brown hair was sitting cross-legged on the creaky floorboards carefully examining the people in her presence.

Draco was staring at the little girl who was currently giving him a toothy grin.

"Malfoy," Harry snapped.

"Oh. Yes. Well, Granger and I were working on a potion and then she began with her incessant bossing me around. I had just about had enough when the cauldron exploded and the contents splashed on her in the middle of her fit," Draco finished lamely.

Of course, he cleverly left out the bit where he was the one who had blown up the cauldron when he tried to hex her, and entirely missed when the spell bounced off her shield. In his defence, she was the one to throw down the gauntlet first with that thick volume. Harry stared at him in disbelief.

"Do you really expect me to believe that tripe, Malfoy?"

"Why would I lie, Potter?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and scrutinized his rival. "Whatever it was you two were brewing must be reversible, right?"

"Er…," Draco mumbled quietly, staring at his thumbs. He didn't have any idea how to reverse the damage done to the buck–toothed Gryffindor, but he supposed he could find out.

"Never mind, I don't want to know just right now – just fix it," Harry angrily replied. Then he added, "And no bloody wand for you, Malfoy. I'm sure that it was your fault the cauldron exploded – Hermione is never careless while brewing."

Without warning, Harry summoned both Draco and Hermione's wands, and pocketed them.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter? I need my wand," Draco sneered, standing abruptly to challenge his school rival.

"Actually, you don't, Malfoy. I only allowed you to keep your wand for your own safety, but now my friend is hurt, and I'm sorely tempted to throw you out and fend for yourself," Harry replied. "Until you fix Hermione, you get to do everything the Muggle way."

"The Muggle way?" he queried scowling.

"Yes, Malfoy, the Muggle way. Now, get lost while I talk to Remus about this mess you've created."

Harry walked past Draco, picked up mini-Hermione, and strolled into the dim hallways of Grimmauld Place muttering curses under his breath regarding 'ferrets' and 'cauldrons.'

Draco could only scowl in anger as the four-eyed-git walked out of the makeshift potions lab on the second floor while the small girl enthusiastically waved goodbye to him the entire time.

He was wandless and felt naked without his wand, and while Potter didn't hex him, the way Draco saw it his current situation couldn't possibly get any worse.

After berating Malfoy, Harry gingerly picked up Hermione, and walked toward the room he shared with Ron. As soon as they entered, Hermione pushed herself out from his arms, and settled comfortably in Ron’s bed. She stared into his green eyes, questions dancing in her small brown pupils.


“Who you?� she asked softly, chewing her tiny fingernails.


“I’m Harry.�


“’Arry.�


“Yes.�


“Who he?�


“That is the Ferret,� he smiled.


“Fewat!� she repeated with glee.


Harry noted her gleeful smile disappear, questions etched all over her small face.


“You stranger. Where’s my mum?�


“Your parents are on vacation, Hermione. I’ll be taking care of you.�


“Like a babysiwer?� she asked.


“Yes, like a babysitter,� he answered softly.


After a minute of silence, the little girl climbed off Ron’s bed, and walked around the room. She noticed the magical items scattered about the floor and shelves. Her attention was caught by the model dragon Harry had received during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.


“Where are we?� she questioned, obviously even as a toddler Hermione was bright. Harry wondered whether he should tell her the truth, or not. He briefly realized there was a slight probability that his best friend might have to go through her childhood all over again. After a moment of consideration, he resigned himself to tell her the truth.


“You’re a witch, Hermione,� he began.


***


Harry carried his best friend through the dark hallway as he made his way to the kitchens, wondering what he was going to do. He found Remus waiting for him, quietly sipping hot chocolate, as he spoke with Tonks. Apparently, the old werewolf had taken the time to fill her in on the details of the current situation. He and Remus had been out on Order business when the warning charm Harry had secretly put on Hermione went off. They had Apparated back expecting the worst – but not a four year old Hermione.


When they had first arrived, they had stormed the house – wands ready for dueling.


However, they were shocked to find Draco trying to calm down a tiny brown haired girl as she bellowed her lungs out. Some sort of gooey mixture clung to several parts of the wall and ceiling, and what appeared to be cauldron pieces were scattered about the floor. The still burning fire indicated that an accident had occurred, but the panicked expression on Malfoy had raised Harry’s suspicions. A long moment of stunned silence hung in the air until Remus began laughing heartily.


Malfoy turned around scandalized that he was being laughed at yet he managed to scowl at the same time. Harry, on the other hand, had thrown a fit, threatening to flay the ferret, and then dump his scrawny Slytherin bum at Voldemort’s doorstep, until Remus had to drag him out from the room, still laughing.


Harry honestly didn’t think it could have been any worse. At least, if Malfoy had actually hurt Hermione they could have taken her to St. Mungo’s. This was ten times worse.


Now, Harry was ready to lose his patience again as he watched Remus and Tonks having a merry old laugh at the situation. He scowled.


“Remus! This is horrible,� Harry exclaimed as he put his best friend on the floor, where she promptly sat down to stare at Tonk’s pink hair.


The little girl cocked her head, smiling as the Metamorphmagus took to entertaining her by changing her looks.


“Harry, it is not so bad. She’s rather cute at this age – and I’m sure we’ll find a cure,� Remus declared as he gingerly picked up Hermione, placing her on his knee.


“We can’t leave her here all alone with him, though.�


“Well, we certainly can’t take her with us – it’s too dangerous,� Remus admonished.


“What about Molly?� Tonks suggested, making a face for Hermione. The small brown-hair girl clapped her hands in delight.


“It wouldn’t be fair to Mrs. Weasley,� Harry muttered, “She already has her own family to take care of, and this would be an inconvenience.�


“Nonsense, Harry. You know better than that! Molly loves you and Hermione. She would be more than happy to watch over her,� Remus exclaimed, smiling tenderly at his fiancée.


“No.�


“Harry.�


“No! Even if Mrs. Weasley took care of Hermione – we can’t leave Malfoy alone at Grimmauld Place. Who knows what sort dark magic he could practice here on his own – especially since the house reacted so well to his presence,� Harry muttered darkly.


“Harry you don’t know that. Besides Grimmauld Place is still Order Headquarters. Order members come and go at all times of the day; he wouldn’t be able to do much harm. Besides, the Weasleys could move to Grimmauld Place, seeing as the Burrow isn’t very safe after it was attacked two weeks ago. And Molly had already volunteered to live here, and take care of our troops prior to the attack. This,� Remus motioned to Hermione, “would hardly be an inconvenience.�


Grudgingly, Harry mumbled his agreement. “I trust you, Remus. You’re the closest to a father figure I have, and if you say it won’t be an inconvenience to Mrs. Weasley then I’ll take your word for it.�


In quiet acquiescence, Harry picked up a mug of hot chocolate to hash out further details. Hermione smiled at everyone as she grabbed a handful of marshmallows and stuffed them in her mouth.


***


“Malfoy!�


Draco heard his name bellowed by the raven-haired git, and walked out of the make shift potions lab where he had been fuming for the past hour.


�I’m not a house elf, Potter,� he sneered.


Draco noticed Potter rolling his eyes at him as he walked in carrying miniature Hermione.


“As if I care, ferret. House elves are above you, right now�


Mutely, Potter put Hermione down on the floor, then turned to glare at Draco in disgust.


�Molly Weasley will be Flooing shortly to keep you and Hermione company. You are not to leave Grimmauld Place under any condition. You will treat Mrs. Weasley with respect, Malfoy, or you will have to deal with me. Your primary concern is to reverse this,� he motioned to Hermione who was currently sitting chewing on her long curly brown hair.


“Is that all, master?� Draco spat angrily.


“No. You will also take care of her. I told you that earlier, you bloody prat,� Harry muttered angrily.


“Potter, you’ve got to be kidding. You can’t possibly expect me to take care of Granger – especially not in her state, and without a bloody wand!�


“Yes, well, you are. If anything happens to her –you will find yourself at the receiving end of more than a nasty Bat Bogey Hex,� Harry threatened.


Draco winced.


“Be downstairs in a couple of minutes with Hermione. Remus and I are leaving. If you need help with Hermione, I’m sure that Mrs. Weasley will be more than happy to guide you, but she has other responsibilities while at this house.�


Harry waved goodbye to Hermione before he turned around to leave. However, he stopped in a moment of reflection before allowing himself to smile at Malfoy’s current predicament. It would be hilarious to see Malfoy take care of his best friend. Not to mention, Hermione had shared many of her childhood memories with Harry – in most, she was a rather energetic child.


“By the way, Malfoy, if I were you – I’d be more worried about Ron’s reaction,� Harry taunted before bursting into a fit of laughter as he walked out of the room.

Draco was beyond angry. He was at a complete loss of words, until he felt tugging on his trousers. Scowling, he looked down into the eager and waiting face of his charge, the Mudblood. Narrowing his eyes, he saw that she had a huge silly grin on her face and strangely enough noticed she had perfectly straight teeth.

“What do you want, Mudblood?� he sneered, resentful that he had to ‘baby sit’ her.

Almost as if she understood the meaning of the word, the little girl scowled before kicking him on the shin, and took off running down the dark hallways.

“Granger!� he screamed in annoyance as he limped after her.

***

Sighing in frustration, Draco decided to sit down in one of the hallways. He had been looking for the Mudblood for over ten minutes, and couldn’t find her. Even though, he was pretty sure she was still in the house, he couldn’t help but be concerned that Potter or worse, Weasley, would find out that he had lost their best friend. No doubt, he would surely be flayed alive, dragged through mud, and be hanged.

Curiously, Draco wondered the age of Granger. It appeared to him that she couldn’t be more than five years old. She was awfully quiet, he realized, for her age. He, himself, had been a rather rambunctious toddler.

All of a sudden, Draco heard giggling coming from the library.

Figures that’s where the Mudblood would go, he sighed.

As he quietly entered the library, he realized that he couldn’t actually see Granger, just hear her – it was completely dark; it appeared that she had hidden herself well.

“Mud-Granger!� he called out, his patience wearing thin.

He was answered with a fresh round of giggles. With a deep sigh, Draco took a tentative step into the dark library with his arms stretched out before him so he wouldn’t fall face first if he were to bump into any furniture.

When he was halfway into the room he realized he should have left the door opened. At least the candlelight from the hallway would have lit his path.

All of a sudden, he bumped into what he thought was the back of a chair, and reached to steady his balanced when he felt a soft pair of hands sliding up his leg followed by a laugh. Draco wouldn’t have screamed had he realized that the pair of arms that were wrapping themselves around his right leg belonged to the toddler version of Granger. However, he momentarily forgot, and he did scream. To his horror, mini-Granger began screaming as well – whether of fear or delight he had no clue. Suddenly, the door to the library burst open, engulfing Draco and Hermione in bright white light as they both continued screaming their lungs out.

***


Molly Weasley stepped out of the fireplace of Grimmauld Place expecting to find the Malfoy boy and Hermione waiting for her in the kitchen. From what Harry had told her, the Malfoy boy had de-aged Hermione back to a toddler. Harry had instructed her that Malfoy was to take care of Hermione as punishment, but Molly couldn’t help but wonder if Hermione wasn’t the one who was being punished more. Mrs. Weasley doubted Malfoy had any idea how to care for a child, especially one that he wasn’t inclined to like. Molly was also aware that Harry had confiscated Malfoy’s wand, and told him to do things the ‘Muggle way,’ as Tonks had managed to say between bursts of laughter, Lupin at her side. If Draco was going to take care of a child without a wand he would definitely have his hands full for the next couple of days until he found a way to ‘fix it.’ Harry had told her that Malfoy had to ‘fix Hermione,’ but Molly knew that she’d have to help in some way. However, the most important matter was to get Hermione comfortable with a room suited for a little girl.

The Weasley matriarch sat down on the kitchen bench, mentally making a checklist of the items Hermione would need to survive Malfoy. She was also making a list of items they would need to make the place hospitable. One of the main reasons, she had agreed to move into the Order headquarters was because the war had hit home, literally. The Burrow had been attacked by Death Eaters only a couple of days before, and Molly no longer felt safe there. Fortunately, only the twins had been home during the attack, and they had Apparated away. The Order had stormed the place a few minutes later. In either case, Molly had refused to return home. She and Arthur had taken residence in the Leaky Cauldron until Bill and Charlie finished checking the Burrow for Dark Magic traces or hidden Portkeys.

Just as Molly was beginning to wonder where Malfoy and Hermione were, she heard screaming coming from upstairs. It sounded like someone was being murdered in cold blood. Even though Harry had put up the Fidelius Charm after Dumbledore’s death, and the Order still used Grimmauld Place as the main headquarters, it was not a safe place to live; too many Dark artefacts were hidden throughout the dark house. She bitterly recalled the time that a set of purple robes that tried to strangle Ron two years ago. Molly had always frowned upon Hermione using the drawing room as the make-shift potions lab; it seemed, to Molly, that it was the most dangerous room.

She dashed up the stairs as fast as she could, wand ready. Her heartbeat racing, she followed the screaming to the huge double doors that led to the library.

She threw the doors open ready to Stun anyone behind the doors. However, she was rather surprised to find a sweet looking brown hair girl clinging to the leg of Draco Malfoy who looked paler than usual.


***

Draco was rather embarrassed to have been found screaming like a little girl. The worse part was that between him and the Mudblood, he was the one who had been scared. The Mudblood, he bitterly realized, did not seem to be bothered by the darkness, or anything else for that matter. She was a rather talkative child, once she got past her initial shyness, very inquisitive, and from his observations - too friendly for her own good.

Once he and the Weasley matriarch recognized each other, they had an uncomfortable moment of silence until Granger broke the awkwardness.

“Who you!� she demanded of the red-headed woman, hiding behind Draco.

“I’m Mum Weasley, dear.�

“Mum Weazy,� she cried out, “’Ary told me about you. He said you and Fewat would take care of me. I’m hungry.�

“Come along then, we have a tummy to feed,� the older woman smiled as Draco stood, looking stunned that Potter had told the Mudblood to call him ‘Ferret.’

They shared a quiet, and unfulfilling dinner, per Draco’s observations, until Granger had asked what ‘Mudwud’ meant to the older Weasley woman.

Mrs. Weasley scowled at Draco, and glared at him silently, clearly stating ‘we will talk later’ to the Slytherin.

Even though he knew that a lecture was awaiting him, Draco quietly sulked as he watched Mrs. Weasley transfigure some of Granger’s ‘big girl’ clothes into ‘my ziwe’ clothes as the Mudblood had so cheerfully stated.

He noticed that for a Muggle child who probably had no knowledge of magic, she didn’t seem to be scared by it. Instead, she would let our shrill cries of joy every time Mrs. Weasley brandished her wand around.

As he watched Mrs. Weasley interact with Hermione, Draco felt a stir of resentment within him.

What is wrong with me? The Mudblood bloody kicked me in the shin, and then scared the living daylights out of me. Called me ‘ferret,’ and then told ‘Mum Weasley’ I called her Mudblood, he rationalized mutely, glaring hatefully at the four year old currently sporting a very cheeky grin.

Draco lay in his bed later that night in the room across from Granger’s thinking of the eventful day. He had woken up in a bad mood that morning; he hated being stuck in the dark, dusty, and ‘most noble house of Black,’ even if it had belonged to his ancestors. As if that wasn’t enough, Potter had continually reminded him that Grimmauld Place didn’t belong to the proud Slytherin at all, and to stop ‘prancing around like he was lord of the manor.’ And to top it all off, Draco had found that he was also under the watchful eye of the Mudblood for the day; he was just not having a good day. The Order often took turns visiting Grimmauld Place just to make sure he wasn’t up to ‘any funny business’ as Weasley had sneered a couple of times. At least his cousin, Nymphadora, was tolerable; but Granger made him work like a house elf.


Draco sighed in frustration at his newest predicament – babysitting Hermione ‘the Mini-Mudblood’ Granger. He knew he wasn’t suited to take care of a four year old


I shouldn’t have lost my patience like that, he thought, but the bloody wench asked for it! Who throws books at people when they’re not watching? Who throws bloody books in the first place?!


After Granger had been put to bed, Mrs. Weasley had a stern talk with him about watching his language around an impressionable young girl. They had quietly discussed the repercussions of his actions. Well, Mrs. Weasley had talked about the repercussions, while Draco had settled for an icy stare as she prattled on about the situation at hand. It was agreed that Draco would have to research what potion they had accidentally created when the cauldron exploded, the consequences, and whether there was an antidote. Then Mrs. Weasley had gone on to give him ‘parenting tips,’ since he was the one who had to actually watch the Mudblood. Upon taking into consideration all the responsibility he had on his shoulders, Mrs. Weasley had insisted that his sleeping arrangements be moved from the third floor to the second, across from Granger’s. Startled, he had realized that he hadn’t even had a conversation with the toddler, and now he had to move his meagre belongings to suit her needs. Draco couldn’t comprehend how he was expected to care for a child. He didn’t even like children. By Merlin, he didn’t have siblings to relate with – how was he expected to understand the complexities of toddlers and parenting?


With a deep sigh, Draco turned in his new bed and gave into sleep.


***


“Wake up Fewat!� screamed tiny-Hermione as she jumped up and down on the tiny bed. The bed squeaked and groaned under the weight of her over-excited jumps.


Harry had told her that ‘Fewat’ was a grumpy boy, but she liked him.


After a minute of continuous jumping, the young girl scowled at the fact that the blond haired boy was not getting up.


“Fewat! Wake up!� she screamed again as she grabbed a pillow, and slammed it across his face with joyful glee.
***


Draco was hovering between sleep and consciousness when he heard a banshee like scream penetrate his eardrums. Then he became vaguely aware that a small body was jumping on him or more likely the bed. He realized it was the Mudblood, and thought that if he ignored her then she would go away. That is, until he felt the pillow slamming into his face.


“What the bloody hell!� he shouted at the young girl.


“Fewat!� she screamed in delight.


“Shut up, Granger!� he scowled; immaturely he pushed her off the bed where she landed in an undignified heap on all the extra pillows he’d thrown on the floor.


Rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, Draco heard Granger sniffling. He looked down at the young girl, and recognized the signs of a temper tantrum, having thrown some of epic proportions himself. The Mudblood pouted her lips, her chin began to quiver, and the tears threatened to fall.


“Tantrums don’t work on me so just stop while you’re ahead,� he snapped.


“You bad boy, you go on time out!� the young girl cried, anger flashing in her eyes.


“Tell someone who cares, Mudblood,� he spat, climbing out of bed to get ready for the day.


“I’m telling on you!�


“Oh, really? Who are you going to rat me out to?�


“Mum Weazy! She told me to tell her when you call me Mudwud again,�


“What?!� cried Draco, swivelling on the spot just in time to see Granger get up from the floor.


“Mum Weazy!� bellowed Granger as she ran out of Draco’s room, slamming the door in her wake.


“Wait! Granger!� Draco shouted, and ran to the door, only to find it – jammed! Quickly, he tried to unlock it but found that it would not budge. He began kicking the door, frantically trying to open it, but finally realized that it would not open. The door was stuck.


After an hour, Draco heard footsteps in the hallway before the door was rattled.


“Draco Malfoy, open this door! You may not be one of my children, but by all that comes with the title of Mother, you will not treat one of my adopted children in the manner you’ve decided to do so.�


“I can’t open the door Mrs. Weasley,� Draco curtly answered, offended that this woman would reprimand him of all people.


“Child, open this door before I blast it open,� she warned tersely, “I’ve raised six boys and know more than one way to get into a spelled locked room.�


“It’s jammed. It seems you’ve forgotten that I do not have a wand in my possession so I couldn’t have possibly spelled locked the door…Mrs. Weasley,� he answered, his voice dripping with disdain.


Draco heard the Weasley matriarch muttering under her breath before the door creaked open. Relief washed over him until he saw the angry expression on the older woman’s face. She calmly walked in, carrying the Mudblood, who now appeared to be sleeping.


“Draco,� she began in a clipped tone, “I understand that you’re not happy with your current situation, or that you don’t particularly give two knuts about respecting me, but Hermione is only four years old. You cannot treat her like Hippogriff dung, especially since she’s under your care.�


Draco scowled at her before responding, “Well if Hermione hadn’t so rudely awakened me with a mouthful of pillow, then perhaps I would have needed to push her or call her names.�


Mrs. Weasley smiled wryly at the petulant Slytherin, fondly remembering her own hot-tempered children. If she had thought that Draco was going to have a hard time taking care of Hermione before, now she knew that babysitting one of his enemies would test his patience. Instead of giving him the long-winded lecture she had intended, Molly opted to let the incident be swept under the rug.


“Draco, I don’t wish for this sort of behaviour or events to be repeated,� Mrs. Weasley warned. Sighing quietly, she handed Draco the sleeping girl, and walked out. The older woman turned around at the door to see the young man holding the little girl at arm’s length, a bewildered expression on his face.


“What am I supposed to do with this?� he squawked, stirring the young girl from her slumber.


“Shhh, do you want to wake her up?� Mrs. Weasley warned. “Put her to bed,� she ordered, and left him with the grumpy toddler squirming in his reluctant arms.

Draco reluctantly tried to put the squirming four year old to bed, but that proved harder than catching the Snitch at a windy Quidditch match as the Mudblood struggled to get away from his grasp while screaming bloody murder. In her own childlike frustration, she ended up biting him on the arm to make her point clear. Draco briefly entertained the idea of killing himself, or even provoking Potter to end his miserable life. However, considering all the trouble he went through to the Order in the first place, Draco opted for dealing with this momentary torture until he could find a loophole, a remedy, or a way to get out of babysitting the toddler.

After struggling with the toddler for a good amount of time, and tending to his wound, Draco gave up and stomped out of the room trying to contain his anger towards the Mudblood. He knew that if he laid a finger on the chit, he would surely meet his death at the hands of the Weasel. Instead, the young Slytherin decided to research their failed potion.

Unfortunately, the Mudblood followed him to the library. Once inside, he mutely handed her some spare parchment and a quill to entertain herself.

The faster I find a cure, the less time I have to babysit the Mudblood, he thought, throwing the toddler a menacing glare; she was now babbling away in a corner of the room, scribbling like mad over her parchment.

After several hours of searching, and taking care of a surprisingly docile Granger, he found five potions books that seemed promising. The first book was an exact copy of the potions books that they had been using before it was blown up to shreds in the explosion. Two books contained information on Dark Arts potions; another book was dedicated solely to the ingredients used in potions including their magical properties, whilst the last book was on Advanced Potion-Making. He considered continuing his research but a grumpy mini-Mudblood had declared that she was ‘hungwy’ from her corner of the room ten minutes ago. Draco had ignored her for several minutes until he felt her presence by his side.

“Fewat, I’m hungwy! Mum Weazy said you would feed me,� she whined while irritatingly bouncing up and down.

“Fine, come on. Let’s go down to that poor excuse of a kitchen, and see what we can eat,� said Draco, leaving his research on the table he had been working all morning. As he made his way to the door, Draco realized that he had not heard the tiny footsteps of Granger following him. Hesitantly, he turned around and glared at the toddler who was chewing on her bottom lip.

“Well, Mud-Granger? Aren’t you hungry?�

“Cawy me!�

Draco raised an incredulous eyebrow at the insolent toddler.

“Carry you?� he scoffed in disbelief, yet managing to smirk for the first time that day.

The little girl nodded.

“I will not carry you, Mud-Granger.�

The chit scrounged her face in anger, a prominent pout that quivered with an imminent outburst.

“Granger, I already told you that temper tantrums don’t work on me. So just quit it. Now, follow me down to the kitchen because I will not carry you today, or tomorrow, or ever,� he spat, turning his back on the toddler to walk down to lunch by himself.

He took on tentative step towards the hallway when the shrill-like banshee scream of Granger made its way to his eardrums and had him grinding his teeth.

“Cawy me, Fewat! Now!�

“No!� he answered stubbornly, turning around to face a red-faced four year old.

“CAWY ME,� the tiny girl bellowed, stomping her feet, and shaking in anger.

“NO,� he shouted back, covering his ears with his hands in preparation for any further attacks.

However, instead of an attack on his eardrums, he felt small fists pummelling on his stomach. The Mudblood is hitting me, he mused silently, refusing to laugh at the incredulity of the situation.

Sighing in frustration, Draco grabbed the Mudblood’s tiny fists, and stopped their onslaught.

“Fine, Granger, I’ll carry you downstairs, but don’t make a habit of it,� he muttered, tentatively picking her up.

---

Upon observation, Draco realized that carrying the Mudblood at arms length the entire way down to the kitchen wasn’t the brightest idea he had ever had. His arms were still smarting several hours later. When Mrs. Weasley had seen him walk into the kitchen with Granger dangling from his outstretched arms, he noticed she had tried to hide a smile.

Upon seeing the matronly woman, Granger had squirmed out of his arms, and eagerly ran into her inviting arms. Draco noted how Mrs. Weasley bent at the knees to gingerly pick up the young girl. He made a mental note to copy the behaviour, but he wasn’t pleased with the fact that he would have to cradle the Mudblood on his shoulder if he carried her in the future.

When he inquired about lunch, Mrs. Weasley motioned to the cheese and pickle sandwiches on a table. Draco looked questioningly at the read-head before she said, “Why don’t you grab some dishes from the dresser, Draco. I’ll go prepare some tea, and get some milk for Hermione.�

The young Slytherin slowly made his way to the dresser to retrieve and set the cutlery for the late lunch with his charge. He grabbed a sandwich for himself and one for Granger before sitting down to eat. As he munched on his meal, Granger walked in carrying a glass of milk, followed by Molly Weasley, who was levitating tea. Draco kept eating quietly as Molly set down the tea, and helped the Mudblood into her seat. Draco was drinking his tea when he heard the Mudblood ask, “Fewat, can you cut my sanwich, pweaze?�

Draco’s eye bulged in disbelief, and he opened his mouth to harshly respond to the toddler, but a warning look from Mrs. Weasley stopped him short. Instead, he grabbed the Mudblood’s plate, and proceeded to mutilate her sandwich. He savagely pushed the plate back to the Mudblood, and watched as she picked up one of the pieces and happily popped it in her mouth. To his chagrin, Granger was a messy eater, and she greedily half-chewed her food before swallowing. Draco stared at her atrocious table manners as she spilled milk down her chin.

“Draco don’t you think you should clean her up?� Mrs. Weasley prompted.

The young Slytherin looked scandalized and thoroughly disgusted at the thought, before reaching for the napkin, and wiping the Mudblood’s face clean.

Mrs. Weasley had a smile on her face, and she looked like she was trying hard not to laugh at the situation.

“So, Draco, Hermione tells me you two have been in the library all morning,� Mrs. Weasley began, trying to lighten up the mood.

“I was researching the potion we concocted, Mrs. Weasley,� he drawled. “The sooner I find an antidote, the less I have to baby sit Granger.�

“That sounds splendid. Listen, why don’t you go back upstairs and finish your research. I’ll take Hermione for a couple of hours. She can help me clean up.�

Draco looked suspiciously at the red-headed woman and her generous offer.

“Ok, Mrs. Weasley. I’ll only be about an hour or two more before I come back down and keep her out of your hair,� Draco muttered, pushing his chair back.

Quietly, Draco walked back up the stairs, thinking about how he had actually cleaned the Mudblood, willingly. When he got to the library, Draco decided that he would prefer to read the books he found in his room at night when he couldn’t sleep. He carried the five volumes to his room, and set them down on the night stand next his impossibly tiny bed. Suddenly, he felt rather tired; he had already had a very trying day, and decided to take a short nap before going back downstairs for the Mudblood. He deserved it he rationalized, after playing house elf to the Mudblood.

Draco crawled into bed, and curled up, quickly falling prey to the world of dreams.

---

Hermione chewed quietly as she watched Mum Weazy cleaning the kitchen.

“Hermione, dear, are you done with your carrot?� Mum Weazy asked, as she Scourgified the pantry.

“Yup, Mum Weazy! All done! Zee!� she held out her hands to show the red-headed woman that the vegetable in question was gone.

“Good. Why don’t you go take a nap, dear? You didn’t get to take one this morning, and today has been exceptionally busy.�

Hermione nodded, and followed Mum Weazy up the stairs, and into her room. She lay down on her small bed, and waited until the older woman tucked her in, kissing her forehead.

After a while of tossing and turning, Hermione realized she couldn’t sleep – she needed ‘Bob’ to sleep, but felt a pang of heart ache as she realized that ‘Bob’ was back home. Small tears rolled down her eyes, and she decided to go look for a suitable replacement. Small feet padded their way to the door as Hermione climbed off her bed, crossed the hallway into Fewat’s, and climbed into his bed. Instead, she found him scowling, even in his sleep, gave him a tiny kiss on his nose, and cuddled up with him for a nap. Before giving in to Mr. Sandman, Hermione vaguely wondered if it would be okay to ask Fewat to get her a replacement for Bob, her stuffed lion.

Draco woke up later that evening with a mouthful of hair, not bothering to wonder why he had it in his mouth in the first place. Spitting it out, he felt a strange wetness cooling on his arm, but his sleep-addled brain kept him from focusing on it for the moment. Instead, groggy from over-sleeping, he cocked an eyebrow at the small warm body radiating heat next to him. After taking a moment to muse on the tiny form, he realized that it was Granger.

What the bloody hell? Why is the Mudblood in my bed? he thought, a deep scowl gracing his face.

Refocusing on the wetness, he realized that the Mudblood had drooled all over his arm and part of his robe. Anger slowly boiled in his blood, but the memory of the earlier this morning stopped him from any rash actions. Instead, he quietly climbed out of the bed, wiped his arm dry with one of Potter’s discarded robes, and left the Mudblood alone, sleeping in his bed. He made a mental note to ask Mrs. Weasley to Scourgify the sheets later before he went to bed.

He quietly made his way down the rickety stairs, and found Mrs. Weasley serving dinner to Moody, Remus, and Potter. Mentally grimacing, he mutely made his way past them to the ice-box to get himself a glass of milk, and perhaps some for the Mudblood pre-emptively avoiding any more annoyances from her for tonight.

As he walked by the table though, he was greeted by everyone seated there.

“Evening, Draco,� Remus cheerfully said.

�Malfoy,� Potter and Moody grumbled cordially.

“How did you sleep, Draco? Is Hermione still sleeping? You two had quite a rough day today – slept right through most of it,� Mrs. Weasley happily stated before continuing. “I would have woken you two up, but you looked so adorable cuddled up together, I just didn’t have the heart to do it.�

Draco’s cheeks burned with embarrassment at Molly’s indiscreet statement, while Remus discreetly chuckled at the announcement.

“Oh that’s rich, Mrs. Weasley,� Harry snorted, “You’ll have to let me see that image in a Pensieve.�

“No. You will not, Potter! Mrs. Weasley shouldn’t have ever seen that in the first place. I was merely taking a late-afternoon nap; I have no idea how Granger got into my bed,� Draco said angrily, stomping his way past the table.

“Oh, dear, I believe that’s my fault,� Molly fretted, ignoring the angry Slytherin walking away from her.

“You sent Hermione to sleep in the snake pit, Molly?� Moody growled as he pushed his chair back.

“Oh. Pish posh! Of course, not! I put Hermione to bed for a nap. She must have wandered to Draco’s room after I left.�

“Well, then where is she now, Ferret?� Potter inquired mischievously as Draco returned with a glass of milk for the Mudblood. Danger flashed in Draco’s eyes at the mention of the ‘f-word,’ daring Potter to repeat it, as he slammed the glass down on the wooden table.

“She’s asleep, Potter,� he spat back annoyed.

“Well then, why don’t you bring her down here,� Harry suggested mockingly.

Draco scowled at Potter before stomping up the stairs to retrieve the Mudblood for dinner. Fuming, Draco vaguely wondered how he could get back at Potter. However, when Draco opened the door to his room, he found said Mudblood holding the blanket tightly with tears in her eyes. She looked up at Draco, teary eyed, before she jumped out of bed and grabbed his leg.

“Fewat! Where did you go? I was scawed! I miss Bob!� she wailed.

“Get your hands off me, Mud-Granger,� snapped Draco which only caused the young girl to cry harder.

“Stop your snivelling!� he admonished, trying to shake her off.

“I miss Bob!� she cried.

“Who’s Bob, Granger?� Draco asked disdainfully, already regretting the question.

“My stuffed lion,� she muttered. Draco sighed with frustration. First, he’d been forced to feed the Mudblood earlier, and to his horror she was the messiest eater he’d ever met; Draco would go so far as to say that she was messier than the Weasel. Then, the Mudblood had crawled into his bed during his supposedly peaceful yet impromptu nap. Now, she was clinging to his leg, wailing about some stuffed Muggle animal named ‘Bob.’

Dropping to his knees, he picked up the Mudblood from the floor, and began rubbing her back. “Shh, Mud-Granger, we’ll get you a new Bob. Just stop crying, ok?� he tried reasoning with her, the same way his parents had reasoned with him during his legendary tantrums: the good ol’ Slytherin way of blackmail and bribes.

“Weally? We get me a new lion?� she asked, her eyes bright with tears.

“Yes, really,� he huffed. Suddenly, to his horror, the little girl threw her arms around his neck, and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek. He made a mental note to thoroughly wash his face prior to going to sleep. Awkwardly, Draco kept rubbing her back, scowling the entire time at the close contact.

“Fewat, I’m hungwy!� she happily exclaimed all of a sudden.

Relieved at her sudden outburst, Draco began putting her down when he felt her small arms tighten around his neck. “No! Cawy me!�

“Mud-Granger, I’m not going to carry you everywhere. You need to walk on your own.�

The brunette scowled at him petulantly as he set her feet down on the floor, but he found that she had become very jelly-like for she continued to cling to him determinedly.

“Granger, let go!� he admonished, shaking her off his neck. With a small thud, the little girl fell to the floor into a pile dirty robes that needed washing.

He began walking away from her determined to not carry the Mudblood; he made it to the door before he heard a whimper. Turning around he saw the Mudblood sucking on her thumb. He scowled at the barbaric behaviour.

“Well? Come on, or are you going to go hungry? I have a lot of reading to do before putting you to bed tonight, and I do not fancy skipping out on dinner,� he barked at the whimpering child.

The little girl picked herself up, ran to him, and threw herself at his legs. “Please cawy me, Fewat!� Draco tried to move away from her grip, but found that she had tangled herself very well around his limbs.

“Let go, Mud-Granger!� he muttered.

“NO! CAWY ME!� screamed the Mudblood.

Draco closed his eyes in frustration before reaching down, and picking up the four year old to shut her squealing. Angry at himself for giving in to her tantrum, Draco stomped all the way down to the kitchen as she happily chatted nonsensically in his ear.
***
Upon arriving at the kitchen, the Mudblood practically jumped out of his arms, and ran to Mrs. Weasley.

“Mum Weazy!� the little girl cried, jumping into the waiting arms of the older woman.

Potter and Remus smiled at Hermione when she waved back them after recognizing the two men. After scanning the room, Draco noticed that Moody had taken an early leave.

“Well, Malfoy, two days and she’s still in one piece,� Potter remarked in a semi-astonished tone.

“Of course, Potter,� Draco drawled. “Why wouldn’t she be in one piece? Don’t you think I don’t know what you would do to me if anything happened to your Mud-Granger?�

Raising an eyebrow, Potter grinned at Draco. “Well, it’s good to know that she’ll still be in one piece when Ron arrives in two days.�

“Joy,� muttered Draco, helping the Mudblood to the highchair that Mrs. Weasley had Transfigured for her.

“Too bad I can’t say the same for you,� Potter smirked, reaching for a second serving of dinner.

Draco spent the rest of dinner throwing hateful glares at Potter while trying to help feed the Mudblood. He was rather disgusted with the entire affair; he wondered how long it would take before he would develop his own wandless magic to curse himself and end his miserable existence.

First, the Mudblood spent the entire dinner calling him ‘Fewat’ and demanding she feed him; but once he would begin feeding her, she threw a fit.

“I don’t like that!� she pouted, pointing at the offending vegetable innocently laying on the dinnerware.

“Enough, Mud-Granger. Eat it: it’s good for you,� he admonished sternly, not necessarily caring either way for her health, but putting up a good show for Potter and crew.

“No!� she screamed, picking up the broccoli and throwing it across the room where it smacked Remus on the forehead. Draco scowled at the Mudblood, Remus snickered, Potter laughed, and Mrs. Weasley coyly smiled at the Mudblood’s childish antics.

“Granger, apologize,� Draco muttered half-heartedly, trying his best to look scandalized at the toddler’s behaviour but secretly glad that it had hit the werewolf.

“NO! I want a cookie!� she answered, crossing her small arms over her chest in defiance.

“No! Eat your vegetables,� he replied, locking his eyesight with hers in a battle of wills.

“COOKIE!� she screamed.

“Malfoy just give her a cookie,� Potter cried out, covering his ears with his hands.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter before replying over the screaming, “She’ll ruin her appetite, Potter. And I do not fancy staying up taking care of a sick child should she actually get sick from the blasted cookie.�

“He’s right, dear,� Mrs. Weasley piped in as she began clearing the table, not paying attention to the screaming child sitting next to her.

“Are you taking his side, Mrs. Weaslely?� Harry asked, looking scandalized at the thought.

“Harry, shame on you, I’m not taking anyone’s side. Draco is taking care of Hermione right now, and I believe he’s right in not wanting her to eat cookies for dinner. Goodness knows that I hardly ever allowed so much sugar at the dinner table,� Mrs. Weasley mentioned, eyeing the red-faced toddler who had run-out of breath during her screaming, and appeared to be readying herself for a second tirade.

Draco smiled smugly at Potter as the git stared darkly at him from across the table. He couldn’t help but feel that he had won a small battle. A tugging on his sleeve broke Draco from his reverie; the Mudblood was yawning and rubbing her eyes with one small fist.

“Why don’t you get her ready for bed dear?� Molly Weasley prodded with a gentle, motherly voice.

Potter raised an eyebrow at Draco. “He’s getting her ready for bed, Mrs. Weasley? Isn’t that…wrong? He’s a prat, and she’s, well…she’s Hermione.�

Mrs. Weasley furrowed her eyebrows in consideration. “I know who she is, Harry. Besides wasn’t it your idea for him to take care of her?�

The bespectacled boy stared blankly at the red-headed woman before reluctantly nodding his consent. “I suppose.�

Feeling uncomfortable and angry, Draco picked up the small girl from her high chair and began carrying her to her bedroom. He couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes burning onto his back as he retreated into the grim old house. To his surprise, the Mudblood climbed off his arms halfway up the stairs, and began walking next to him. However, when they reached the landing, he felt a sudden insistent tug on his robes.

As he looked down, Draco noticed that Mud-Granger was readying herself to throw another temper tantrum. He toyed with the idea of leaving her screaming on the landing, but thought better of it since Potter was still downstairs, probably whispering conspiratorially against him.

“No sleep,� she muttered.

“But you’re tired, Mud-Granger.�

“No sleep.�

“Granger! I don’t have time for this. It’s getting late, you need to sleep, and I need to find a way to reverse this disaster.�

“No sleep!� she defiantly pouted.

Frustrated beyond belief, Draco voluntarily picked up Granger and carried the kicking child the rest of the way to her room as she began bellowing about wanting Bob. He unceremoniously dumped her on her tiny bed and began searching for her pyjamas, desperately trying to complete this chore called bedtime. The former Slytherin was so focused on his mission that he failed to notice when the cries from the girl mysteriously ceased.

When he turned around to disgustedly face the Mudblood, holding a pair of pink pyjamas with fluffy white kittens all over, Draco panicked. He instantly realized that she wasn’t in her bed where he had previously left her screaming and kicking.

“Merlin’s beard!� he cursed, throwing the pink pyjamas on the floor in anger. He ran out of the room in search of the girl, and hoped that he would find her before Potter, or the red-headed busy-body found out she was missing; he didn’t fancy getting an earful from the Weasley matriarch about keeping a watchful eye on children.

He frantically searched the top two levels of the house before nonchalantly walking downstairs with the false pretence of getting more milk for the Mudblood.

As Draco walked out into the kitchen, he saw, to his horror, that Potter had the Mudblood cradled on his shoulder rather expertly. Worse yet, the four-eyed git looked rather smug about it. Draco didn’t want to look like an incompetent idiot in front of the ‘Chosen One.’ Therefore, channelling his inner Slytherin, Draco decided to turn the attitude back on Saint Potter.

“Potter! What do you think you’re doing?� he retorted, stomping over to the ex-Gryffindor while reaching for his charge.

“What am I doing, Malfoy?� laughed Potter, allowing Malfoy to take a sleeping Hermione from his arms. “I should be the one asking what you are doing; it appears, to me, that you misplaced my best friend in less than an hour. You can’t keep track of a four-year old, Malfoy?�

Draco scowled at Potter, re-arranged Granger on his hip, and made sure she was asleep before calmly replying. “Nonsense, Potter. Of course I can take care of a four-year old. It seems to me that you’re the one who purposely took Granger out of bed to make me appear like a berk. I was merely coming down here for an extra glass of milk before bed, and found you with her looking smug and almighty annoying.�

“I did no such thing, Malfoy,� Potter retorted. “In fact, Hermione was the one who came to me, crying about not being able to sleep because the Ferret hadn’t given her Bob, like he promised earlier.�

“Well, Potter, I would have Transfigured another Bob if I had a wand in my possession. Seeing as I don’t have one, no thanks to you, then I can’t exactly keep my promises to her now, can I?�

“I’m not giving you your wand back, Malfoy,� snapped Potter, standing abruptly.

“Then how do you propose I take proper care of your Mudblood best friend, Potter?�

“I already told you, Malfoy, the same way Muggles have done for centuries--without magic. Maybe that way you’ll learn that living without magic isn’t so despicable.�

Draco narrowed his eyes in anger. Potter defiantly stared back. They stood like that for a long moment before Harry continued:

“Let’s get one thing straight, Malfoy: I don’t trust you. You don’t trust me. The only reason you’re here is because I was on that tower the night Dumbledore was murdered by your snivelling godfather. You’re rather useless, if you must know; we can’t use you as a spy, you’re an annoying spoiled Slytherin brat, and no one likes you. Your only useful skill is your potions making ability, and the fact that Hermione is now one-fourth of her original age is your fault! After I defeat Voldemort, you will go to Azkaban to rot with your father-- or better yet, be permanently exiled from the wizarding world. If you so much as step out of line while taking care of Hermione, I will hunt you down, Malfoy, and then you’ll be begging for your Dark Lord.�

Draco stared blankly at Potter as a torrent of emotions danced across his face, from anger and hurt to fear and confusion. However, he quickly hid them behind a mask of indifference before Potter had a chance to analyze them, turned his back on the four-eyed git, and walked away from the half-blood’s offending presence.

However, being the Slytherin that he was, he couldn’t help but try and cast some fear on his nemesis. Stopping at the door, Draco muttered darkly from the shadows, “If I’m as useless to the Order as you claim I am, Potter, you’d better watch you back more carefully---you wouldn’t want to be murdered in your sleep now, would you? If the Dark Lord ever taught us anything, it was that you don’t need magic to kill someone–sometimes Muggles really do have better techniques.�

Once back in his room, after putting the Mudblood back in her bed, Draco stood by the window in quiet reflection. He tried telling himself he wasn’t as useless as Potter claimed, and he hated that he, a Malfoy, was questioning his own worth. If his mother could see him now, she’d smack him good and proper.

However, any thoughts of his mother caused chills of fear to run up and down Draco’s spine. The last memory he had of her was as she lay on the dirt, covered floor, drenched in sweat and blood; a soundless scream escaping from her mouth.

Shaking his head to get rid of the image, Draco idly wondered if Potter would keep an extra set of eyes on him now. He hadn’t meant to threaten the saviour of the wizarding world, but Potter always pushed his buttons.

Sighing in frustration, Draco crawled into bed. He really hoped that tomorrow was easier than today had been. At least, he hadn’t killed the Mudblood, he cheerily mused; that had to count for something.

***

Draco woke the next day to a pair of brown eyes watching him resolutely. He groaned inwardly in frustration at the realization that it was the Mudblood. And so early in the morning too!

“Fewat?�

“Yes, Mud-Granger?�

“I’m hungwy�

“Go away,� he huffed, rolling to his side, and turning his back on the young brunette.

“I’m hungwy, Fewat!� she began whining.

“Then find yourself some food, Mud-Granger.�

“You make it, Fewat!�

Scowling, Draco crawled out of bed, and pushed the Mudblood out of his way. He looked at himself in the mirror and thought how futile it was to maintain an impeccable image whilst living with the riffraff that currently presided in the home of his ancestors. Mutely, he grabbed an abandoned hairbrush and made his hair presentable. He at least had that over Potter: good hair.

The Mudblood, clearly amused at his antics, ran up to him and demanded he do her hair, too.

“Me next, Fewat!� she happily cried out.

“No!�

Pouting, the Mudblood crossed her little arms over her chest and sat with a heavy thud on the floor. “Me next!�

“No, Granger! Besides, I thought you were hungry,� Draco tried reasoning, horrified at going near the Mudblood’s hair. He wondered if perhaps he’d get away with carrying her all the way downstairs while she threw a fit, or if he’d end up with tiny bruises all over his body. However, before Draco could fully analyze the situation to suit his Slytherin needs, he heard the voice of Potter cutting sharply through his thoughts.

“Why don’t you just do her hair, Malfoy? It’s not like it’ll attack you.�

“Because, Potter you only said I was to look after her well-being, not her appearance,� he answered smugly. “And trust me – there’s nothing I can do make her appear better.�

Raising an eyebrow in challenge, Potter walked over to him and looked him square in the eyes. They stood staring at each other in anger and contempt. Time paused, and both young men seemed to be sizing each other up for a good throw down when the Mudblood’s tiny, yet happy, squeal of ‘Mum Weazy’ broke through their non-verbal violence.

Draco turned to the door and saw the red-head standing there with a curious look in her face. Deciding he didn’t want to deal with two Gryffindors, Draco promptly bent down to pick up the Mudblood, cradled her on his narrow hips, and left the room without another word. Mrs. Weasley watched him walk down the stairs as Hermione babbled on about milk, eggs, and bacon for breakfast.

As soon as the blond head disappeared, Mrs. Weasley rounded on Harry and stared pointedly at him.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mrs. Weasley,� Harry muttered, head hanging and avoiding her eyes.

***

Draco stood in front of the empty cupboard wondering what he could give to the Mudblood for breakfast. He had no clue what young children ate for nutrition, but he knew the stale box of biscuits in the corner weren’t going to be enough. Just as he picked up said food item, he threw them back rather roughly as the Weasley matron walked into the room.

“Good morning, Draco,� she greeted cheerfully.

“Good morning,� he mumbled, searching for food with more nutritional value for the Mudblood now that the red-head was around to monitor him. However, he ended up standing there looking lost and confused.

“You know, Draco, we keep the food in the kitchen pantry and not the cupboard out here.�

“Oh…erm…yes. Pantry in the kitchen,� he repeated, heading in the general direction of the kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley furrowed her brows with concern as she watched him hopelessly rummage through the contents of the pantry. He came back with a box of oatmeal and put it down on the table. Amused, Mrs. Weasley continued staring as he opened the box and stared inside.

The boy was rather clueless, she realized sadly, and proceeded to help him fix oatmeal for Hermione.

“You have to cook that, Draco. It’s not cooked.�

“What? Well, how do you cook it? I don’t have a wand,� he sneered.

“You don’t need a wand to cook, young man. Now follow me,� she answered sternly, grabbing the box of oatmeal while heading to the kitchen. Draco followed her and watched as she set about boiling water and measuring cups of oatmeal. To his chagrin he noticed she was doing it all with a wand.

“Mrs. Weasley,� he began tersely, “I believe you said I didn’t need a wand, yet you’re using one yourself.�

“Well, I’m showing you the steps, Draco. Surely a bright boy like yourself, who I’ve heard is brilliant at Potions, can use some of those same skills to cook.�

He scowled. As if his day hadn’t already been just peachy keen, now it had icing on top.

***

By the time, Draco managed to cook the oatmeal, it was half-past noon and Mrs. Weasley had gently patted him on the shoulder while throwing away his disaster. He stared sadly at the glump of goo in the rubbish bin. It felt like such a waste of time. For a minute, Draco pondered that this must be how Longbottom had felt all those years in his godfather’s class.

“Perhaps, you added too much salt, dear.�

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“You can always try again tomorrow.�

Draco’s eyebrow lifted another inch. Sure, he would, and tomorrow he’d become best friends with the Mudblood.

Draco was so lost in his angry thoughts that he failed to listen to the busybody who was apparently still talking to him.

“Draco, are you listening? Boys!� she huffed.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley, you were saying?�

“I was saying that it’s already half-past noon and you’ve yet to prepare Hermione for the day. She’s still wearing her pyjamas, for Merlin’s pants. You need to set up a routine for both of you until you’ve reversed this damage or else she’ll run amuck. And I’m pretty sure that Hermione’s parents gave her a lot of structure. I don’t mean to lecture you, dear, but at this rate you’ll be raising Hermione all over again through some of a child’s most important developmental years….�

Draco scowled, not listening to her irritating voice anymore. Was this bint saying what he thought she was saying? That he wasn’t good enough to be a single father? Well, he’d show her and the rest of the Gryffindor goody-two-shoes.

Grabbing the Mudblood’s hand, he pulled her off her chair in the kitchen and dragged her up the stairs.

***

After spending the rest of the day locked up in the library, only venturing down to grab sandwiches for him and the Mudblood during lunch, Draco had planned out a well-structured routine. He stared at his handy-work and couldn’t have felt more proud. It was almost like creating a studying timetable back at Hogwarts.

He smiled bitterly at the memory of Hogwarts, remembering that it was partly his fault the war had progressed so quickly. After looking at his list titled Mudblood’s Daily Schedule, he picked up the book he had been reading earlier: Magical Parenting: The Ups & Downs. Truth be told, he was surprised to have found this in the house of Black, but then realized that the book gravitated towards more ‘unusual’ punishments, and questionable parenting skills – no wonder his cousin had run-away. Still, he read it purposefully, hoping to find some information of relevance in the book.

Looking around, he spotted his charge in the corner of the library where he had left her after handing over some parchment and quills. She had asked for ‘cwawons’ but he had just stared at her in confusion. As much as it annoyed him, he made a note to ask Potter what ‘cwawons’ were; he was almost sure it was some Muggle item of which he had no knowledge. Draco looked down at his to do list and his notes on the side:

1. Find a solution to this mess I got myself into – working on it
2. Create a schedule/routine for the Mudblood – check and mate
3. Ask Potter what ‘cwawons’ are – dubious
4. Get Mudblood (MB) a new ‘Bob’ – piece of cake


Time to work on number four. It was a piece of cake, really. All he needed was an elf. Resolute, Draco went over to the Mudblood’s corner, as he so fondly referred to it, and noticed she had fallen asleep. He considered leaving her for the minute he’d need to fetch a new stuffed animal but, considering what happened last time, he opted to wake her.

“Mud-Granger, wake up,� he ordered haughtily. Upon further consideration, he realized that the four-year old currently taking a nap wasn’t going to yield to his authority like others did. After all, she didn’t know who or what a ‘Mafly’ was, as she had stated earlier when he had said he was a Malfoy, and thus didn’t know that everyone listened to him. He grimaced at the memory and the butchering of his last name: “Mafly? What’s a Mafly? Is it like a Bob? When I getting another Bob? You pwomised me another Bob. Do you keep your pwomises, Fewat?�

It had pained him to think of breaking his promise to a four-year old girl. His own father had broken many promises to him growing up, and he recalled the pain as if it were only yesterday.

Gently picking up the Mudblood, Draco carried her to his room and lay her on the bed. Then he walked downstairs and called for Potter -- as much as it pained him.

“Potter!� he sneered.

“Malfoy, back for a second round?� Potter taunted.

Draco scowled.

“Actually, I’m here to borrow your elf, Kreacher.�

“Kreacher? Why?�

“I need him for an errand.�

“An errand?� scoffed the four-eyed git. “How do I know you’re not sending a message to your Dark Lord--�

Potter never finished his question as Draco’s fist connected with his mouth. A fight ensued; both boys began violently thrashing each other on the floor, fists flying, and curses muttered.

Draco felt the metallic taste of blood inside his mouth, and spit out some of it. Just as he pulled back his fist for another shot at Potter’s nose, he heard a woman screech and a man shout; then everything went black.

When Draco came to, he was lying on the couch in the living room, a cold, wet towel over his nose. Potter was sitting across from him, scowling at the werewolf. The busy-body red-head was fussing over the wailing Mudblood, and he noticed that the one-eyed Auror was pointing a wand at him.

“Oh good, you’re awake, Draco,� the werewolf muttered.

Draco felt the wand that the Auror was pointing at him press closer to his jugular.



“Answer him, boy�



“Answer him, what?� Draco angrily muttered. “He hasn’t asked me a question�



The werewolf sighed, “Alastor, the boy is wandless, no need to scare him witless.�



“He attacked, Potter. He wanted to borrow Kreacher, and Potter just confirmed that only last night, Malfoy here threatened him.�



“Boys talk.�



“Yes, but this is war, Lupin. Idle threats cannot be cast aside anymore.�



“Alastor, honestly, they’re just boys. Either way, Draco, why did you threaten Harry?�



Draco scowled. “Answer him, boy.�



“He threatened me first,� Draco spat.



“Harry,� gasped Mrs. Weasley.



Harry blushed under the gaze of the red-haired woman. “I’m sorry Mrs. Weasley.�



“Git,� murmured Draco.



“Potter!� shouted Moody.



“Enough!� Remus announced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Harry, Draco, stay away from each other. We do have a war going on at the moment; we can do without unnecessary blood shed due to petty childhood spats. You’re both grown men as far as I’m concerned so behave like it.�



“I only wanted Kreacher to fetch an old stuffed dragon I used to own as a child,� sneered Draco from his place in the couch, pulling himself into a seating position. “Do you lot honestly think I’d try to contact the Dark Lord? You’re bloody mental if you think I can go back to him, Potter.�



“Fine, Malfoy, borrow Kreacher – but if Hermione gets hurt in any way, or if we’re invaded by Death Eaters, I swear-� threatened Potter, before he was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley.



“Harry!�



Potter scowled angrily, turning his back on the group before stomping up the stairs, taking them two at a time.



The adults stared mutely at the raven-haired boy before turning around to eye Draco in careful consideration. Draco glared back. Suddenly, the woeful cries of the Mudblood filled the air. Draco’s attention snapped involuntarily to the little brunette. The Weasley matron let her go and everyone watched as she ran straight into Draco’s arms.



Draco couldn’t help smirking smugly in a self-satisfied manner. He picked her up and, calling out for Kreacher, carried her up the stairs to her room to tuck her in with a new stuffed dragon, hopefully.



***



A couple of hours later, Draco watched the Mudblood sleep cosily under the covers of her bed with a tight hold on her new stuffed dragon. It was an old toy that had once belonged to him. Of course, he had given it a glorious name: Scorpious the Dragon. Sighing in irritation, Draco stared at the newly baptized ‘Meow.’ The Mudblood was and had always been the bane of his existence, he knew. However, it oddly amused him that he didn’t mind the re-naming of his old toy.



Now, if he could somehow survive tomorrow, and find a cure for this mess, he figured that the rest of the war couldn’t be so bad. He only had to keep himself alive.



***



The next morning, Draco found himself being better at this ‘parent’ thing. Of course, he was concentrating at a high capacity that was almost at the same level required for Potions. He woke up early, and had a bowl of oatmeal ready for the Mudblood by the time she woke up. However, he didn’t count on her throwing a hissy-fit and throwing it on the floor. He stared at the white blob of food on the dirty floor, contemplating the best way to murder the Mudblood. Then he eyed Potter glaring at him from the doorway, and he cleaned up the mess before giving the four-year old a banana.



The rest of the day was spent in the library, researching more Potions in vain. After lunch had been brought up, Draco had thrown the last book across the room in anger. He needed Severus for this; he was only a student still, haven’t even finished his NEWT levels. He sighed in desperation, frowning at the Mudblood who was chanting about having ‘tea’ time. Draco eyed the clock and idly figured that it wouldn’t hurt just this once. However, he wasn’t counting on Ron showing up while having ‘tea’ in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.



He had been sipping his ‘tea,’ scowling at the babbling Mudblood when the fireplace lit up with green flames.



***



Ron stood bewildered in the middle of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. His best friend was three feet tall, holding a stuffed dragon, and chatting away with the overgrown snake. Harry had told him that Hermione had experienced an “accident of sorts� earlier in the week, but withheld details – only stating she was fine, and that he should stay in Egypt to finish his scouting mission.



However, as he watched his pint-sized best friend and his nemesis having what appeared to be “tea�, Ron became livid that Harry had kept this information from him.



“What the bloody hell is going on here?� Ron bellowed.



Nonplussed at Ron’s unexpected arrival, the Slytherin composed himself before turning around, raising an aristocratic eyebrow at the red-head, flatly stating, “What does it look like, Weasel?� Granger and I are having afternoon tea.�



“Tea?� Ron parroted, looking like he had been hit with a Confundus Charm.



“Afternoon tea, to be more precise, Weasel,� Draco drawled out.



“Afternoon tea!� repeated Ron. “Are you mental, Ferret?�



“Not yet,� Malfoy replied with disdain, mutely handing Hermione a napkin to wipe the crumbs off her face.



“Why are you having tea when Hermione looks like that?� Ron demanded, pointing at the young girl currently shoving a biscuit in her mouth, the aforementioned napkin abandoned on the floor.



Malfoy stared blankly at Ron before calmly scooping a glob of cream and mixing it into his cup. Ron looked disconcertingly at Malfoy as he stirred the milky substance into his drink, took a sip of tea, and calmly set the cup back down on its saucer plate.



“Because, Weasel, I haven’t found the antidote to return Granger to her original state…yet.�



“You bloody Slytherin. It’s your fault that she’s like this in the first place, isn’t it?� Ron accused as he rushed over to Hermione who had taken to cleaning her mouth with the ear of her dragon.



However, as the red-head approached Hermione, she began scowling at him. Furrowed little eyebrows scrutinized him distrustfully.



“Who you?� she murmured, avoiding his eyesight, apparently scared at his volatile temper.



“Hermione, it’s me, Ron,� he stated as calmly as possible, perplexed at her reaction.



“Who Won?� she questioned, looking to Malfoy for clarification as Ron’s face turned beet red from anger.



“She doesn’t remember me? Why doesn’t she remember me, Malfoy?� Ron barked while Hermione shrunk into her seat in fear.



“Granger doesn’t recognize you, Weasel, because you did not exist in her life when she was four,� Malfoy scowled.



“She’s four?!� the red-head screamed. “Why is she four?�



Sighing in frustration, Malfoy admonished Ron, “Stop it, Weasley, you’re scaring Granger.� The former Slytherin then motioned to the tiny Gryffindor who was climbing out of her seat hastily.



“Fewat! Me and Meow are scared,� she cried as she squeezed the stuffing out of the red dragon.



“Scared? Why are you scared of me Hermione?� Ron cooed as he tried to embrace her. Without warning, she ran out of his reach and ran behind Malfoy’s chair, and whispered in his ear.



Ron was outraged at her reaction, pointed an accusatory finger at the Slytherin, and began ranting, “What did you do to her? Why is she scared of me? You prat! You changed her! Where is Harry? I’m going to talk to him, and then I’m going to kick your arse, Malfoy.�



Malfoy sneered at him before standing and picking up Hermione. She instantly put her head down on his shoulder and closed her eyes lazily. “Fine Weasley, go tattle to Golden Boy while I put Granger down for her nap, and then I’ll kick your arse,� he taunted, striding past Ron as he walked confidently up the stairs, clearly enjoying that Granger did not like the red-head either.



At the top of the stairs, Malfoy turned to look at the sleeping Hermione before whispering, “I think you and I are going to get along just fine now, Granger.�

***

Ron could not believe that the filthy cockroach had turned his soon to be fiancée against him. Only five days ago he had been holding her in his arms as they bid their goodbyes for another mission. He knew he shouldn’t have left Hermione alone with the Ferret. As he stomped his way through Grimmauld Place in search of Harry, Ron began thinking of ways to murder Malfoy in his sleep.



No, first I’m going to punch Harry in the face for not telling me she had been turned into a four year old. Then, I’m going to kill Malfoy in his sleep, Ron thought angrily.



Ron found Harry going over plans with Remus and Moody in the library.



“Potter!� he yelled as he slammed the doors open. “You and I need to talk, now!�



Harry looked up at him with a bemused expression. “Oi, mate, you made it back-� he began, but never finished when a swift fist connected with his nose.

Harry woke up to a stinging pain around his nose that radiated up to his head. He moaned in pain as he stretched his mouth to yawn, and made to grab his pounding head from furthering the ache.

“Don’t move, Harry.�

“Guh, my head. What happened?� Harry asked.

Somewhere above Remus chuckled as he handed Harry a pain-relieving potion. “You’re just not getting a break this week are you, Harry? Alastor was wondering if you’d survive this war with your nose intact.�

“Where’s Ron?�

“He’s sulking about; after he punched your lights out, he went after Draco. However, I don’t think any of us were counting on Hermione experiencing a random outburst of magical energy in order to protect the Malfoy boy.�

“What? Magical energy? Protect that git?� asked Harry as the pain began to dissipate and he began to think clearly.

Remus chuckled again, clearly amused. “You’ll have to ask Ron about it, Harry, since no one was around to witness it except Draco and Hermione, but neither is talking. Alastor was the one who found him hanging upside down though. It was quite amusing.�

Harry rubbed his eyes from exhaustion. It was one thing to have Malfoy to watch out for; having to watch his back for Ron throwing blows as well was going to wear him out. He just hoped that Malfoy hurried up and found a solution to this mess.

***

“Stay away from her!� Draco cried out angrily as he walked back into the living room where he had left his charge playing with Meow. He had only left to get her a biscuit, but he wasn’t overly surprised to find the Weasel hovering around her all the time. It was with a self-satisfied smug that Draco watched the red-head change into incredibly amazing shades of red and purple every time she would say “go away, Won-Won� which would be followed quickly by “Fewat make Won Won go away!� or his favorite, “I don’t like you Won-Won! Fewat!�

Over the past couple of days, Draco and Granger had fallen into a nice companionable relationship of guardian/charge. He was surprised that Potter hadn’t come around to ‘kick his arse’ but he had also heard whispers late at night that the Weasel and Potter had a falling out the day the red-head came back and found Granger in her current state.

The fact that Potter sported puce splotches of skin on his face made Draco smirk with glee. The Slytherin thought for sure that the two-third of the Trio left would have teamed up against him, but was surprised they both sulked around in the shadows. He walked over and picked up the toddler who was crying, clinging to Meow. He scowled at Ron.

“What did you think you were doing, Weasel?�

“Sod off, Ferret! She’s my fiancée in real life. I only wanted to talk to her, just because you’re taking care of her right now and she doesn’t remember me, doesn’t change that fact! So don’t forget it, you bloody wanker�

“Ronald Bilius Weasley! You watch your language around children,� scolded the red-headed matron as she walked into the room.

Scowling, the Weasel took off into another room upstairs. Draco stared after him. He turned around and genuinely smiled at Granger.

“Fewat! Did you bring my biscuit?� she asked happily, patting his robes searching for a cookie.

“Yes, I did Granger, but you need to finish practicing your letters.�

She pouted. Draco noticed the familiar telltale signs of a tantrum appear on her face.

“COOOKKIEE!� she began wailing.

“Enough, Granger! Go to your corner!� he admonished sternly, putting her down on the floor, and pointing in the general direction of the kitchen.

Glaring contemptuously, the little girl stomped to the corner of the kitchen before sticking her tongue out at him. He watched her to make sure she followed his punishment before going back for the parchment, ink, quill, and books they had been using. Draco splayed them out in the old wood table, and began sorting his materials from Granger’s. After the first time they had ‘tea’ and realizing that Granger didn’t like the blood traitor either, it had been easier for Draco to stick to the routine he had established for the young Gryffindor. As he watched her sulk in the corner, chewing in her gruesome hair, he contemplated their routine and how they had adjusted to it:

Every morning before she woke up, he’d get up and fix her breakfast. Then he’d go get her, help her change into her miniature clothes, and then carry her down the stairs as she caught some last minute winks of sleep. He still wouldn’t go near her hair, though. Even he had standards.

After that they’d spent every morning in the library pouring over books, taking notes on spell-reversal. Or at least, he was. The first couple of days, Granger had drawn but being the formidable person she was, regardless of age, she quickly tired of that game. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt, Draco handed her some ink, a quill, and some parchment; he made her practice writing her numbers, letters, and spelling out her name. He had also asked her to practice on her lisp and requested she stop sucking on her thumb. The book on parenting he had found described it as a filthy habit that usually caused problems with teeth growth later in life.

They’d have lunch around noon each day, and usually Mrs. Weasley was kind enough to fix it for them. He’d cut her food, and then spend the rest of lunch scolding Granger on her eating habits. However, she had gone from a messy eater to having impeccable table manners in only a few short days. He couldn’t help but puff out his chest in pride at that knowledge.

After lunch, he and Granger would play children games from ‘hide and seek’ to ‘pat-a-cake.’ Of course, he made sure that neither Potter nor the Weasel was around to further humiliate him. At some point after playing, he’d put Granger down for a nap, and he’d read a bit more on the potion they had managed to concoct. He had found several potions that fit the description of Granger’s condition, but so far only one had a reversal-solution that was too complicated for him to try on his own. If Granger were of normal age, they would have been able to create it without a problem. That information usually served to remind him of how incredibly stupid he had been to lose his temper. The reversal-solution called for two skilled potion makers, and the buffoons he lived with could hardly slice bat wings as it was. He had already decided that Potter crew either needed to find Severus, or he’d have to raise Granger all over again. There was no way he was willing to risk brewing the potion on his own. She could die if it wasn’t done right. Not that he cared about her state, he often told himself, he just didn’t want to be murdered by Potter or the Weasel.

Sometime in the evening, Granger would wake up and they’d have tea before joining whoever else happened to be staying at Grimmauld Place for dinner. This was often the most humiliating part of the day for Draco, because even though he had managed to create some structure and routine into his hectic life with Granger as his charge, he usually didn’t have to behave like a parent in front of everyone else.

Every night, the Order members present would gawk and throw glances at him and Granger. It made him uncomfortable. Not to mention that this was usually when Granger behaved the worst. He’d often stare at her when she’d go from sweet and loving for Mrs. Weasley to broccoli throwing monster towards the werewolf.

After dinner, he’d help her wash up, and usually did this with his eyes closed. The first couple of times he’d wash Granger, he had left her soapy and she ended up scratching herself raw. Mrs. Weasley had given him a stern lecture on proper bathing skills. He had glared darkly at the woman, before spouting out he was a boy for Merlin’s sake! Mrs. Weasley had then burst into hearty laughter, patted him on the shoulder, and said, “You’ll have to learn, Draco.�

Usually he got Granger into bed by 8 p.m. and he’d go read in his room. However, he always woke up with Granger sleeping next to him; Her tiny body curled up around him, holding on tightly to Meow.

Draco stared at Granger for a long time before saying, “Ok, Granger, are you going to throw a fit again?�

“No.�

“Ok, then, come sit down, and practice your letters. I’ll go get your some milk for that biscuit,� he said, watching her scuddle over to him where he was holding a chair for her.

“Thank you, Fewat!� she happily cried out, grabbing her parchment and quill. Her tiny fingers deftly working the ink bottle cap, and carefully dipping the quill into it. He smiled and began walking towards the kitchen when he heard it, “I love you, Fewat!�

I love you, Fewat!

The words kept repeating themselves in his head.

I love you, Fewat!

Sighing, Draco tossed and turned in his bed, wishing he had never heard those four words in the first place. Everything had been fine and dandy until that morning when he had heard those words uttered at him. Afterwards, he’d unknowingly been extra vile to Mud-Granger. He had scolded her for dropping her milk, and she spent the rest of the morning in the corner, scowling at the wall.


When Mrs. Weasley had inquired as to why she was being punished, he had blushed, stating she’d spilt milk. Mrs. Weasley then just raised her brow, but didn’t say anything more than, ‘Children drop a lot of stuff, Draco.’

By lunchtime, Draco felt worse than ever for being so harsh towards the little girl. To make it up to her, he had agreed to play ‘dolls’ with her, much to his chagrin. Mud-Granger had insisted they use ‘real’ dolls, so he had spent a good deal of the afternoon with the brunette in the attic looking through trunks full of the belongings of his Black ancestors. They found several old raggedy dolls that had clearly seen better days; old diaries with dangerous locking charms should anyone try to break through; scruffy looking teddy bears; heirloom dress robes passed down for generations; and books whose pages were so yellowed that they looked close to falling apart at any minute. Mud-Granger also found an antique looking china tea set that had weather many ‘tea parties’ by the looks of it; several of the cups were chipped, or missing handles.

They set up in the dining room because it was conveniently located next to the kitchen, and Mud-Granger insisted on having ‘real’ tea. After some sneering, Draco gave in to the petulant child and her make-believe game. Within minutes, Draco was horrified to find that he was actually enjoying the make-believe play because Mud-Granger was just so creative; it reminded him of the pureblood society he had grown up in with all the subtle scandals that often revolved around people. However, the most humiliating part of his time with her was when Potter and the Weasel walked in on him and Mud-Granger. He’d been holding a makeshift rag doll in the middle of serving tea to Miss Butterman, the doll with the missing eye, when the Dunderhead Twins walked in bickering. His body went rigid with tension.

Silence encompassed the room as all three boys met eyes. They stared at each other; blue and green eyes frozen in disbelief; grey eyes in shock and embarrassment at being caught. Scarhead raised an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his face. Weasel stood with his mouth wide-open, eyes bulging out. Draco’s fingers twitched for a wand as sweat formed on his forehead.

All three boys were frozen in their statue-like representations of petrified people, Mud-Granger continued happily chattering with the dolls while chomping on a biscuit. Seconds passed in complete silence until Mud-Granger’s childish voice broke through their stares of disbelief and shock:

“Fewat! Miss Buttewman wants more tea!�

Howls of laughter filled the room shortly. Anger flushed through Draco; he did not enjoy being made fun of – especially by Potter and Weasley.

“Bloody hell, Ferret! Dolls? You’re a pouf, aren’t you?�

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Malfoy.�

Draco glared and sneered at them both before he stood up, roughly throwing the rag doll on the floor.

He picked up a nattering Granger and pushed past them; ears flushed red as their merry laughter followed him all the way up the stairs. Draco burrowed himself in the library, forcing himself to work harder on finding a solution to the freak potions accident his temper had caused. Granger began crying when Draco refused to continue playing dolls with her, and it made his research that much harder with a wailing toddler throwing a tantrum. He began forming a headache right between his eyes, and he wished to Merlin that he had a wand for the millionth time.

If only he had a Time-Turner; he’d go back and slap himself for throwing that hellebore into the unstable potion. He slammed his face on the desk, groaning in frustration.

“Fewat! I want to play dolls again!�

“No, Mud-Granger! Just leave me alone for a bloody minute! I need to think, and I can’t think with your constant jabbering. Just go away!� he cried.

The young girl scrunched her face, cheeks blooming with anger, before she began screaming bloody murder.

“I HATE YOU, FEWAT!�

The words stung at Draco.

Pushing his chair back angrily, he began pulling books off the shelf at random, clearly throwing a temper tantrum himself. He ignored the screaming in the background, or when the crying seized. He punched one of the bookshelves in hatred at the situation of his life, and then took deep calming breaths, trying to regain his emotions. That was when he heard someone clear their throat. Dropping his shoulders, he hung his head in shame. Turning around, Draco found himself staring into the angry eyes of Potter, who held his charge in his arms.

“What’s your problem, Ferret? You think that throwing a fit is going to alleviate the situation?�

Draco sneered at Potter. “Shut up, Scarhead! You’re not the one taking care of the Mudblood while you and your band of merry-men go about gallivanting all over the continent.�

The tension in the room rose incredibly. Draco cracked his knuckles while Potter glared at him. “You’re right, Malfoy. It’s so hard taking care of a four-year old compared to taking down a Dark Lord.�

Just then, Mrs. Weasley walked in, staring in bewilderment at the books thrown all over the floor.

“What happened here, boys?�

“Nothing, Mrs. Weasley. Hermione experienced a random burst of magic and sent books flying all over the place. Malfoy here got knocked about by a couple, and lucky for him, I was walking by to stop the enchantment.�

Mrs. Weasley stared at their distressed states before frowning and leaving the room.

Potter covered for him! Somewhere hell had frozen over.

Draco was stunned into silence. Potter, however, solemnly stared at him. A fleeting moment of understanding seemed to hang in the air between them, until Hermione disappeared from Potter’s arms.

Draco’s eyes bulged out. Potter screamed an obscenity. And they both went into a panic looking wildly about the room.

“Where is she, Potter?� Draco screamed shrilly throwing a pillow across the room.

“I don’t know, Malfoy! She probably Apparated herself away.�

“She’s only FOUR! She can’t Apparate, you twat!�

“Ever heard of accidental magic, Malfoy?�

“I hate you, Potter.�

Scarhead laughed. “The feeling is mutual.�

Then they heard the Weasel screaming bloody murder.

Draco was first to react. He pushed Potter out of the way, running out of the library in a hurry to find Granger. Draco followed the Weasel’s screams and what appeared to be caterwauling in one of the rooms upstairs. Potter was following him closely, screaming to Draco about, ‘Why the bloody hell did you push me, Ferret?’ but he wasn’t listening. He was focused solely on following the tiny screams that he knew belonged to his charge.

“Shut up, Potter!� he huffed out as they both turned the corner to climb the stairs.

“Make me!�

They were now running in synch to each other, keeping pace almost as if they were back in the Quidditch pitch, testing each other’s Seeker skills.

“Let’s set an appointment! Does five o’clock sound good?�

“Peachy,� grunted Potter as he ran past him, pushing Draco towards the floor where he met the floor in a crashing heap.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the form of Potter laughing at him in the hallway. He promptly stood up, pushing Potter out of the way. Then he began climbing the rest of the steps in a hurry while Potter followed, laughing all the way.

To his horror, he came upon one scene he had never hoped to find. The Weasel was naked as the day he was born, with an old yellow towel futilely trying to cover himself, in the hallway, flushed from head to toe, and screaming at Granger to get out of the bathroom. For her part, Granger was covering her innocent little eyes with her small hands, and screaming, ‘Fewat, save me!’

I love you, Fewat!

Draco ran to her and picked her up, cradling her face on his shoulder so she wouldn’t have to see the disgusting male anatomy that was the Weasel.

“Weasley, cover yourself up! There are children running amuck, just in case you haven’t noticed.� Draco sneered, looking the red-head up and down. “Not that there is much to hide, I see.�

“Shut up, Malfoy! I don’t know why Harry insists you take care of Hermione. You can’t even seem to keep her from running away from you!�

“She didn’t run away from me, Weasel. Your golden boy was holding her when she popped in on you doing Merlin knows what.�

The overgrown Weasel turned around and questioningly looked at his friend. Potter shrugged noncommittally, a grin spread over his face. The red-head boy flushed in anger at being corrected by Draco.

“I’m still going to beat you up as soon as I get dressed,� threatened a very red Weasel.

Draco rolled his eyes before huffing in irritation. “If you’re going to beat me up, let’s do it before or after five. Scarhead’s got an appointment with me then.�