Hermione J. Granger was a lot of things, but subtle was never one of them. She'd never been afraid of speaking her mind, fighting dragons, stealing from professors, undressing in front of her friends, or even punching boys in the face. There were only two things in the world that made her queasy: forgetting to brush her teeth, and relationships. Oh there had been the clumsy, first kiss shared with Victor, the even more clumsy, fumbling sexual experiences with Ron, and now she was single. Subtly single.

She awoke this morning from a strange, but not altogether unpleasant dream; something to do with rock candy and a circus elephant. Stretching her arms above her head, she reveled in the feel of cotton sheets against her naked skin. Hermione didn't know exactly when she started sleeping in the buff, sometime around the end of the war when she and the boys shared a tent she thought, and that was simply the result of refusing to sleep repeatedly in her foul smelling walking clothes. She'd cast a charm around herself so the boys only saw her sleeping figure and undress, slipping happily under the rough wool blankets and falling quickly to sleep.

The habit had carried on into her mid-twenties and this was how she found herself waking, slow and happy. And still single.

She'd become lead psychotherapist at St. Mungos and thrived. Not only thrived, but succeeded. Her fellow therapists constantly knocked on her door not only for advice on their own patients, but for themselves. Many of them were her age and had experienced the trauma of war and suffering. They spoke about losing a family member or friend and Hermione would nod solemnly in the way she was supposed to in these situations, all the while repressing the angry burn of all the people she had lost in her short lifetime. Tonks. Remus. Fred. Snape. Dumbledore. The list could have stretched miles. Never once had she even considered knocking on the any door in the office, especially the therapist next to hers. His official title was "Therapist to Ex-war veterans and Former Followers of the Dark Arts," and though she often worked in tandem with him, she never would knock on that wooden door with the gold name plaque. Never owe him anything. Not him. Ever. It was bad enough he also lived right next door to her in the apartment complex she lived in. And it was worse that he was civil to her. Kind even. They would clock out at the same time every day and nod at one another. Then they would walk the short way to their complex, never speaking although close enough to glance up and meet each other's cautious expressions and occasionally smile in an 'I'm simply being kind enough to acknowledge your presence' manner. He would then open the door to the complex and they would ride the lift together (she usually pressing the button to floor five), and ride in silence. They would step out together and reach their respective doors side-by-side, and every night they would look at each other before heading in. Her eyes a mix of honey and suspicion, his a mix of ashes and repentance. He would nod and say, "Goodnight Granger." And she would smile without feeling and murmur, "Goodnight Malfoy." She would then step inside always before he did, not missing how he watched, and snap the latch shut behind her.

Crookshanks yowled unpleasantly from beside her bed. Hermione glanced over and smiled warmly at him, "Breakfast time?" Her elderly familiar flicked his bushy tail at her in response and shuffled out the bedroom door. Crookshanks exact age was unknown, but Hermione estimated he must have been in his teens. Familiars typically lived far beyond the age of normal pets, but even Crooks was encroaching on that. He still acted like a baby, and did most things of his own free-stubborn-will. He needed the occasional helpful boost onto the sofa, and required mainly soft food now because his teeth were sensitive, but he was Hermione's only confidant at this point and she would do anything to make his golden years comfortable.

Shuffling into the kitchen, she retrieved his bowl and pulled out the food from inside the fridge. She heard a small crinkling noise, and looked around the room for the source. It was only then she noticed the small envelope being pushed underneath the crack of her door. Curious, she left all of Crookshanks breakfast materials on the counter and went to retrieve it. Her last name was scrawled on the front in an all too familiar spikey script and for a moment her heart sputtered in her chest. Malfoy? What did he want? Unlatching the door, she opened it to his receding back heading towards his door and called his last name. He turned, and immediately went slack jawed. Confused by his lack of response, she stepped out of her apartment "Malfoy? Are you okay?" when he didn't respond she took another step closer and noticed the sudden red tint to his skin, "Are you sick? You're as red as a tomato!"

"Shit Granger!" he swore, ripping of the black zip sweater he was wearing. He bum rushed her, and for a moment she thought he would tackle her flat. Instead he wrapped it around her and shoved her back into her entryway and slammed the door in her face, leaving her confused and alone in her apartment. In the strange scuffle she realized she had dropped the envelope by her door, and when she went to retrieve it the jacket slipped from her naked shoulders.

And suddenly she froze. Her mind clacked loudly as the pieces horrifyingly fell into place: She'd gotten up with no robe, opened her door, Malfoy's expression…like he'd seen her…

Naked. She. Hermione. J. Granger. Was. Naked. She had answered the door nude. Malfoy had seen her. MALFOY HAD SEEN HER BITS.

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth to catch the loud squeak that suddenly erupted from her and fell flat on her bum due to her shaking knees. After some incoherent sputtering and self-loathing, she managed to compose herself and was finally able to rip open the white envelope and read the note inside:

Granger,

I've had a lot on my mind recently. I want to talk one on one with you if you will allow it. Understandably, I will respect you wishes if you choose to say no. Will you please accept my offer? It can be in a place of your choosing if you are comfortable enough meeting. We have unfinished business. See you in the hallway.

Yours,

Malfoy

With a strangled grunt she thumped her bushy head to the hardwood floor and left it there, suddenly aware that she only had an hour left to get ready to leave for work. With him… like always. He would be waiting outside, leaning casually against the hallway wall looking obnoxiously beautiful and repentant. She silently prayed that he would leave her to her horrified misery and go to work without her, but she knew that was probably not an option. He was always there, always punctual. And now he wanted to talk? This day couldn't get any worse. Hermione finally managed to crawl from the hole that she'd dug, and trudge to the bathroom to find her dignity.

Crookshanks sat on the kitchen stool he'd managed to climb, and was enjoying his breakfast straight out of the can.