Chapter Three

May 31

Draco woke the next morning with the sense that something was seriously wrong. He did not try to place the feeling; his mind was in no state for that level of reasoning. He instead chose the process of elimination. If he listed what was normal, it would be easier to pinpoint the abnormal.

So, what was normal?

Well, his head felt like it had been trampled by a herd of angry centaurs. His tongue felt heavy and thick, like he had spent the night licking wool. His mouth tasted like a flobberworm had become stuck between his teeth and died. The sunlight that streamed in from his thin-curtained windows stung his eyes, intensifying the headache and his quickly-souring mood. The temperature was warm enough so that Draco could confidently put the time around noon. He also had an erection. Normal, normal, and normal again. Then what was that feeling? Why did…

And then he heard it. A shuffling in his kitchen. The tap running. A soft, feminine voice. Humming? Yes, certainly humming. Every aching part of him lurched into focus as the events of last night – it had felt like a dream… Had he really drunk so much? – rushed back to him. His security jinxes. The swearing gnome. Granger, Weasley (for fuck's sake!), and two Ministry goons at his door. Her wide, brown eyes and him against a wall in nothing but his underwear, completely at her mercy. Intrusions. A threat. A serious threat against his parents and, by extension, him. He smacked his forehead with his hand and immediately regretted it. Why had he not grabbed trousers?

He wouldn't make that mistake again. He grabbed the nearest pair and pulled them on, then tugged on a short-sleeved shirt. Wand in hand, he moved slowly and, he thought, silently. He opened the door separating his room and the kitchen, his wand arm extended and pointed at Granger's back. She was at the refrigerator, hunched over slightly to inspect its meager contents. She wore thin, grey sweatpants and a light green t-shirt. Her brown hair was tied into a snarled bun at the nape of her neck.

"It's bad form to cast a spell on someone whose back is turned," she said absently. "I thought you would've remembered that lesson from fourth year."

The hex Draco had been considering died on his tongue, as did any semblance of a witty retort. Hermione finally made her selection and straightened up, turning toward the counter. She held a carton of eggs. Draco didn't even know he'd had eggs.

"Good morning. Or afternoon, rather," she said, still not looking at him. She opened the carton and inspected its contents closely. "Are these farm fresh?"

Draco shrugged then remembered she wasn't looking at him. "Don't know. Probably from a farm, probably not very fresh."

Hermione frowned and passed her wand over the carton. Two eggshells turned olive green. "Well, that's better than I expected," she sighed. "We'll do some proper grocery shopping later."

She pulled a bowl over to her and, with a flick of her wand, sent two white-shelled eggs flying. They collided with a sharp crack and parted perfectly down the center, plopping into the bowl with their yolks unbroken. "Lunch?" she offered.

The idea of being offered his own food struck Draco as funny, but now was not the time for laughter. Now was the time for action.

"I'm not hungry," he growled, "and I would appreciate it if –"

"Oh, lower your wand," she huffed, interrupting him. "And sit down. I'll make some tea and we can have a chat. You'll probably be more inclined to listen now that you're sober and clothed." She threw him a sideways glance that was strangely probing; Draco fought a blush. "Have a seat."

She gestured him to the table and, thrown thoroughly off kilter, he obeyed. He sat on the edge of the chair, his body tense. His eyes never left Hermione as she bustled about his kitchen.

It was indescribably strange to see her so close and so domestic. She moved around his kitchen as if she had been cooking in it for years. She opened the cabinet that hid the plates on the first try and it only took her two attempts to find the cutlery, which he still had trouble locating after a few drinks. She seemed to know the precise stovetop setting to not overcook the eggs and, within minutes, had them perfectly over-easy, sitting atop a piece of thickly sliced whole meal toast.

She set the plate on the table and took the kettle off the hob just as it started to scream. She brought the tea tray next, set it before him, took her seat, and tucked into her lunch. Draco watched her silently and, at last, seemed to make her the slightest bit uncomfortable. She set down her fork and knife to stare back at him.

It had been four years since Hogwarts. He had barely known her during school. Had known enough about her, of course, to hate her, but hate was not a very complex emotion. It was shallow and vain: two attributes that had come too easily to him back then. Their seventh year changed that, when he saw her writhe in throes of agony upon the Manor's drawing room floor. Bellatrix had mentally flayed her, using pain to strip away the control that defined her. Hermione's screams had been animal, almost inhuman, and when their eyes met as she thrashed, she did not know him.

He was sure it would be permanent, was certain that his mad aunt, who had shown Hermione no mercy, had stolen something irreplaceable from the wizarding world. But their eyes met again as Weasley Apparated her away. Though she was barely conscious, she was there, damaged, but present, and he could feel nothing but relief.

Draco had thought he had the measure of her until his trial three years ago. She not only corroborated Potter's story about his refusal to identify them in front of his father and his aunt, but added to it. She told the Wizengamot, correctly, that he had lied for them at great personal risk and that she was sure, if given the chance to do it over, he would not have acted differently.

As the last part of her statement had been conjecture, the Wizengamot struck it from the official record. But she hadn't said it for the Wizengamot. She had said it for him. Although it was unthinkable, incomprehensible, and damn near impossible, she had forgiven him.

Sometimes, it kept him awake at night. Sometimes, he wondered if he had ever really known anyone.

"Why are you here?" Draco asked. His wand was still clenched in his left hand.

"I told you last night," she replied. "Malfoy Manor has suffered a string of intrusions that the Ministry thinks are a direct threat. I'm here to ensure your safety."

"Do my parents know it's you?"

"Of course."

"And they agreed?"

Hermione hesitated before pouring herself – and him – a cup of tea. "Well, yes. They didn't ask for me specifically, but I'm who they got."

"How convenient," Draco muttered.

Hermione shrugged and did not meet his eyes. "You could say that. I don't know if anyone but me could have located you faster. You're a difficult man to find."

"Apparently not difficult enough. How did you manage?"

She shrugged again. "Logic, mostly. I knew you were out of Great Britain – no one had seen you anywhere. I thought France might be a good place to look, as your family owns a summer home there, but I figured that would still be too close and too obvious. People may still recognize you and the whole point of your leaving was anonymity, right?" She did not wait for an answer. "So, I thought globally. Asia and Western Europe were out because your family has close connections there. You would stick out like a sore thumb anywhere tropical, which ruled out South America, Africa, and even Australia. The United States was an option, but it struck me as unrealistic. I thought you would want to go somewhere that reminded you of home, which made me think of Canada. Once I had a decent theory, I explained it to Bates, who then contacted the Canadian Ministry and obtained your wand registration and the address you left. I knew you probably wouldn't be at the address, but I checked anyway. A Muggle motel – very subtle."

She shot him a bemused grin, which he did not return. The grin faded and she continued. "I knew you would want to be near a wizarding city. There aren't that many close to Ottawa, but you could have travelled to Quebec or British Columbia just as easily. I'll admit: you stumped me. However, the urgency to find you was growing, so I appealed to Bates for a temporary trace to be put on your wand, and... well…" She gestured around her. "Here I am."

Draco stood up, livid. "You put the Trace on my wand?" He knew registering his wand at the Canadian Ministry would come back to bite him, but it would not do for him to be in the country illegally. Maybe next time he could find a loophole, if there was a next time. At this point, he'd rather risk deportation.

"No, not the Trace, just a trace, like the Taboo Voldemort put on his name. It's only temporary, I promise. I called Bates the night I found you and had it lifted. Stop looking so violated."

"I have been violated, Granger! My privacy, my home –"

"To keep you safe! Merlin, Malfoy, someone is targeting either you or your parents! The British Ministry can't have one of its citizens threatened and possibly killed without even trying to prevent it."

Draco scowled, though he supposed she was right.

"I think we should discuss how we're going to handle the situation from here."

"How many times do I have to say it, Granger? I do not need your protection. You will not stay here."

"And how many times do I have to say it, Malfoy?" Her voice changed from light and kindly to tightly professional and a bit fed up. "This is not some sort of cruel punishment, although I'm sure it will feel like it soon. Your family has been threatened. Your parents are concerned. I am here on Ministry orders, and I'll be damned if I'm going to fail. Either we go to Wales or you adjust yourself to the idea of me being here. Until the Ministry can catch whoever has been breaking your family's wards, you're stuck with me."

Draco scowled again but said nothing. Stuck with her… A prisoner in his own home. He could have fought her, could have led them both in that same Mobius-strip conversation ultimately leading them nowhere. He could have whined and pouted, maybe even gotten angry.

He could have done all this and more, had he not looked at her. Actually looked, past his preconceptions and their shared past to the woman beneath. There was a fierceness about her eyes and a determination in the firmness of her lips that made him sit a little straighter. The way she held her head radiated confidence and self-assuredness, which made him confident in turn. She made him feel strange, like he… Like he what? Couldn't help but trust her? Maybe even respected her a little? He scoffed. This is what three years of near solitude could do to a man: make him so lonely that even the most annoying little bint could seem like appealing company.

But it was too late, and he hadn't gotten angry or whined or pouted. Hermione interpreted his silence – correctly, damn her – as acceptance, and she smiled again. She got up to clear her plate and was back in half an instant and a wave of her wand, which had set his sponge to cleaning the dishes.

"Now, regarding the terms of our cohabitation…"

Draco cut her off. "I will set the terms."

He didn't actually have any yet, but her easy control made him feel powerless, like a rug had been whipped out from beneath him and he was caught in free-fall before the inevitable crash of his body and the planet. He hadn't felt that way since his sixth year and clearly remembered he did not like it one bit. And whose cottage was this, after all? Whose food had she eaten? Whose bed had she slept in? Well, okay, not his own bed, but certainly a bed that he owned! It was time to take control.

She sat back in her chair and gestured for him to continue.

His eyes narrowed. "You're laughing at me."

"I'm not."

But she was. A small smile played across her lips, and her eyes sparkled with bemusement. Her voice was too light, not quite mocking, but not serious either.

He deserved to be taken seriously. He deserved to be listened to. More than anything, he deserved her respect.

The sting of damaged pride flooded his body, clouding his vision and his senses. He shot to his feet and pointed his wand at her.

It was more of a gesture than a threat, a way to emphasize what he had been going to say, but his words were cut short as his feet left the floor. Her spell knocked him backwards, sending him to the floor, and the hard landing nearly knocked the wind out of him. He gasped as Hermione advanced upon him, her wand leveled at his chest. Her voice was like ice, her eyes unforgiving.

"You shall not pull your wand on me ever again," she seethed. "To do so will be considered an aggressive attack on a Magical Law Enforcement Officer, and I will take you into custody faster than you can say 'Snitch.' Show me this courtesy, and I will show you the same. But hex me once, Malfoy, just once, and, so help me Morgana, you'll find yourself in a Welsh prison cell instead of a safe house."

He looked up at her, his own murderous look mirrored in her expressive brown eyes. "Merlin, I hate you," he hissed. He climbed to his feet. She did not offer him a hand.

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear, but let's put our wands away and talk like civilized people, shall we? We need to straighten out a few kinks if this is going to go smoothly."

"In what universe could this ever go smoothly?"

"The one in which you stop acting like a prat and make an effort."

"So the same one in which you're not an annoying, know-it-all, swotty little Mu…"

Another silent whoosh, but this time it was not a spell that hit him. It was her palm. His cheek stung where the blow had landed, and Draco felt not the white-hot, all-consuming anger he had expected, but a sudden release, like something within him had snapped. Getting angry no longer seemed worth the trouble.

"Do not say that word," she whispered hoarsely.

"Muggle-born," he finished evenly. He surveyed her with unnerving calm, noting her shining eyes and quivering shoulders. His brow furrowed as she lifted her chin and straightened her back. Pride – a vice with which he was all too familiar. He would not be getting an apology from her any time soon.

He headed toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked him. Her voice sounded thick and a little hoarse. For some reason, Draco did not want to see the expression that complemented the tone.

"Out."

"But your safety, it could –"

Draco did not hear what his safety could be, as he had already slammed the door. He walked, turned right past a row of hedges, and broke into a light jog until he reached the edge of a thin patch of woods. Several paths ran through the trees and Draco chose his favorite, a winding trail about a foot wide. He walked slowly and kept his head down, staring at the path to make sure he didn't twist his ankle on an upraised root. He took a breath of warm, summer air and held it in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling in a rush.

He hadn't handled that well. Not well at all. Granger was the first familiar face he had seen in three years and had been nothing but kind to him ever since she arrived. Pushy, but kind. She hadtreated him politely, offered to cook him lunch, even smiled at him.

And how had he treated her? Like she was still the bane of his existence. Like they were still at school and he had to prove that he was superior, even though no one but him had ever cared. Like the assignment to "protect" him was her choice and not an order. Like she was going to ruin his life.

Like she could ruin his life. He'd already done a fair job of it, hadn't he? Throwing in with Voldemort when he was barely old enough to understand what that meant. Clinging to antiquated notions of blood purity that almost got him and his family killed and had successfully killed one of his closest friends. Running away from the life the Golden Trio had returned to him because the process of rebuilding was too daunting to consider.

Draco liked to think he had changed since school, but his confrontation with Hermione weakened that argument until it was no stronger than parchment. She was an adult, a confident and competent woman, and he was still a boy whinging until he got his way. His cheek prickled unpleasantly and Draco groaned, feeling ashamed.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperate to sort out his thoughts. Granger and Weasley… Fuck. No, forget Weasley. The ginger was back in London right now, probably pouting to Potter and concocting some half-baked plan to get Draco arrested for kidnapping. Until that happened, Weasley wasn't his problem.

His problem was Hermione Granger, who had arrived on his doorstep late last night on orders to safeguard him against some psychotic threat. She had treated him with civility, except for two hexes and a slap, all of which had happened only after he had made an arse of himself.

There was something else he knew, too, but was even less thrilled to admit: he was glad to see her.

Perhaps glad was not the best word, but he couldn't think of another that fit as nicely. Living in isolation was much lonelier than Draco had imagined. Occasionally, he missed the whimsy of Diagon Alley and the simplicity of Hogsmeade. He missed his parents, the Manor, and even the ruddy peacocks that woke him up far too early in the morning. He missed his own kind and having one arrive unexpectedly on his doorstep was a nice change of pace, even if it was Granger.

Yet he could not lose sight of what was important. Someone was trying to get to him and/or his parents. His family had plenty of enemies – some of them even were family – but most were in Azkaban with no hope of release. Whoever was threatening him had to be considered carefully, especially if he or she had avoided detection for this long.

He looked up and knew by the shade of the trees that he was nearly back where he had started. It was a good thing, too, because he was properly hungry now and a little more willing to listen. He knew what he had to do and, even though it required him to swallow his considerable pride, he would do it. He just hoped he hadn't mucked things up with Granger too thoroughly. He smiled wryly: with his luck, she was probably halfway to Britain.

Hermione was not halfway to Britain. She was not even a quarter of the way. In fact, she had not moved from where she had eaten lunch. Draco hesitated, observing her through the window. She held a mug in both her hands and stared blankly at its contents. She looked thoughtful, troubled. He supposed it was his fault. It was always his fault. The rueful thought made his jaw clench. He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. It was time to change that.

He opened the door and the spell over Hermione broke. She looked up at him, her fingers tightening around the mug. Draco thought he recognized relief wash over her face.

"Listen, Malfoy, I'm…"

"Shut it, Granger," he said sharply, holding up a hand to silence her. He was not going to let her beat him at apologizing, too. "This morning was difficult for me. I've been alone going on three years, and I'm not accustomed to receiving witches on my doorstep in the middle of the night. The news you brought did not help. I want… I would like to apologize for my behavior." She looked surprised, insultingly so, but he stamped out the bud of annoyance it caused. "You are here as a professional. I, in turn, will do my best to act accordingly."

"Thank you, Draco," she said softly.

His heart skipped at the sound of his first name; it was his turn to be surprised.

"I acted rashly this morning. And last night. I shouldn't have assumed your hospitality or your acceptance. I did both. I owe you an apology as well."

Their eyes met and a tendril of understanding passed between them. Draco breathed out slowly and took a seat at the table.

"So… may I stay here?"

Draco laughed and shook his head. "A little late for that, I think."

"Wales is still an option."

"No, it isn't."

She dared a smile. "I had to give you the chance to change your mind. You really would be much safer there."

He rolled his eyes. "Get it out of your head, Granger. Wales isn't going to happen."

"No, heaven forbid you make things easy on us."

He chuckled at her teasing and tried not to consider how much he enjoyed it. "Regarding these terms…"

"Ah, yes." Hermione flicked her wand and several rolls of parchment appeared on the table. She passed him the first stack, which was eleven inches long. Neat, tiny writing covered both the front and back.

"My alibi," she stated, somewhat proudly. "You should read through it, obviously, but I haven't changed much. My name is Jean Grainer and we're school mates. I've come to visit you on holiday. Unmarried, government job, enjoys reading and cooking. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, except for a few key points."

"A few key points? Seems rather large, what you're leaving out."

Hermione shifted in her chair. "It doesn't need to be too thorough if it's Muggles we're fooling, does it? I'm not saying they aren't bright, but they don't have access to the kind of documentation they would require to prove I'm not who I say I am. The rest is just details. I suggest you memorize them today in case we encounter your neighbors."

Draco glanced through her alibi. All twenty-two inches of it. Memorize it today? Hell, he had not even studied Arithmancy until the night before. He forced a smile and set the scroll aside. He would make a show of reading it, fine, but he would let her do the talking if – Circe forbid – they met his neighbors. He laced his fingers together and looked up at her, trying to look innocent.

"Also, I think we should call each other by our first names."

Draco looked askance at her. "Do you?"

"We're supposed to be old friends, Draco," she emphasized, not unkindly. "We've known each other for over ten years. We're both adults. I think a first-name basis would really help us foster a cohesive working relationship. I've read several studies which –"

"Very well, very well," Draco interrupted. "Spare me the lecture."

She looked put out, like the lecture was her favorite part of this whole ordeal.

"With your permission," she continued, "I would like to place a few wards on the house."

"It's already warded." He glanced at his gnome, whose shifty eyes met Draco's for just a moment before flitting away. "I reset them every day."

"A few more couldn't hurt. And these are Ministry-approved – the strongest we know."

"What will they do?"

"Well, the Ministry's position on home protection is prevention. I would like to cast two: one alarm and one blockade."

"You can't mean to tell me that the strongest wards you can use don't even inflict pain?"

"An innocent wizard could wander into the field. Offensive wards are ethically questionable."

"Murder isn't?"

"We don't know if the goal is murder. The truth is that this needs to get done regardless of your answer."

"Then what's the point of even asking?"

"Full disclosure."

"Bloody bureaucrats."

"The world we live in," she said with a sigh. She handed him a piece of parchment and a travel-sized, pre-inked quill. "Read this through, then initial here, here, and here. Sign and date the bottom." She cast while he read, a process that took no more than five minutes.

"All right, the boundaries are simple: the house, obviously, and the front and back gardens, extending to and encompassing the deck."

"Why not just ward the beach while you're at it?"

"That's public land and would require a different permit. I know, I know," she said testily as he gave her an annoyed look. "Bureaucrats. But if any magical being crosses those wards, we'll know. You should recast your wards, too, just to be thorough."

He did as she said and set his wand back down. "That had better be all."

She looked a little hesitant as she clutched a small roll of parchment rather close to her chest. "I didn't know how long you'd be out, so I took the liberty of drawing up a tentative code of conduct for us both."

Draco frowned. Hermione had good reason to look nervous. If there was one thing he did not like, it was being humiliated. Another was being expected to follow orders. She was perilously close to doing both within a few hours of each other. He was about to say as much when she went on, suddenly shoving the roll onto his folded hands.

"I have the section headings – Magic, Household, and Recreation – and subheadings explaining the scope of each," she explained as he took the scrolls. "The rules are under those, with a brief explanations, if necessary, and exceptions to those rules, also explained. All of this is open to amendment, which I suggest we do now."

Draco goggled at the list. Was this what Potter and Weasley had to put up with for six years? He thought he must have gone mad as a small wave of pity rolled over him. Nonetheless, he agreed and read over the first heading.

To his great surprise, this heading was the shortest one, only spanning a quarter of the page. Even more surprising were the terms laid out therein.

"Am I reading this correctly, Granger?" he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. "No magic?"

"Your comprehensive abilities seem to have withstood your stint of isolation, Malfoy," she said far too brightly. "Rest assured: you read correctly."

"And why, pray, am I to be stripped of the only thing that still gives me joy?"

She looked taken aback by his candor. "Not stripped of it, necessarily, just temporarily prohibited from using it. I'm not going to, either. It's not a punishment," she added quickly, no doubt in response to the fierce glare he sent her. "It's a precaution. Bates knows that whoever wants you –"

"If they want me."

"– will eventually come searching for you if getting to your parents doesn't work. He thinks it best that you maintain a low profile so as not to draw attention to yourself. I agree with him."

"Don't you think that the fact that my cottage is warded is a dead giveaway of wizarding presence?"

"It would be, but I've made your wards Undetectable. We've eliminated that risk."

Draco was taken aback for a moment. He had not considered making his wards Undetectable. Hadn't actually considered it to be possible, to be honest. Time for attack number two.

"What if this stranger comes to call and I'm unarmed? Should I just let him kill me? Perhaps I should paint a large target on my chest now and have done with it?"

Her expression soured, as if maybe it would not be a bad idea. "Perhaps your powers of perception are altered. Obviously you missed exception number one."

Draco glanced back down at the paper and read.

One: Wands are to be carried on your person and concealed at all times when venturing beyond the wards. No exceptions.

He glowered at her. "Say we're indoors and my wards break. What –"

"Number two, Malfoy!" she scolded in exasperation.

Two: Wands are to be easily accessible when indoors. Neither party is to hide, steal, or otherwise handle a wand which is not his or her own, unless it is to aid the other party in obtaining his or her own wand. Wand location to be decided upon as a unit.

"Not on my person but nearby?"

Hermione nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard to manage, as this place is rather tiny. I think the table should do nicely."

"We're just going to set them there? But what will the neighbors think?" he mocked.

"Oh, you are such a prat." With a flick of her wand, his cupboard opened and a glass came hurtling at them. She caught it expertly and set it on the table. With a complicated hand motion, the glass shimmered and grew, twisting upward into an elegant vase. With another wave, she conjured a bouquet of everlasting flowers and lowered them into the vase. She looked around her and spotted a collection of weathered glass lying on a shelf near his fireplace.

"May I?"

Draco gestured helplessly; by now, he knew she would do what she wanted regardless of whether or not she had permission. Several pieces flew toward them and landed in the vase. Another complicated wave melded the motley pieces together, then apart, forming separate green-tinted glass balls that acted as a stabilizer for the flowers.

"Hawthorn, correct?"

He looked at her, confused.

"Your wand," she prompted. "It's hawthorn?"

"Yes," he said, and she nodded, looking infuriatingly pleased with herself. A few more waves produced elegant looking pieces of wood that implanted themselves in the bed of glass beads.

"This should do quite nicely then!" She stuck her wand tip-side down into the vase and leaned back to survey the effect. Draco had to admit that it looked quite natural. He could tell the difference between her wand and the branch of ornamental vine, but only just. It would definitely fool a Muggle. He could feel her eyes on him, gauging him for a reaction. He kept his face impassive and bit back a smirk when he saw her pleased expression falter. It was a clever idea and a nice bit of magic, but there was no reason she needed to know it.

"I take it you didn't bother reading exception three?" she deadpanned, making the question sound more like a statement.

Of course he hadn't.

Three: Neither party is to cast a spell – friendly or unfriendly – upon the other party unless expressly permitted to do so. In the case of outside attack, parties are permitted to cast protective and defensive enchantments as long as neither proves to be detrimental to the cast-upon party.

"Merlin, you really do work for the Ministry, Granger," Draco mumbled. "Party this, permitted that… I'm surprised I haven't stumbled across a wherein yet."

Her cheeks flushed. "There's one under heading two," she admitted.

Draco rolled his eyes and continued reading. He stopped after each section to ask her about each exception, all of which he had read but about which he feigned ignorance. She grew more frustrated with each question, referring him sharply to which clause it was under and sometimes just reciting the sentence verbatim for him. It was immeasurably fun to aggravate her and resulted in their discussion lasting over two hours.

The rest of the contract was relatively simple. Under the "Household" heading were laid out rules concerning sleeping arrangements (separate), kitchen responsibilities (separate except for dinnertime, when they would trade off cooking meals), common area use (keep things separated), and facilities (dear Merlin, separate). To say Draco noticed a theme would have been redundant.

The "Recreation" heading – and this was one that Draco read fully, it being only a paragraph long – was infuriating.

"The Ministry may be able to place my parents under house arrest, Granger," he snarled, "but they're well out of their rights to try it on me."

"It's not house arrest. It's a preventative measure. It's dangerous to move beyond the wards."

"For whom?"

She gave him a withering look. "The Ministry is not just trying to cover its arse with this, Draco."

"At least you admit it."

"Look, whatever you may think, they have your best interests in mind. You're valuable. You're important."

"Worth more alive than dead for once."

She glared at him. "You're being melodramatic. It'll just be for a few weeks, then you'll have all your freedoms back again."

"Bollocks. A few weeks? Do you have any leads on a suspect?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."

"Government-speak for no."

She frowned and was about to argue, but he cut her off before she could utter a syllable.

"I cannot be confined to my own thrice-damned house with you for Merlin knows how long and expect to come out of it sane. And how are we expected to shop?"

"The Ministry –"

"And won't it look a little suspicious, me staying indoors? The neighbors" – who rarely visited, but that was another piece of information she didn't need – "will start to worry. Then if they see you – a guest! – who is supposedly" – he glanced down at her alibi, carelessly flipping it over – "on holiday… A holiday indoors when there's a beach and a tourist town nearby? If that doesn't raise eyebrows…"

He leveled a "you-know-I'm-right" expression at her and she sat back, looking torn.

"It's risky. Every time you venture out is an opening. You could be spotted and attacked."

"In the middle of the day? I'd say that's unlikely."

She pursed her lips. "But not impossible."

"We'll be armed. Provision one, remember?"

"That's a worst-case scenario."

"You and I trapped together is a worst-case scenario."

Her frown deepened; he was almost there.

"Your alibi needs protecting just as much as I allegedly do, and by the end of the first week, we'll both need out of this place if we want to keep this contract sealed. Daytime trips only and never for more than two hours. We'll even take my gremlin, so we'll know if the wards are broken."

Hermione raised an eyebrow but did not inquire further about his gremlin. She was silent for a while, then sighed. "Very well. Grocery shopping once per week, less if we can manage it. You can take me into town once for souvenirs."

"Twice," he amended. "Social decorum dictates dinner at the local pub." Moreover, he enjoyed their hamburgers.

"Once," she shot right back. "We'll combine it with the souvenirs."

"Can't. Two-hour time limit."

She swore quietly. "Fine. Twice, but no more. I don't care how spare you go. And the beach, hmm… every other day, perhaps?"

Draco balked. "Absolutely not. We don't have to do every bloody thing together."

She quirked an eyebrow and grinned lopsidedly. "Shy, Malfoy? I never would have guessed."

"You guessed wrong," he said acidly. He glared, but felt a tinge of color creep into his cheeks. He was neither shy nor ashamed of how he looked in his swim trunks. He looked damn good in them, actually. No, Draco's was a different problem, and it was two-fold.

The first issue was that he enjoyed swimming quite a bit. The way his body cut through the water made him feel powerful. The feeling of it flowing through his hair and across his back made him feel exquisitely sexual. The expanse of the Great Lake made him feel infinite and free. It was a private time for him, an intimate time. He did not want to feel like that around her, and that reason was the second part of his problem. Despite all of Hermione's short-comings, which were many and most likely immutable, she had one attribute that had the potential to override every flaw he could think of.

She was female.

Normally, this would not have been an issue. Draco was used to females, had interacted with them all the time at Hogwarts, and even known one in a more carnal nature. But he had not had sex in going on three years, which was as far away from normal as Draco cared to venture. So, despite that fact that she was Hermione "Infuriating" Granger, that she held no esteem for him and probably never would, and that he was about as interested in her personality as he was in cuddling up to a Blast-Ended Skrewt, she had power over him. Hadn't she already inserted herself into his fantasy? Unbidden, of course, and much to his displeasure, but present just the same.

And she was fit. Any idiot could see that. Her hair was still a riotous mess, but her eyes were a lovely shade of brown. Her skin looked soft and just begged to be sun-kissed. He imagined freckles dotting her nose and cheeks and barely stopped himself from staring. Her lips were full, her breasts were perky, her hips were absolutely perfect, and that rear… Draco remembered her bending over to get the eggs out of the refrigerator and felt an unwelcome stirring in his groin.

He moaned softly and put his head in his hands. He was ill. He was mental. Seriously mental if he could think of Hermione Granger with adjectives other than "swot," "know-it-all," and their synonyms. Merlin help him.

"Um, Draco?" she asked tentatively. He drew a deep breath and sighed, raising his eyes but not meeting hers. "You said yourself that not going to the beach would be suspicious. However much I wish this didn't make complete sense to me…" She sighed and rubbed her own forehead. "We're just going to have to do it, bathing suits and all."

She made it sound like a vaccination. He scowled and folded his arms over his chest, disliking that she was right and not looking forward to making a fool out of himself.

"I think that about sums it up." She scribbled the final provisions onto the parchment and looked up at him expectantly. "Unless there was anything you wanted to add."

Oh, the things he wanted to add. Granger must remain fully clothed at all times, preferably in lurid, shapeless dresses. Granger must stay a minimum of three yards away from him. Granger must not look at him and smile.

"No," is what he replied instead.

She nodded. "Good. I'll put a light stinging jinx on the agreement. Incentive for both of us to follow the rules."

"Fine."

She pointed her wand at the contract. It glowed orange for a moment, then returned to normal.

"Now we just need to sign it. Once we put quill to parchment, no more magic and no more amendments."

She picked up her quill and poised it over the paper.

"Wait."

Hermione stopped and looked up at him from beneath dark lashes.

He cleared his throat. "When does this contract break?"

"Oh." She drew the quill away and leaned back in the chair. "When do you think it should break?"

The question caught Draco off guard. He thought about it for a long moment.

"In the event of an attack," he said finally, "assuming we both make it out alive. Then we'll re-work and re-sign the agreement. Or if we leave the country. I can't see this cohabitation agreement making much sense back home. Obviously, if the threat is neutralized and your assignment ends."

"Fair points." She jotted down his suggestions. "Anything else?"

Draco shook his head.

"All right then."

She signed the agreement and passed it and the quill over to him. He considered each for a moment.

Seven years ago, he had imagined his life going very differently, with a well-matched marriage and the opportunity to forge his legacy in the Malfoy family. Four years ago, he had imagined a life away from the public eye and living a long, lonely existence separate from the people who knew him best. Yesterday, Hermione Granger arrived on his doorstop, and today he was agreeing to live with her.

As far as Draco was concerned, Kneazles had flown, the Manor had been overrun by trolls, and Hagrid had received a position on the Wizengamot. The impossible had happened, and he could not even begin to fathom what would happen tomorrow.