A/N: If you're here, thank you for reading. All rights to the dazzling JKR, I own nothing.

Chapter One

"I just don't see why the Burrow isn't safe enough, or why literally any other relative or friend of Harry Potter—Gryffindor, Auror Supreme, Chosen One, Boy-Who-Lived-and-Died-and-Lived-Again—isn't good enough to stay with!"

"And I don't see how one person could be so thick—not that box, Ron! Hermione's books go in her room!"

Draco Malfoy bit back a groan and decided to linger a bit more in the hallway, out-of-sight and away from the inevitable Weasley sibling squabble in the large bedroom roughly fifteen paces before him. The bedroom door was cracked so that he could remain unseen in the empty hallway, but open enough to hear loud voices in loud communication and cringe as objects were moved and shuffled about the room—Weasley, if the obnoxious huffing and vibrating plunks on the floor were any indication…

"Ronald, we've been over this at least half a dozen times!"

Draco froze at the new voice speaking. His fingers twitched reflexively and he swallowed. Hard.

He knew she would be the one to stay with Ginny here. Harry and Ginny had each inquired separately if it was alright, and then again a few more times together…The last time he'd only growled and shot orange sparks at Harry's unruly dark head, the Auror only narrowly ducking in time…

It seemed, however, that once again, cognitive realisation was entirely different than the actual manifestation.

He maintained his rigid stance as the feminine voice continued.

"The last attack on Ginny was literally at 93 Diagon Alley, Ron. Any other family home would be easily suspected—"

"And Harry's...well...Harry, and needs to check out Zabini's lead for himself. Even if it means spending weeks on end in Italy getting to the bottom of this..." Ginny's words carried a sorrow and depth Draco rarely heard the fiery witch use.

Hermione sighed heavily, and a chocolate wave glided across the cracked doorway, over to where Ginny must be standing. "This is honestly the last place anyone would suspect Ginny to be," Hermione finished softly.

"Not to mention, one of the most heavily warded homes in all of Wizarding Britain," Ginny added hastily. "Draco reset our wards back in March, when we first found out we were pregnant."

Weasley released an exaggerated groan. "So, why can't Hermione and I just stay at your house, then?"

An unbidden vision of the red buffoon sharing living quarters with the curly-haired witch forced all the air from Draco's lungs. Weasley listening to how her day was…sharing a meal…reveling in domestic bliss…

"Because you and I have jobs that require leaving the house every day; whereas Malfoy works from home in his basement lab and workshop. This just makes more sense, Ron..."

"Fine—at least explain to me why I'm helping you two settle and not Harry, don't you want to be able to have one lost slobbery goodbye—OW!"

"Harry and Robards had to catch their international Portkey early this morning to meet Zabini at the Italian Ministry, sign documents and warrants and get their Polyjuice identities set up—apparently Zabini has meetings all afternoon and it was now or not for another few days...Oh, stop rubbing your head! I barely touched you."

Weasley growled a few expletives and there was a thunk, as with the kicking of a box...

"And besides," Ginny sang out, sounding suspiciously triumphant... "My husband had a good and proper sendoff both last night and this morning..."

"GINNY!"

Draco's face fell into his hands. He'd lingered long enough...He started turning...

The crack in the bedroom doorway widened!

Panic seized Draco, slamming his heart into his breastbone.

A levitating box labeled "BOOKS" floated and hovered just out the door, a petite witch stepping up, face turned towards the siblings in the room.

"Ron, you set her right up for that; you've no one to blame but yourself. And Ginny..."

Hermione shook her head, so that mesmerising waves rippled through a cascade of brown curls...Draco had a vague inclination he was meant to be doing something, but had no idea what...

"If you'll just pick which sink in the bathroom you want, I'll use the other one. I've already pulled out a plastic bin for you to put your toiletries in—Oh, Malfoy!"

The startled exclamation shook Draco from his haze of fantasy and embarrassed heat pulsed through his veins. He swallowed and raked a hand through his hair, hoping to Merlin it would look as though he'd just come up from the lab after an early start in the lab...

"Granger," he nodded curtly.

"Oy! Loitering and lurking in the hallway are we, Malfoy?" Weasley's lips curled into a snarl as his face raged red under his freckles. His flashing blue eyes narrowed and he quickly closed the empty space behind the witch in the doorway...

Who was now glaring up at Weasley, ushering her floating box forward and now stood completely out in the hallway. Creating obvious distance from the ginger's possessive stance.

Draco faced twisted into a smirk he reserved for fools and insecure morons. "Actually, as I'm the one doing you a favor by graciously opening my home to the lovely ladies Potter and Granger, and it is my home, I think I've the right to stand wherever I like and thank you to not accuse me of anything in my own home."

Raging waves rolled off Weasley. Hermione nervously glanced between the two wizards before stepping lightly towards Draco...His breath catching in excited confusion as she and the levitating box stopped an arm's length from him...

And she reached out for the doorknob on her right.

He allowed the smirk to fade into a disarming smile. "Allow me," he murmured, beating her to doorknob, opening it with a flourish.

Hermione's brown eyes widened, and a faint hue of pink tinged her cheeks. "Thank you," she answered before disappearing through the doorway, the labeled box following close behind.

"Hello, Draco. Hope we haven't disturbed any potion brewing." Mrs. Potter's bright salutation pulled Draco's attention from the box and open doorway and from foolish ideas of following the box across the bedroom threshold...

Draco smiled genuinely at the pregnant woman shoving at her brother, padding slowly to keep from waddling. He closed the gap between them, grasping her right fingers, bringing them to his lips. "Unfortunately, something very loud and unexpected distracted me and I lost count of the number of drops of hellebore I was adding to my Draught of Peace…" He paused to cast a lazy glare over Ginny's shoulder… "I discarded that waste of an early morning, cleaned up and thought I'd see if you all needed anything before I went back down."

"That's probably my fault, Malfoy." Hermione had come back to the doorway, fiddling with the buttons of lime-green Healer robes she'd thrown over her black skirt and silver blouse. "I shoved my book box at Ron before warning him what was inside." She threaded her curls through her fingers, taming them back before securing them loosely back. "May I use the empty bookshelf in this room, Malfoy?"

"Yeah, sure." Draco nodded dumbly, feeling as though he were missing something. "I could move it into the larger room, if you like. There's still plenty of space even with the two large beds and other furniture."

Ginny laughed boisterously, while Hermione shook her head. "No, Ginny and I agreed that as she's getting up multiple times for the bathroom throughout the night, I'm a light sleeper and I'll be keeping odd hours from bringing work home, it's best for our friendship if we sleep in separate rooms…" Her eyebrows pulled together, something akin to worry filling her face. "Is that alright? Ginny told me there were two rooms and I just assumed, but I didn't even think of your mother visiting—"

Draco lifted a hand, palm up, offering a comforting smile. "Mother's at Malfoy property on the French Riviera and won't be back until November. Even then, she'll probably stay with her sister and nephew before staying the month of December with me."

"I see." Hermione's mouth widened, as if to make further inquiries, but snapped shut at an intentionally and obnoxiously loud throat clearing.

"Heading out, then, 'Mione?"

"Yes, Ronald," she clipped, taking a large step towards the entryway leading back to the living room and fireplace. "I'm not taking a lunch, so I'll be back in the afternoon, Ginny. Ron, thanks for your help, and sorry about the books…both of you…" Her gaze shifted between the wizards again, and something roared inside Draco's mind at the thought of sharing an apology from Hermione Granger with the ginger oaf…

"I'll see you out," he offered, casting a quick 'Be just a moment' over his shoulder to Mrs. Potter. They walked in silence and he kept half a pace ahead, leading the witch in the blinding green robes down the long, wide hallway opening back into an expensively comfortable living room with a large fireplace.

The witch at his side hesitated before stepping up to the pot of Floo powder on the mantle. "I'm sorry about Ron, he can be a bit of a bear when he hasn't eaten…or snapping and yipping dog…" She giggled softly, catching her lower lip with her teeth, as if caught up in a memory, or enjoying a private joke with herself…

An image of a picture flooded Draco's mind. Of Hermione making that same face and laughing that same laugh. Across the table from Weasley. Earlier this year. The daily headline reading 'A Return to Love?'

That roaring something returned.

Stiffening, he sharply retreated as she reached for a handful of Floo powder. "Look Granger, I understand you'll probably keep strange hours with your job, but as soon as Weasley leaves, I'm adjusting the wards again." His voice was coming out much harsher than he'd intended, but her confused innocent blinking only fueled the flames within. "House rules to ensure the safety of Mrs. Potter: My wards will only allow you, myself, and Mrs. Potter to Apparate in and out of the house or have direct Floo access. If you find that puts a strain on your social life, I'll thank you to let one of us know if you plan on making spontaneous sleeping arrangements elsewhere any night—can't be worrying Gryffindor's Golden Girl has been kidnapped and held as a hostage in exchange for Mrs. Potter."

And with that, he whirled around exaggeratedly, with all the grace and poise years of dancing lessons pounded into his muscles, sauntering back up the hallway.

Ignoring completely the throbbing ache behind his breastbone at the wounded look in her brown eyes as he'd thrown out his last quip.