SUMMARY: Five years following the battle of Hogwarts, Hermione finds that her job at the Ministry is not quite what she had hoped. She wants more from life, wants to put her knowledge of wizarding law to good use. And it hasn't gone unnoticed that out of all of her friends, she's the only one who is still single. A figure from her past reappears, with an interesting proposition that she finds hard to refuse, for more reasons than one. What could Draco Malfoy possibly want with her?

RATING: M/NC-17 for graphic sexual depictions (in later chapters)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I originally published this story in 2010, but for various reasons, found myself unable to complete it. I have put off continuing it as my life got busy with school, but now that I have found a bit of time to myself, and a renewed passion for writing, I thought I might take another stab at it. This new revision is heavily edited, the chapters longer and more thought out. I hope to truly do this story justice, and I'm quite excited to see where it takes me. Reviews are, of course, more than welcome!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, nor am I affiliated with J.K. Rowling in anyways. I'm just a girl who loves Harry Potter and wanted to have a little fun with it.


Chapter 1: Grave Beginnings

The truly great thing about best friends was that they stuck by you, no matter how absurd or outrageous the decisions you made were. This was something Hermione had reflected on many times throughout the course of her life.

So maybe there hadn't been much initial enthusiasm for her unsuccessful attempt at campaigning for the end of house-elf enslavement in her S.P.E.W. days, but that could easily be overlooked when she thought back on how she and her two best friends had not only witnessed but participated in the destruction of the most terrible wizard the world had ever seen. How could Hermione begrudge her friends for not understanding how important elf welfare was when, in the end, they had made the world a better place for wizards, elves, and other creatures alike?

It was very hard to be angry about their lack of participation back then, at least knowing what she knew now.

The war between wizards and the Dark Lord had ended and it was all because of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Harry was known for surviving Voldemort's attacks under impossible circumstances and the pattern seemed to have stuck with him since he was a child, following up to the eventual demise of Voldemort himself. Harry had seen more horrors by the age of seventeen than most adult wizards ever had.

His first encounter with Voldemort after he had killed Harry's parents had been at the end of his first year at Hogwarts, when Voldemort had been revealed to have been growing out of the back of his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's head. Voldemort had attempted to use Professor Quirrell as a means to obtain the Sorcerer's Stone, hoping to once again regain his former strength.

Then, during his second year, Harry faced him yet again as a preserved memory of himself at sixteen, when he had been better known as Tom Riddle and had tried to kill his best friends younger sister, Ginny. It was also the year he, Harry, had unknowingly destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul when he had plunged a basilisk fang through the diary in which Voldemort had preserved himself, something that Harry was to eventually learn was one of Voldemort's seven Horcruxes.

During his fourth year at Hogwarts, after being unwillingly entered into the Triwizard Tournament as an illegitimate fourth champion, Harry had faced Voldemort yet again in a dark graveyard after the trophy he had grasped in the middle of a maze had turned out to be a Portkey laid as a trap by Barty Crouch Jr. disguised as the famous Auror Mad-Eye Moody. Harry had subsequently won the Triwizard Tournament with no real feeling of victory at all due to the fact that it had resulted in Cedric Diggory's tragic death at the hand of Voldemort himself.

The next year, Harry had found himself facing Lord Voldemort again following a violent duel in the Department of Mysteries that had cost his godfather, Sirius Black, his life. All because Voldemort had planted false visions in Harry's head of the dark wizard torturing his godfather back when their minds' had shared an awful, yet unintentional, connection.

The last and final moment that Harry James Potter had met the Dark Lord, he had been sure he was ultimately facing death himself. But Harry, like with every other encounter, had come out on top. When he had bravely accepted his own fate, walking into a throng of Death Eaters with not even his wand to protect him, that was when Harry had truly defeated Voldemort. He had welcomed death where Voldemort had not, and in the end had been stronger for it.

Following this defeat, life had taken a while to get back on track. After all, Hermione, Ron, and Harry had spent what should have been their final year at Hogwarts on the run from Death Eaters, and those who'd gone to Hogwarts anyways had been subjected to known Death Eaters controlling nearly every aspect of their lives and preventing them from receiving the magical education they deserved.

Though Ron and Harry hadn't seemed too concerned with missing out on a vital year of wizarding education, she, Hermione, had felt robbed.

Of course, defeating Voldemort had been more important than any classroom lesson or exam she would have taken that year, but once Voldemort been defeated and the losses had been calculated and the dust had settled, Hermione couldn't help but feel angry that she'd been denied her last and final year at Hogwarts.

Because of the timing of the Second War, and the fact that the educational lessons being imparted upon students at Hogwarts during the Death Eater's reign had been far less than satisfactory, the Ministry of Magic had arranged for a do-over for any seventh years who wished to participate in what they had called the Magical Education Extension Program, or M.E.E.P.

Instead of having to return to Hogwarts for another year, the students who had opted to join the M.E.E.P. were granted the opportunity to intern at various posts within the Ministry of Magic. There was an exam following the end of the program, which lasted only six months compared to the standard ten at Hogwarts. If they passed, they would then be awarded with a certification, which could be used to obtain jobs within the Ministry of Magic, or else help the witch or wizard seek jobs elsewhere within the magical world.

Hermione had, of course, jumped at the chance to be in the extension program. Ron and Harry hadn't been too keen on the idea of homework and tests after they had just defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time, but seeing as it was still their greatest ambition to become Aurors, the opportunity to intern at the Ministry in the Auror's office, and possibly land a job there following the six month internship, proved to be too great an opportunity for them to resist.

Many of them had thought that now the world could get back to order, and things could go back to being the way they had been before Voldemort's return, with significant improvements. One such improvement should have been the budding relationship between Hermione and Ron after they had not-so-verbally expressed their love for each other after seven long years of dancing around the issue.

Yet as much as Hermione had admittedly hoped for her relationship with Ron to bloom following their victory over Voldemort, their completion of M.E.E.P., their having been granted working, paid posts at the Ministry of Magic and their having grown up in the last five years, things had not gone according to plan.

Where Hermione continued to mature, Ron had fallen behind. At Hogwarts, when they were simply schoolchildren with worries too big for their shoulders, Hermione had found Ron's personality endearing. The way he always seemed to find time to shovel food in his mouth, despite his current predicament, or the way he'd chew on the end of his quill while pretending to stare down at his homework so hard that it appeared as if he was trying to burn a hole in the parchment in the hopes that she would take pity on him and help him. Those things had admittedly infuriated her at times, but always, underlying, there had been a helpless love as well.

Now, however, those once endearing traits had lost their charming quality.

A relationship between the two Gryffindors, however inevitable it had seemed all those years ago, just hadn't gone the way either of them had hoped. It wasn't for lack of trying, either; they had spent nearly all of the last five years trying to make things work. Yet their always-clashing personalities complicated things in a way that neither Ron nor Hermione could live with. It was easier, and nicer, for everyone all around when they were simply friends and nothing more. And though there had been some awkward moments after the break up, a few weeks of speaking to each other in too polite voices, things had eventually gotten around to being normal again. Or as normal as they would ever be for the war heroes.

It had been five years since that fateful day, since Hermione and her very best friends and very worst enemies had watched their beloved school and second home burn with a fire that was unlike any they'd ever seen. It had been five long years since Harry'd had to worry about his scar hurting or wonder if anyone he loved was going to be murdered or taken from him by the ineffable power of the Dark Lord. However, this incredible victory had come with a price.

Losing all the people they had lost along the way was something Harry would never stop hating himself for, Hermione knew. She knew that he felt that if it hadn't been for him, everyone who had died would still be alive. Hedwig, his beloved owl; Sirius, perhaps Harry's last chance at having a normal life with someone that had come close to a parent; Mad-Eye Moody, a brilliant, if slightly unbalanced, Auror who had been nothing but kind to Harry; Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin, a Metamorphagus and a werewolf who'd been married and now had a son who would never know their parents just as Harry had never known his; Fred Weasley, twin to George Weasley and one of the cleverest and funniest people Harry had known; Dobby the House-elf, whose concern for him in the past had been borderline insane but whose heart had always been in the right place; Professor Dumbledore, who had been infuriatingly patient and calm with Harry, even in his darkest moments and whom an immeasurable amount of praises could be listed for days about; even Professor Snape, whom Harry had hated for so long before learning the true nature of his purpose; and of course the many others who had suffered the same fate of those closest to him.

Five years had come and gone. Harry remained faithful to those who had been lost by visiting their graves every year, though he hadn't gone alone. Hermione accompanied him every year, although Ron had only just started coming a year ago; even five years later, it was difficult for Ron to visit this graveyard and see Fred's tombstone laden with perpetually blooming flowers, knowing he'd never see his brother again.

It was there in that the cemetery, the one just outside the village of Hogsmeade that had been created especially for the fallen war heroes, that the trio had run into an old classmate and former rival. There was no mistaking the tall, lithe figure, the proud set of the wide shoulders, the white-blonde hair that no longer bore signs of the glean of gel it once did but now looked carelessly tousled, as if fingers constantly ran through it. When this figure had realized there was someone else there, three someones in fact, there was also no mistaking the fire behind the crystalline grey eyes that had haunted Hermione for weeks after the War had ended as he turned and stared them down.

You see, as much as Hermione had trusted Harry and Ron, as much of her life as she had been willing to share with them, there were just some things she was not keen to tell them. While Harry was telling her and Ron everything he knew about Voldemort from his lessons with Dumbledore, Hermione had been keeping secrets. These secrets involved unbidden feelings towards the man currently boring holes into their eyes with his own. They were also secrets that she feared would be exposed one day, and she wasn't sure how Harry or Ron would take it.

Draco Malfoy was in debt to Harry. He had saved his life on more than one occasion, though it had gone against Ron's judgment to do so, and by the look on Malfoy's face, it seemed he hadn't forgotten it. The sneer that had marked his smooth face for as long as Hermione could remember was no longer there. In their last year at Hogwarts, it had been there less, and instead a look of constant fear and anxiety had replaced it, a look not unfamiliar to Hermione. Her stomach did flips as flashes of an unnerved and crying Malfoy hidden away in a girl's lavatory flashed through her mind, images Hermione did her best to stash away for another day, one where she felt she might actually be able to unravel the guilt of the secrets she'd been carrying for the last five years without the weight of it crushing her.

Today was not that day.

The three of them were unsure if they should speak to Malfoy. Ron, most likely, would have nothing nice to say, as he had found it hardest to let go of old grudges. Harry was more forgiving, yet not by much, although Hermione was certain that much of the animosity Harry had felt towards Draco had died away when the even bigger threat of Voldemort had loomed over him instead.

Hermione took the opportunity to glance down at the headstone Malfoy had been peering at while he stared Ron and Harry down, and she was just able to discern from here that it belonged to his father, Lucius Malfoy, who had been caught not long after the War had ended and had been subjected to the Dementor's Kiss. Malfoy Senior's health had been rapidly declining in Azkaban and it wasn't long after the Kiss had been performed that he had succumbed to his ailment.

Despite the fact that this graveyard had been primarily established as a memorial for the fallen war heroes, there had been some who had argued that Lucius Malfoy had seen the errors of his ways in the end and deserved a plot there. Compromise had been made between the sides that argued he was the reason many of the bodies were in those graves in the first place and those who argued he'd seen his faults and changed his ways when he'd been given a plot, although at the expense of it being shoved in a far off corner away from the rest of the graves.

Hermione knew Harry had never liked Draco's father and she herself had discerned from their brief encounters that he was quite a disagreeable man. He'd always been very rude to her, insulting her heritage, rude to Harry for daring to fight and ultimate bring down the one man Lucius had dedicated his life to fighting for, and rude to the Weasley family, for supposedly disgracing the pureblood heritage he had spent his life devoted to protect.

However, even knowing this, Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow for Draco. It was written in the pale-faced man's expression that his father, however dysfunctional and skewed his beliefs and actions had been, had meant something to him.

They knew now that Draco had been in league with the Dark Lord, something that Hermione had always vehemently protested because she could not believe that even as hateful as Draco had ever been to them that he would go so far as to offer his fealty and service to Voldemort. He had also, as they knew, been branded with the mark of the Death Eater (though Hermione suspected he had not offered his forearm willingly), and Hermione couldn't help but glance at his left arm, wondering if the dark ink still stained his pale skin. Did things like Dark Marks disappear when the wizard who'd branded it there died? The know-it-all in her was dying to find out, but there was no polite or courteous way to ask, and even if there was, Hermione doubted very much that Draco would ever tell her.

Yet looking at Draco now, five years since the war that had changed their lives forever, Hermione sensed that if Draco had believed there was a way to make it out of the Dark Lord's clutches alive, without having to swear his allegiance as one of his masked followers, he would have gladly taken it. The things she had seen but never told anyone all those years ago, hidden in the dark shadows of the girl's bathroom… They were things she could not easily forget.

She had, of course, tried to put it from her mind, but whenever it had wandered, she couldn't help but imagine what Draco had gone through for weeks on end when he'd been faced with the terrible reality that if he didn't kill Dumbledore, Voldemort would slaughter his entire family. She even tried to imagine how life in general must have been for Draco, growing up in the house he had, being told to believe the things he did, though Hermione suspected if Malfoy ever caught wind that she'd been trying to understand him, he would have greatly disapproved.

Harry had been there to witness Draco eventually falter in his task to kill Dumbledore, which he had shared with both Hermione and Ron sometime after Dumbledore's funeral. He'd also said that there was, for once, a human quality about the usually haughty Slytherin and that in that moment, it had been revealed to Harry that Draco had a heart.

It had unnerved the trio, to say the least, when they had spent most of their time at Hogwarts believing that Draco hardly laid ownership to a soul, let alone a heart. But the facts had been laid out before Harry, plain to see, and this was what had caused him to save Draco's life when the Room of Requirement had caught fire by one of his goon's spells.

If it weren't for this fact, Draco's lip would have curled up in a sneer as if he had just smelled something rather foul upon seeing Harry, Ron, and Hermione enter the small cemetery. Instead, while his face betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil, he remained composed and determined not to show open signs of hostility as he once might have.

Hermione found she wanted to speak to him, while Harry seemed to be silently pleading to just ignore him, and Ron was angrily looking anywhere but Malfoy. But what could she possibly say? Malfoy solved that problem when he finally opened his mouth.

"I don't know why I'm even here."

At first, Hermione thought that he was talking to himself. His voice had been soft and unsure, and his face had betrayed that even he was surprised he'd said the words out loud. But then Malfoy looked away from them, down at the headstone just beside him.

"I don't know why I care if he's dead or not. Not when he used me. It may not have always been his plan for me, but when he heard Voldemort was back, he was all too willing to force his first and only son to follow in dear old dad's footsteps and become a pawn in the Death Eater's game." He looked like he wanted to spit or tear his hair out, something other than just stand there and look down at his father's grave.

Hermione swallowed the lump in throat and spoke. "He was your father, Draco."

It felt odd to address the blonde by his first name, since they were so used to using surnames to address each other, a habit that hadn't been forgotten since their school days. Hermione felt her hands shake as she waited for the explosion she feared would come from addressing him so directly.

The blonde, however, merely shook his head. "He was no father of mine. He may have had something to do with my creation, but that man cared about himself too much to ever grasp the true responsibilities of a father. Father's are supposed to… well, I guess I wouldn't actually know, but he wasn't it."

Draco shook his head in disgust, looking as though he were mentally kicking himself for confiding in the people he'd been sworn enemies with the entire time he'd known them - the Mudblood, the blood-traitor, and the Chosen One: Granger, Weasley, and Potter.

"It still doesn't change the fact that he's your father. You were willing to stand by him all those years before… before He came back. No amount of treachery on his part could ever take those years from you." Hermione couldn't believe how defiant she sounded, couldn't believe that she was trying to help alleviate whatever pain Malfoy was feeling. Harry was obviously uncomfortable with it; he wouldn't stop nervously alternating his weight on each foot. Ron, on the other hand, was clenching his fists so tight his knuckles were white, clearly incensed by Draco even being here, let alone talking to Hermione and her talking to him.

"What would you know about anything, Granger? You might be the biggest, insufferable know-it-all there is, but you will never understand the things I have gone through." There had been the explosion she was waiting for.

Hermione nodded and put out an arm to keep Ron from doing anything stupid. She had seen his fists clench even tighter out of the corner of her eye and his mouth open as if to retort. "You're right. What would I know?" she admitted.

Malfoy looked as though he was uncomfortable with her conceding so easily, as if he had braced himself for a fight and was disappointed that he wouldn't be getting one. "What are you doing here anyway?" he asked, almost accusingly, as if their whole purpose had been to spy on him during what had clearly been a very private moment.

Harry spoke before she could and gestured towards a pair of tombstones a few feet in front of Malfoy. "Came to visit Lupin and Tonks. I do so every year."

Hermione quickly added, "But if you need your privacy, we understand." She made to leave.

"Don't-" Ron started to say, but he was cut off by a sudden panicky voice.

"No!"

If she hadn't seen Malfoy's mouth open with her own eyes, Hermione would have never believed such a sound would have come from the former Slytherin.

He cleared his throat, clearly horrified that he'd made such a sound, let alone in front of the Golden Trio. "I mean, er, I'm done here. Stay. I'll go." He walked past Harry, Ron, and Hermione, almost brushing up against Hermione to avoid stepping on people's graves.

At once, Hermione caught a whiff of his scent as he passed. It oozed inside of her like a chemical leakage and stained her insides; she'd smell it for weeks to come.

When Malfoy had gone, Hermione had let go of the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding in. It had been hard to see him, so torn up, yet so heartbreakingly beautiful with such sadness piercing his eyes. Yes, this was the secret that Hermione Granger, best friend to Draco Malfoy's biggest enemies Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, was unwilling to share with anyone. She was in love with the Slytherin, which had come as quite a shock five years ago when she realized it at the thought of Draco being caught in the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. She knew, however, that none would be shocked more than Harry and Ron, which was precisely why she hadn't breathed a word.

She looked over her shoulder to watch the man's procession down the snow-laden stone path that would lead him to the heart of Hogsmeade. It had been a while since she'd seen that familiar loping gait that Draco was known for. She feared it would be longer yet before she saw it again.


Meals at the Burrow had always been a favorite pastime of Hermione's. Gathering around a large table set up in the yard for when there were this many of them with mountains of food and bales of laughter, conversation forced out through mouths half-full of Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking… it was near perfection. The fact that her former boyfriend was the loudest and raunchiest of all, with food all but hanging out of his mouth, couldn't spoil it for her.

Love was in the air. All her very best friends were together at last and nothing could be better, a happier sight couldn't be created by any amount of magic. Seeing Ginny and Harry, happily married, Bill and Fleur, still in love as ever, and the rest of the Weasley clan and their significant others, was a sight that warmed her heart.

There was just one thing missing from the table.

Fred Weasley had been a great man. Despite the fact that he and his twin, George Weasley, were constantly getting into trouble and giving the professors at Hogwarts a bad time, his heart had always been in the right place. The emptiness he left at the table was extremely profound.

Looking at George, Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry. His usually brightened face was drawn in heavy lines, the way it always looked when it drew nearer to the anniversary of the war, and the subsequent death of his twin brother. Although the Weasley family had recovered as much as anyone could after losing a son and a brother, George was still not yet at the level that everyone else was. They didn't understand; they hadn't lost their other half. Things would take longer for George to get there, even though he tried his best to mask the pain he felt with humor.

Fred wouldn't have wanted George to mope, and so he had done his best to keep everyone laughing in Fred's name. Their old business, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, was more successful than ever, as he was keen not to let it die. Losing Fred had been bad enough. He couldn't let their business fail, or he'd let his brother down.

Despite the somber attitude that George had adopted tonight, the rest of the table appeared lively and well functioning, as if unaware that one of their own was suffering. In reality, the exact opposite was true.

The Weasley's knew there was nothing they could say to comfort George and they knew he was tired of hearing their words of pity; he just wanted to be left alone about the situation. He was grateful to the others that they no longer berated him about how he was feeling, and instead let him work through his own emotions, process grief at the speed he needed to, and he found he could turn around much more quickly when they just gave him his space.

Hermione turned her attention away from George to scan the rest of the table, her heart heavy despite her initial happiness at seeing everyone there, gathered together under the stars.

Ron had his girlfriend of the week sitting next to him, Harry had Ginny, Molly had Arthur, Bill had Fleur, and Percy had Audrey. Charlie and herself were the only ones without company, a fact that Mrs. Weasley hadn't let go unnoticed.

"Hermione, dear, when are you going to bring round a nice young man for us to meet?" she asked, throwing Ron's new girlfriend a scathing look that no one but Hermione and Charlie, sitting next to her, had seen. She'd never quite gotten over the fact that Hermione and her youngest son hadn't worked out, and had been extremely disappointed that Hermione would not be her daughter-in-law after all.

Hermione paused in bringing a spoon of pudding up to her mouth. "Mrs. Weasley, you know that if there was someone for you to meet, I'd bring him around."

It didn't stop Mrs. Weasley from trying to persuade her to go out more often. It seemed as if she was determined to have Hermione happy and married, even if it wasn't to her son.

In truth, Hermione preferred to be a lonely bookworm the nights that she wasn't at the Ministry. She had no desire to go out and meet men, to strike up a conversation with them and attempt, horribly, to flirt. No, that wouldn't do, not now when Hermione was so busy campaigning for elfish welfare and looking to spearhead an equal rights campaign for goblins.

"She knows," said a voice in her ear.

Hermione jumped, turning her head to see Charlie Weasley leaning over in his chair towards her, a knowing smile on his face as if he were in on some private joke Hermione hadn't understood.

"K-knows what?" Hermione asked, unable to help herself or keep the trepidation out of her voice. Her heart gave a guilty lurch, somewhere around the vicinity of her navel. How had anyone known her mind had wandered to the true reason Hermione was single, that she'd been thinking of white-blond hair?

Charlie just continued to smile, not giving away his secrets. Well, Hermione wasn't giving up hers either.

Tonight was really no different than any other night. She and Charlie were still dateless and the rest of the family was so loud that it was hard to hear one's self think over the clatter of knives and forks on plates and the many conversations that had been struck around the table. (For which, right now, Hermione was extremely grateful.) It was a soothing sort of sound that Hermione would be incomplete without.

Why, then, did she feel as if tonight, being surrounded by the people she loved more than anything, was one of her worst nights yet? Was it because George and Angelina were expecting a new addition any day now? Was it because Ron was so obviously happy without her, despite his promises that he had once needed her to function? Was it due to the fact that Harry was looking at Ginny like he would take a thousand bullets for her?

It was all of the above, even though these things hadn't been any different than last month. Hermione just supposed her awareness was more acute tonight and she couldn't ignore the reason why. Her heart lurched again, and she hoped that the guilt she was feeling didn't show on her face.

Hermione didn't have to wonder where her happy ending was. She didn't question, unlike the rest of the Weasley family, why it was that she didn't have a boyfriend a week and be happy, like Ron.

A sudden image flashed in front of her eyes from earlier in the day. Draco Malfoy was haunting Hermione's thoughts and she knew, without a doubt, that this was the reason she felt so pitifully alone. He still held her more captivated than she cared to admit. And today had only solidified her feelings. Yet if anything, this explanation only made her feel worse.

How could she ever confide what she was feeling to the Weasley's? How could she tell Mrs. Weasley that she couldn't find a boyfriend because the one she wanted was her once-upon-a-time sworn enemy? She could barely make herself admit the words and feelings to herself. But to say them out loud? It was nearly impossible.

They would all be shocked, of course. But would it go farther than that? Would anyone be angry? Would it be like trying to convince them to support her S.P.E.W. campaign all over again? No, it would be much worse.

It would be pointless, a voice said. Hermione tried to ignore it with a mental rolling of her eyes.

There was no point in getting depressed over it now. If she did, someone would surely notice and she didn't feel like playing the Muggle game of Twenty Questions. She'd already noticed the acute stare Ginny had been giving her every so often throughout dinner. So she tucked the unwarranted feelings away inside a drawer in her mind for her to deal with later and returned to the pleasantries in front of her.

Once dinner was over and everyone had the droopy eyelids accustomed to the usual food coma a feast at the Weasley's left them with, Hermione felt that it was time to return to her own home. However, before she could leave to Apparate, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see a pair of green orbs staring at her with concern writ all over them.

"Not tonight, Harry." She knew that look, knew that it meant he wanted to talk. "I'm tired. We'll talk soon, but please, not tonight."

Harry understood and with a nod of his head and a hug, he let her go and went to join his wife at the fireplace, where they would use Floo Powder to get back home.

Hermione did not want to discuss the war, or the earlier run in with Malfoy, which is what she'd been sure Harry wanted to speak to her about. She needed at least a day to recompose herself after their run-in with the ex-Death Eater, even though it hadn't been particularly eventful in and of itself.

With a loud crack, Hermione Disapparated from the lawn of the Burrow, and with another loud crack, she appeared just inside her front door.

Working for the Ministry had allowed her to establish a nice home not far from Diagon Alley. It wasn't anything extraordinary. In fact, it was almost like a much brighter, cleaner version of 12 Grimmauld Place. Yet instead of being draped in gloom, nearly everything was white – or at the very least clean – and pristine, with cool, sleek lines and touches of femininity sprinkled about.

Flowers in vases, both Muggle and wizarding pictures of her friends and family hanging on the walls in the hallway, touches of soft, pastel colors here and there, and of course loads and loads of books crammed onto her masterpiece of a bookshelf in the sitting room made this house her home.

Sighing, Hermione felt a weight settle on her shoulders that hadn't been there during her visit to the Burrow. The day's worries weighed heavily upon her as she stumbled towards the stairs so she could go to her bedroom and sleep. Though how she was going to get any shut-eye with her brain firing off every two seconds was beyond her.

It was flickering back and forth between Malfoy and house elves, both of which seemed to be a top concern in her life at the moment. How she was going to pass a bill to allow house elves the right to vote and how (when) she was going to see Malfoy again.

She stripped down to bare skin, thinking that maybe a nice bath before bedtime would calm her frazzled nerves. Yes, soaking in a tub with a good book would calm her nicely…

Once she'd settled into the warm bubbly water – she'd been able to conjure it in a second, since she didn't feel like drawing a bath the Muggle way – she just let all of her thoughts go and concentrate on the book in front of her, allowing herself to be swept up in a daring romance with passion that belonged to someone else, just for the night.

Once the water had gone cold, and the last pages of the book had been turned, Hermione got out of the bath, dried herself off, and dressed herself in pajamas. She made her way towards her bed, eyes heavy now with exhaustion.

White snow and white-blond hair were the last things she thought of before she finally drifted off to sleep.