He stared at the marble fireplace in the massive great room, in the heart of his childhood home, a mansion of no mean size, and a former Deatheater stronghold... Now, just an empty chasm. He had long since removed the portraits from the walls, which kept alive the last of the vile Malfoy-Blacks.

After Lucius had passed, Narcissa's last thread had snapped and she had roamed the halls, calling out to him. It was more than Draco could bear. He had moved them both out nearly eight years ago, and only returned to throw sheets over the furniture and change the locks. But now, he was facing a deadline, and a seemingly impossible task: to catalogue everything left in that vile place and disposing of anything that might prove, in the words of the trust, 'detrimental to the Malfoy legacy'.

In truth, he didn't much care if they saw the shackles in the dungeon or his mother's mad ravings in hidden journals. His reputation couldn't possibly suffer more in the eyes of the wizarding world. He wanted to part ways with the last vestige of that time, but even standing before that hearth was too much. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

What was he doing here?

He turned. This was the place where everything had changed for him, this very spot. He had stood in that place before the hearth and watched as his aunt pinned Hermione Granger to the ground. And now that girl-that beautiful woman-was in his flat, probably still in his bed.

It didn't make sense, but having her in his life again, in that way… maybe that was why he could be there at the manor again.

He had lied to her about working at the office all day. But how do you leave a note on a pillow about this? Sorry for leaving before you woke up, I had to go shake up the ghosts.

Draco only had a month to turn in a list of assets to the historic trust before they would turn down the donation. But this was a step. Closer. To whatever the thing was that he was grasping for.

When she awoke, Hermione was alone in a grand four-poster bed, with the velvet curtains drawn over the windows to prevent the morning light from sneaking in, and a note was pinned to the pillow beside her. On her nightstand sat a tray with a cup and saucer, a full teapot, and a scone. The note read thus:

Darling,

I've gone into the office. There have been developments in my case and suffice to say that I have a lot of work ahead of me. I'll try to be back in time for an early supper.

Draco

ps. I'm loathe to leave you here by yourself all day. Make yourself at home. Rearrange the furniture, eat all the olives, whatever. Be back soon as I can. X

She yawned. Some alone time would be nice, after everything that had happened in the last few days. Between saying yes to the blind date with Gary and waking up in Draco's bed, her whole outlook had changed… from desperate, lonely, and depressed, to hopeful. Joyful. And still a little bit depressed, but mostly thankful for the somewhat divine intervention of the tall, cool blond. And divine, he most certainly was.

He was not a neat freak, like she had expected. He appeared to have tidied up a bit while she was sleeping, but in general, his room looked 'lived in', and it made it far more comfortable than his sterile living room. Even if she didn't stay for long, at least maybe she could help him make that room feel cozy, too. It needed some bookshelves, some curtains, and definitely pillows. Once she transferred her boxes over, he could borrow hers. He probably wouldn't notice anyway; it was clear in which part of the flat he felt most safe.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed and shivered as her toes met cool floorboards. Right… no pyjama trousers. Because she had taken them off the first night, so he could wear them. Even though she probably wouldn't have minded if he had just slept in his briefs-but that would have been twelve steps too far for how quickly they had come together. She'd only spent two nights in his flat.

Wouldn't it?

To fall into affection with anyone so quickly, let alone someone whose very presence used to be a torment…

But she was her own woman. If their intimacy had gone beyond the telling of secrets, if that infernal kiss had lasted past reason and logic, she would have had no regrets afterwards. He could never hurt her in the way that left scars. He wouldn't. Draco was better than that, even if he didn't quite see his own worth.

Hermione tip-toed to his closet, where she found the pyjama pants, neatly folded on top of his laundry hamper. She pulled them on and did not blush to let her mind wander to where the night could have gone.

'When we both have our wits about us,' he had said. Perhaps he had meant to show her that his feelings for her went beyond sex. But that much she already knew. He had never made her feel pressure, never made her feel hunted or preyed upon to satisfy his urges. But he most certainly made her feel wanted. In every small gesture.

She abandoned the scone on the tray (orange marmalade was not her favorite), sipped at the scalding hot tea, and then decided that she ought to clean out her flat while she had the day to herself. She used his fireplace, of course, and flooed back to her flat for what she hoped would be the last time.

It didn't take more than a few moments to bundle her boxes into a carpet bag with the addition of an extension charm-and she did it all while wearing Draco's pyjamas. She was sure to close and lock every window, turn off every light, and leave her key on the fireplace mantle. She had also left a check for the manager for her last month's payment. She would see if Draco had a mobile muggle telephone that she could use to give her manager a ring later. She imagined that he did, since he worked so closely with muggles in his daily life… which was a funny, slightly odd sentence to say in her head. But a nice one, too. He worked WITH muggles.

As she peered at the empty flat, she felt nothing but relief. Good riddance, and goodbye, to loneliness.

He leaned against the doorway of the kitchen. She was humming, standing before the sink with a steaming mug of tea, and gazing out the window at nothing of note. But she looked so relaxed, he didn't want to alert her to his presence, lest she lose her sense of calm. From the look of things, she had been quite busy all day long… he had barely recognized the place when he arrived. If it weren't for the note she had left on the front door, he would've thought it someone else's flat. 'Just added a few touches,' the note had said. 'Don't be alarmed.'

The living room was so perfectly HER. She had lined up her bookshelves along the far wall, placing the books by height order, and grouping them by color. The tomes vacillated from deep blue-greens to browns to reds.

She had also hung navy blue curtains, put down a turkish rug below his sofa and coffee table, and thrown six pillows on the couch-one of which bore the larger-than-life-size face of an english bulldog. She had also lined his mantle with candles, which flickered when he walked past them. She had certainly made good use of her time for the day; truly, she had done nothing those past few days but gild his life in hope.

Just then, she looked over her shoulder at him. Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away again; the humming ceased and she cleared her throat. He stepped forward and put his hands on her hips, pressing his lips against her temple.

"Don't stop on my account," he said, sliding his hands around her waist. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"Get done early at the office?" she murmured.

He kissed her cheek again and pulled away so she could turn and look at him. "Didn't stay very long."

"No?"

He shook his head. "I went to the manor."

"Did you? And?" She set her tea on the counter and smoothed the wrinkled lapel of his overcoat.

Draco shrugged. "It hasn't changed. I stood in the great room for a while. Didn't get anything catalogued, but at least I went."

"Hmm." She seemed focused on his shoulders, which curved towards her. Hermione ran her hands up his arms and clasped them behind his neck.

"It was nowhere near as lovely as my living room, however," he said.

"I hoped you'd like it," she smiled, breathing out in relief.

"You've made it feel nice. Homey. I like it."

"It's just a few things," she said, bashfully. "And what news from your case?"

He stepped back from her then, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "They didn't say."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because I asked them not to. I asked to be replaced on the case." He scratched his cheek in shame. He sighed heavily. His coat felt too tight, then, the air too thin. Hermione gestured for him to shrug out of his coat. She helped him with it and then folded the wool coat over her arm.

"When did that happen?" she asked. She nudged him towards the kitchen chair.

He sat, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. "After I left. I went to the office, as I said, and I met with the senior partners. I asked for them to take me off the case. I… admitted that I had gotten in a brawl since I hit that man. I did mention that it was self defense, though only as an afterthought," Draco said. Hermione laid his coat over the back of his chair. "I told them that I did not feel I was fit to serve."

Hermione knelt at his feet. "But you're better than ever."

"I feel better than I have in a long time, mostly thanks to you, but…" he brushed her cheek. "I have a long way to go, Hermione. Far be it from me to advise on a murder case when I can't even face my father's house."

She cupped his face in her hands. He could hardly look at her. "But you are still a good man," she said.

He covered her hands with his own. "That is what they said to me."

Hermione sat back on her heels with a smile. "They want to keep you on, don't they."

"They want to keep me on as the lead prosecutor. But I only agreed on the condition that once the trial is over, if we win, I be given the civil suit cases that they usually give to legal aid. The little cases, they deserve good lawyers, too. And I will do my due diligence to be a damned good one." He sighed, and then looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Why must every conversation we have be so bloody dramatic?"

She laughed, putting her arms around his waist, and pressing her cheek to his chest. He folded his arms around her shoulders. "Our lives will become boring again, soon enough," she said.

"Yes, I will be back behind a desk as early as tomorrow. And what will you do? To become boring again?" he asked.

"I was thinking… I could help you. At the manor."

Draco tensed and shut his eyes. "I could not ask that of you-"

"I'm offering."

"That place holds painful memories for you, too," he said softly, brushing a hand over her hair.

"Maybe it's selfish," she said, looking up at him. "But I think it would be good for me."

"Why?"

"To see that it's just an old building, to stop thinking about it every time someone stares at my arm. And then you wouldn't have to do it alone. Hmm?"

Draco looked down at her. He shook his head once, and kissed her forehead. "Thank you," he breathed against her skin.

She nodded. "Thank YOU for breakfast."

"You're welcome. I should have waited up for you and taken you out for crepes, instead. It would've made the whole day more bearable."

"I didn't mind, though you should know that I cannot stand orange marmalade," she said with a giggle. Draco chuckled.

"Noted."

"And also… if you're going to charm my tea to stay hot, could you make sure it's not the temperature of the sun?"

Draco stood and pulled her up with him, laughing. "So ungrateful!"

"And could you not snore so loud-"

He kissed her before she could go on. She smiled against his lips and he lifted her off the ground. Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist and hummed happily. He sat her on the counter. She pulled away, but only enough to speak.

"You called me 'darling' in your note," she murmured.

"Mmm," he conceded, kissing her again. "You are that."

"And what should I call you?"

"Whatever pleases you."

She ran a thumb over his bottom lip, along his cheekbone. "Handsome."

"Bastard would be more appropriate."

They broke apart at the sound of a shrill voice in the kitchen doorway. Encased in tweed and brimming with anger stood the one woman Hermione was sure had a sordid past with Draco, one who knew that long-gone side of him well.

Pansy.