Narcissa Malfoy was deeply troubled. She sat in the small library of number 12 Grimmauld Place like a fixture in room. Unmoving and ancient. At least she felt ancient. Years in a cell did odd things to her mind.

For the past three days, she entered in and out of a delusion of this place. Sometimes she thought this was real, other times she knew she would wake in her cell again. Though how odd for the youngest Weasley girl to be in her thoughts.

Today she was quite sure that she was truly out of her cell. After all, delusions did not last that long. Or did they? She doesn't quite know. She'd cast a diagnosing spell on herself but since she couldn't ascertain the authenticity of her wand, the spell was meaningless.

She sat and thought about her old life, and Draco… the only good thing that came out of it all. She wondered how Fate could be so cruel.

"I think we should call St-Mungo's," Harry whispered to Ginny as they watched the woman in front of them slowly deteriorate.

"Perhaps we should wait a few more days," Ginny noted. "She had been improving. And the wizarding world does not understand mental illnesses like muggles. They would most likely lock her up again."

"Oh…" Harry looked sadly at the woman who had once saved his life. This was not how he wanted to thank her. But at least she was improving.

Things in the small suburban home of one Hermione Granger were also slowly improving, or so she thought. The very next day upon receiving his wand, she found Malfoy doing the dishes quite willingly, albeit with magic. He seemed to be in a far better mood and he spoke quite cordially with her.

Perhaps it was because Draco got his wand back, or he'd simply adjusted, but she wasn't going to complain.

It's been almost a week since he's been in her home. She simply could not believe it. He was far nicer now. Though admittedly, he still kept to himself and barely acknowledge her, but at least he was cordial and hadn't said anything mean or hurtful.

But it still none the less shocked her when she walked downstairs to be welcomes with the smell of fresh brewed tea and a handsome sleep tussled man.

"Good morning," he greeted her with a lazy morning smile. The way he stood in her kitchen with a steaming mug, the sun lighting up the highlights in his hair, that tousled morning look, and just his general air of nonchalance made Hermione's hair all but stop.

Aside from the slight hitch in her breath, she gave no outward sign that she was effected. She told herself that she really needed to get laid, or at least, try to date again. She doubted the man in her kitchen would welcome any advances from her.

"'Morning," she finally said as an afterthought. She then noticed the second steaming mug on the counter. "Is that for me?"

"No," he grinned and blew into the mug he was holding, "This one's yours."

He handed her the mug in his hands carefully and let his fingers linger just a little bit longer on the mug as her hands brushed his. She glanced up at him curiously but he only smiled at her soothingly.

Hermione Granger was no idiot. She was suspicious of this far too sudden change. Change was gradual, so why was he so friendly?

"Thank you…" she told him politely and very reluctantly. "Is everything alright?"

Draco looked shocked for a moment but had the decency to look abashed immediately afterwards. "Well," he began. "I was hoping that you would perhaps accompany me to Madam Malkin's."

Realisation dawned on her and she realised that she had been slipping in her duties. She was supposed to help him rehabilitate, but he was stuck, literally, to her.

"Of course," she agreed very eagerly much to his relief. "We can head out right after breakfast."

"There is a lovely Café that just opened in Diagon Alley," Draco noted.

Hermione smiled indulgingly at him, "And I take it we should go?"

"Wonderful idea," he agreed. "Also, I may have broken your bread toasting apparatus."

"The toaster?" she glanced at it and immediately noticed that it was simply unplugged. She didn't think she unplugged it. Perhaps he did unintentionally. "No worries. Let me head up and change and we can go."

She took one last sip of her tea and headed upstairs.

When she returned, after much trepidation, she wore a simple mint green blouse and muggle trousers, we a wizard cloak. Nothing very different from what she usually wore. She didn't want him to think that she was dressing to impress him but she did pick out her nicest blouse.

She found him at the bottom of the stairs still wearing a pair of old lounge pants and a muggle t-shirt with the number 42 stamped on the back with a pair of mice. He looked so…. So casual and so muggle.

"Are we not heading out?" she asked him curious about his attire.

"I was wondering if you would transfigure my clothes," he asked reluctantly. "It appears I am having a difficult time transfiguring them while I am still wearing them."

"Right, of course," she said understandingly and promptly waved her wand.

As Draco straightened his dress shirt and ran a hand through his hair casually he turned to her and said quite seriously, "I think you should call me Draco."

"Um… okay?" she agreed a little thrown off.

"We have never been friends but in this situation, I believe we could allow a little familiarity in our relationship. It is not so out of the realm of reality that we could be friends."

"Oh," her eyes widened almost comically at his suggestion and she grinned at him and then looked away when he appeared to be uncomfortable with her open and candid nature. "You can call me Hermione then."

They walked in pondering silence until they made it to the entrance of Diagon Alley.

"So where is this lovely little café you spoke of?" Hermione asked him. Then a thought occurred to her, "How did you know about it?"

"I guess you'll find out," he smirked an all too familiar smirk at her. But for the first time, there was no menace behind it. It was playful and boyish.

"Fine," she pouted at him but then broke it off with a grin. "Oh, is that it? Little Green Door? What a cute little place.

The front of the establishment was composed of just a small narrow green door, with the words painted in gold and below the word 'Café' was printed in black cursive.

"Now I'm really curious," she told him.

"You know what they say about curiousity, kitten?" he, and Hermione could not believe this, teased her. Not for the first time today, her heart did a little tumble. It wasn't her fault, the way Draco said the word 'kitten' it… it promised such sinful acts. But Hermione was sure that it was all in her mind.

She was reeled out of her mind by the room that greeted her when she walked in. It was like stepping into another universe. The air seemed crisp in the room, the décor was simple and elegant and most of all, the wall seemed to be transparent and the streets of Diagon Alley could be seen.

"Welcome," a waitress walked towards them. She was a pretty girl with black hair and interesting features. She looked so very familiar to Hermione

"Hello," Hermione greeted politely.

"Awefully slow service here," Draco told her snidely.

Hermione gasped at his rudeness and was just about to apologize when the waitress replied.

"Prompt service is unavailable to little blond snots," she replied unfazed.

Now she was really confused and the waitress realised. She smile a little embarrassed at her behaviour.

"My apologies," she told Hermione. "We are being rude. I'm Irma Noire."

"Hermione Granger"

"Oh I know who you are of course," the woman all but beamed. "You are a hero and, in my opinion, a saint. I mean doing what you are doing. I…"

"Irma," Draco cut her off reluctantly. "Our seats?"

"Yes," she blushed. "Is by the window good?"

Draco looked expectantly at Hermione, who smiled and nodded.

As the followed the comely waitress, Draco leaned down and whispered into Hermione's ear, "Would you mind terribly if I ordered for you?"

His breath tickled her ear and a shiver ran through her. She quickly recovered and nodded eagerly. She was hungry and didn't really know what this café would offer.

"Would you like a menu?" Irma asked them once they were settled.

And as promised, Draco ordered for her very smoothly.

They sat in silence for a moment while Draco simply smiled innocently at her.

"So…"

"So," he mimicked. But understood her. "She's my cousin. Well distant cousin. She wrote to me a few days ago and I thought now would be as good a time as any to drop by. It appears the number of establishments, I and many of my cohorts, are welcomed in has decreased substantially."

"You'll make new connections and friends," Hermione told him decidedly. "I promise."

He smiled genuinely but then shook his head, "Enough of this morose nonsense. I've had a week of it, you must be tired of all the mopping. How about we talk about what you do? You haven't gone out all week, do you work?"

"In a sense," she began. "My job is to rattle the cage. Or as Kingsley likes to say, I am the Ministry's conscience. But that sounds so… high and mighty."

"So Irma had it right," he lauded her. "You're s saint."

"Well…" she blushed sweetly much to Draco's amusement. This was too easy.

Before she would reply, Irma returned with their orders. "Here you are! Belgian waffles with berries for the lady and three cheese quiche is for you." She paused for a moment and looked at Draco. Hermione was no idiot, she knew that they were silently discussing something.

Draco cleared his throat, "Hermione… Irma would like to make a request."

"I will do my best," she agreed.

"Thank you!" the other woman beamed at her. She had such a light and airy smile that Hermione couldn't help but join her. "You see… I heard what you did for the Malfoys and the Zabini heir. I was wondering if I would be able to do the same for a friend of mine. He's a gentle man… and he's been in Azkaban for a year now. He tried to hide but they found him… and well…"

"Yes," Hermione stopped her with a determined answer. "In fact, we can get the process started this Monday the moment the Ministry officials start working. If you don't mind me asking, who is this man?"

"Theo Nott," she said his name so softly like a poem. Hermione's heart went out to her.

They spoke a few more moments to make arrangements about when and where to meet before she left them.

"Time to rattle the cage?" Draco inquired knowingly.

"No rest for the wicked," she sighed dramatically.

"What an odd expression," he noted.

"Muggle," she informed him evenly, a little unsure of his response.

"I imagined as much," he nodded. "Though I am a little rusty in my muggle studies."

"You took muggle studies?"

"Yes," he told her then sheepishly added. "I took it with the mentality of 'know thy enemy'. But now I wished I'd paid more attention so I would understand the contraptions in your home."

"When we get back, I will give you a quick tour and explanations of the main ones," she reassured him. In truth, she was quite excited about the concept of introducing him to muggle life. She smiled thinking of Arthur Weasley.

"Do I amuse you?" he asked curiously.

"I suppose I find our situation amusing," she told him diplomatically.

"Amusing?" he questioned a little miffed. "I was thinking of inconvenient."

"Oh…" Hermione realised that his words actually hurt. When did she begin to care what he thought? It wasn't personal. Or so she told herself.

"I do not mean for me," he added sensing her displeasure. "I meant for you. But I will do my best to lessen the burden."

"Oh…" she was moved by his reply almost to tears. She was speechless.

They ate in complacent silence and both parties where deep in thought about the other. It was interesting how people were brought together sometimes. But the circumstances are always far more complicated than they would appear.

Ron and Blaise were also incidentally having brunch.

Blaise who was convinced that he was a prodigy in all things artistic, which included cooking apparently, had quickly learned the art of frying food. He fried everything. And nowadays, he'd stopped setting Ron's kitchen on fire while doing it.

"Bon appetite!" Blaise announced with a flourish.

"Bloody hell," Ron swore as he looked at the meal set up in front of him. It was fantastic and reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley's cooking, but more fried things. He has never been as glad to have bought that deep fryer.

Blaise grinned proudly at him and it was only then that Ron realised how weary Blaise looked. He had bags under his eyes, his hair was not quite as coiffed as usual and the blue apron he wore was covered in sauce and oil.

"Mate," Ron approached the issue cautiously. "You didn't have to. This is…"

"We're celebrating," the other man stopped him short from continuing. "We've been together for 5 days. I decided that 5 was a special number. So here we are! Now sit!"

Ron was not one for over thinking and he quickly sat down and dug into the delicious food. In between bite he made sure to compliment the cook. But he quickly stopped talking when he realised how uncivilized it was to speak with his mouth full. While it would not usually bother him, but Blaise's unnaturally proper manners made him feel guilty.

Once they finished their meal in silence, Blaise stood to clean the plate but was quickly stopped by Ron who shook his head, "My turn." The redhead added. "It's only fair."

The dark haired man sat there then marvelled at the domesticity of this scene before him. The redhead giant was waving away at the dishes and cutlery.

Blaise never grew up in a warm or loving home. His mother was… and to keep it short and sweet, a black widow. He was almost certain that she killed his father and resented his existence. But he grew up learning how to shrug it off. It never bothered him that he never had this level of domesticity. But 5 days of it showed him what he was missing.

And what he was about to lose.

As Ron finished cleaning and brought out a platter of fruits to counter balance their greasy meal, Blaise was stuck with the sad thought that this would be the last time.

He simply couldn't lie to him anymore. He had long ago learned to be true to himself and screw what others thought. No matter the cost.

"I…" Blaise began and Ron froze mid-bite and stared at him expectantly. "That is…"

"Take you time," Ron assured him and continued to eat happily.

Blaise marvelled at how simply the man was. Why could he not be like Ron? Raised in a loving family. Not having to worry about how people saw his preferences. And so bloody happy with food.

He wanted that.

And he had that.

Might as well make it last.

"Nothing," Blaise finally mumbled and picked at the slice of orange.

A/N- Hi peeps! Here is another update. I'm very comflicted because I am finally getting into the flow of things, but I also have school and real life to worry about soon. I hpe to update soon but if I don't in a few weeks, just give me a friendly knudge and I should be good.

As usual I own nothing and please review and favorite if you'd like to.

Cheers!