A/N: The next couple of chapters will be on the short side.

"We'll give it a try," Draco said.

Mosel region, Germany

The twisty, turny River Mosel meandered for two hundred and fifty kilometres, from its origin in France (where it preferred to be called by its French name, Moselle) to its final destination: the mighty River Rhine. If it was a race car track, Formula One drivers would have wept with joy at the surfeit of hairpin turns this serpentine river made, sometimes doubling back completely on itself, as it navigated the Mosel Valley.

Along its banks, picture-postcard villages sprawled, shyly showing off their centuries-old buildings, often painted in bright pastel colours (which sounds like a contradiction but makes sense in this region). Often, a castle or two stood guard behind them on the hills, affording glorious views for those intrepid enough to take a wander up the many flights of stairs to their turrets.

Brightly-painted barges bobbed alongside the riverbanks, home to those who spurned bricks and mortar, preferring the sound of creaking wood and gentle laps of river water instead. Hermione was keen to see what one looked like inside, but Draco couldn't find one available for hire. Not that he looked that hard. He was a flyer, an air-dweller, not a sea-creature. Seven years of living in a dormitory with an all-access view of the Black Lake had made him a little leery of the sights and sounds of sea living.

But wine was their prize – Riesling wine, to be exact. And the best of the absolute best was to be found in this valley.

In their Muggle disguises again (not so much a chore for Hermione, obviously), they met a chap called Kaspar, who'd expressed an interest in selling his vineyard that sprawled downhill and galloped to the village's edge. He was getting on in years, and alas, had no children to pass the business on to, and he and his Mathilde were rather keen on spending their twilight years chugging slowly down the Mosel in their very own barge, to see the sights along the way.

All this information Hermione and Draco received in the first five minutes of their meeting. He was quite the sharing type.

He took his guests on a tour of his vineyard, showing them the machinery used to process grapes into wine. All his grapes were hand-picked, he said proudly, more out of necessity than by choice, since the deceptively-angular hill slopes meant it was too dangerous for fruit picking machinery to be used.

Hermione nodded and asked questions and made copious notes, while Draco tried to stave off boredom. He wasn't fussed about how wine was made, as long as it got made. Once again, he silently thanked Merlin that Hermione was paying attention, otherwise his father would be so pissed off by his lack of results he'd order him back home. Where, no doubt, Pansy would descend upon him like a Valkyrie.

Afterwards, Kaspar took them to look at his vines. Standing at the top of the hill, the neat rows of budding greenery looked like jewels, sparkling in the sun.

"Now, watch your step," kind Kaspar warned Hermione. "The soil, it is a little loose in parts."

Draco, however, was out of earshot. Something had caught his eye, and he'd wandered off to investigate.

"Hey, Granger! Come and look at – shhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiitttttttt!"

And before Hermione and Kaspar's astonished eyes, Draco disappeared from view as he tumbled down the hill, only coming to a stop with the help of a sturdy wooden post that started off a row of vines.

Hermione had hoped the only thing that got dented during Draco's ignominious tumble was his pride, but as she and a fretting Kaspar discovered, after carefully making their way down to discover him tangled up in the vines and the wires they grew on, that he'd wrenched his ankle and suffered a rather gasp-worthy smack to his back with the wooden post.

"It's okay, Kaspar," Hermione reassured the old dear, who was imagining all hopes of a sale vanishing off down the Mosel, never to be seen again, "nothing's broken. He just needs some first aid and a lie down."

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEERRRRRR!" Draco moaned from among the vines, startling the bejesus out of the poor man.

"He's just pretending. He loves being the centre of attention," Hermione said firmly, while giving Draco a look that Professor Snape would have been grudgingly impressed by.

Kaspar nodded uncertainly. "If you say so."

And with Hermione's help, they freed Draco from his botanical prison. Then they helped the moaning, groaning, blonde idiot back up the hill to Kaspar's ancient truck. Whose springs needed replacing.

Later, in the village

Poor Kaspar was determined not to let his guests leave the region with a bad taste in their mouths (even though it was Draco's damn fault for not watching where he put his clodhoppers), so he insisted on driving the pair into town and to the local doctor for assessment and patching up.

If Draco was putting it on a bit while he was tangled up in the vines, he was in spectacular pain by the time Kaspar's old clanger rattled up to the Arztpraxis. Even Hermione was starting to show concern behind the confident face she put on for Kaspar's sake.

Merlin be cursed, he was really regretting leaving his wand at the hotel. What he could have done with it in the presence of a Muggle, he wasn't sure, but he was certainly not a fan of just lying in the truck's back seat, being bounced from pillar to post as they journeyed along a road that seemed to be comprised of nothing but potholes.

But they made it to their destination in one piece, and Draco soon lay on the doctor's examination table in magical impotence and suffered his ministrations as best he could. After strapping Draco's ankle and prodding his back to see where Draco yelped, the doctor wrote a prescription for some pain killers - and then Draco was free to hobble home.

Fortunately, 'home' was in a hotel that was located in the village, close to the Arztpraxis. Leaving Hermione to soothe poor Kaspar's nerves and sort out the business necessities, he slowly made his way into the hotel and (thank Salazar for lifts!) headed to his room.

A few minutes later, Hermione appeared at his door, wand in hand. "Do you want me to magically treat you or will you stick with the Muggle method?"

She asked? Why did she even have to ask?

"Fix me!" he groaned.

Draco's ankle was easy enough to fix, leaving it somewhat tender and swollen but he could move it around. By morning, it should be as good as new.

His back, however, was a beast of another colour. Hermione tried a number of spells, but, stubbornly, it didn't react. The problem, Hermione sighed, after the umpteenth attempt, was that Draco's back needed a potion, and she didn't have the wherewithal to hand.

"Shall I get your prescription filled for you?" she offered instead.

"Mh-hmm," Draco mumbled, nearly overcome by the day's excitement. It seemed like this day was coming to an early end for him.

Indeed, when Hermione returned, Draco was asleep. Or passed out.

She checked. Asleep.

She set the pills down on his bedside table and poured a glass of water for him.

She realised this was the first time she saw him sleeping.

She gently brushed his hair back from him forehead, officially checking to see if he had a temperature. Asleep, he looked so...

Something stirred within her, low in her tummy.

Slowly, she leaned over his face – but just before her lips touched his, she chickened out and kissed his forehead instead. Then she backed out of his room.

Later, as Hermione got ready for bed, she went over the day's events in her mind.

Now that Draco was safe and sound, she turned her thoughts to herself.

She was pretty shocked when Draco cartwheeled down the hill. And she was very worried that he'd badly injured himself.

And then, she helped Draco up the hill with Kaspar's help, which took some effort.

And when the doctor confirmed Draco just had a couple of sprains but nothing that would seriously maim him forever, she felt great relief.

Her heart had been subjected to an extraordinary workout, by her standards. She'd had a shock, and she had a cardio workout. Two things her Mediwizard warned her to avoid at all costs.

So why did she feel all right?