A/N: Here we are. Another chapter and it's just two days into Hermione and Draco's co-habitation. Let me know what you think about the story. Reviews, please? I love reading them.

Chapter 7: Memory Lane

There she was, stroking his soft blonde hair. He was laying on his back, his head in her lap. They were laughing in the park, in the green grass. On her picnic blanket; an ancient orange and brown patterned thing, something her parents used to take on trips when she was a child. They lay on that blanket, shielding their faces from the sun. Rare sun, especially so high up north, in Heaton Park on the outskirts of Manchester. She was hot in her light summer dress. It was a shade off red and she was blushing. He was smiling at her that wide smile on his. His cheeks had those dimples that made her heart clench and her breathing ever so slightly faster. His hair was like gold in the sun. She was happy, so happy. Away from the eyes of the Wizarding World. He kissed her. They laughed. She was so happy.

Waking up from dreams like that was like experiencing that pain all over again. For a moment she would expect to find him still next to her. But he wasn't. And then the pain of their separation would hit her all over again. Her heart would squeeze and she would curl around it, in foetal position, as if she could protect it.

Hermione listened to the silence around her. It was pre-dawn. She could go back to sleep, but the dream detered her from it. She breathed slowly unwilling to move a limb and let sadness wash over her. Whenever she thought she was getting over it a dream like this would sneak up on her. It would make her forget reality, be seduced by memories or imagination. Her vision got blurry and she realised that she was crying.

Angry with herself, she pushed herself up into a side-saddled sitting position, irritably wiping the tears off her face. What was she? Some sort of tragic novel heroine? A teenager concerned with romance? She swung her legs off the bed, allowing the shock of her bare feet touching the cold carpet jolt her awake. She was done mourning her broken heart, she told herself for 500th time that year. Striding to the bathroom, she reminded herself that she was strong, independent, clever, she did not need him.

No matter how happy he made her, no matter how loved he made her feel, no matter how his smile lit her on fire. No matter. That was over, but why was her heart still aching? Why did she still feel like it happened mere days ago, not a year? A year. Already. Why was the pain so fresh?

She stripped and stepped into the shower, letting a few hot tears mix with the hot water. If she didn't feel them they didn't count.

Draco was in the kitchen. There was coffee, toast, jam, and the remaining cinnamon bun on the table. He was awoken by Granger turning the shower on. By all rights, he could have slept through it, the sound after all was barely audible. But Draco was a very light sleeper these days. He moaned and got up. He could sleep when she was out to work. He didn't ask why she didn't take a bridge day, connecting Christmas and New Year's holidays, like many do. Neither did he ask what she did for a living. He was very cautious of prying to much. So he did what would earn his keep in the house. Prepared some breakfast and coffee, and sat and waited for Granger to emerge.

It was just two nights, but Draco was starting to get used to waking up in Granger's livingroom, getting meals ready, avoiding her when necessary. It was certainly nicer than what he had to do before… He shook his head. Not what he wanted to be recollecting. He leaned back in his chair and watched the sun raise over the buildings, craddling the coffee mug in his hands.

When Hermione stepped into the kitchen, she was looking at the wooden tiles, lost in her thoughts. A movement in her peripheral vision startled her, she jumped, near drawing her wand. The figure in the chair by the window was both familiar and unfamiliar. It was a male silhoutte, light hair. Her heart jumped, throbbing in her chest. But no. It was Malfoy. Memories came rushing back in. Of course. She forgot about him again.

Hermione collapsed into the chair across from Malfoy, misery washing over her for the second time that very short day. Malfoy was staring at her, something like concern flashing across his face before dissipating behind his mask of indifference. Playing poker against him must be fun, Hermione thought drily.

He nudged the single cinnamon bun plate her way. She nodded, appreciating the silence, and lifted the coffee to her lips. He remembered how she liked her coffee. Maybe it was because the day already started so badly, maybe it was the accumulation of events this past year, but she felt a wave of gratitude that almost brought tears back to her eyes. Such a small gesture, and from none other than Malfoy.

"Morning," she whispered, speaking up first.

Malfoy smiled that half smile of his and nodded, sipping his coffee.

She appreciated his silence. Him not commenting on her puffy eyes. She knew he could take advantage of her state, and Malfoy from school would not have hesitated to milk the situation. But this Malfoy was… different. She decided not to dwell on that difference.

They ate in silence. Hermione didn't ask why he was up so early, he did not ask why she was. A silent understanding. A second wave of gratitude. What has the world come to.

There was still some hours before she could go to the offices so Hermione went to the living room while Malfoy stood to wash the dishes. She has a problem that needs solving, but one that she hasn't gotten around to quite yet. It was a charm, one designed to make items trackable through the WizPhone. She had the idea when Harry lost his glasses again. The difficulty was linking physical items with a magical interface. The more spells you added to WizPhones, the more complex the magical network got. To keep it stable, she used runic combinations but those were fickle, difficult things. She has been messing about with this box for a month, on and off, and she hasn't been able to solve it.

Just as she was pulling the box off the shelf, Malfoy emerged from the kitchen, eyes heavy on her. Why does he have such a weighty gaze?

She motioned to her room, "you can go take a shower, if you would like," she spoke for the second time that day.

He nodded and grabbed a pile of clothes, the same ones that he said fit him well enough the previous day. And a pair of yellow pants with green goblins. Oh dear, she shouldn't have seen that. The image of the stern Malfoy in that nearly broke her into giggles. Was today going to squeeze a hysteria out of her? It must have shown on her face since Malfoy, who just picked up his clothes, looked at her quizzicaly. His stern, Snape impersonation attempt was broken by his starred cloud-like pijama.

She fixed her eyes on the box, keeping her expression stable. He likely won't take her laughing at him well. Even if it was caused by her emotional instability.

Hermione saw Malfoy move in her peripheral vision. As soon as she heard the door shut behind him she let out a breathe she didn't know she was holding. Focusing on the box, she opened it, starting to take the items out, laying out the runic scripts before her.

"How did you do this?" Granger spoke as soon as Draco emerged from the bathroom. She was sat on the bed again, this time on the edge of it, the box of wires and runes next to her.

"The runic formula?" Draco asked, drying his long hair with a towel, and at her expression continued, "it was simple. Alveron's consonant, it wasn't a complex problem."

Granger frowned. "But it shouldn't have worked…" she whispered, running her wand on the complete runic script. Whatever it was she was doing appeared to be working.

"What's it for?" Draco dropped down beside her, inviting himself onto her bed.

"It's meant to locate tangible objects through an electronic signal and magical topography," she responded, still running her wand over runic scripts, "that is why it shouldn't have worked. Alveron's consonant only works for tangible combinations or intangible ones in theory."

Granger looked up at him, biting her lower lip. She jolted up, running toward her wardrobe, mumbling to herself something that sounded somewhat like "but maybe not knowing that…".

Draco watched her curiously as she produced another box of wires, this one with a significantly larger amount of scripts, and a small notebook poking out of it.

"Could you take a look as this?" Granger asked him, pushing the box into his hands, "while I am away, I mean. You don't have to, but maybe you'd notice something I've missed."

Draco looked through the items, lifting various gadgets, "what's it all for?"

"A project I am working on," she said, essentially saying nothing, Draco complained in his mind. "I'll explain more in the evening. But try to take a look at it without knowing its purpose," she added.

"This better not be some bomb," Draco complained, "or other method of mass destruction."

"Yes," Granger agreed dryly, "I saved the world from Voldemort just to bomb it to bits now."

"You never know, Granger," Draco shrugged and then brushed past her, box in his hands, "see you at 4."

Evening came quickly. Too quickly for Draco's liking.

He missed magic. He missed intellectual stimulation. Yet he couldn't let Granger see his excitement at being given another problem, so he held the box close and feigned indifference. What a loathsome fear. If he shows his interest or excitement at something, it is bound to be taken away from him, life taught him. Or maybe it was the Dark Lord and his cavaliers. Whatever it was, Draco maintained his cool until Granger was out and then he launched himself at the problem.

And oh, how fascinating it was. This runic challenge was completely unlike the other one. That was a simple set of equations. This one involved multiple ancient langauges, it was about articulating an answer to a multidimensional conflict. As far as he understood it, it was meant to locate a set of objects of the same characteristic around the world and instill change in them. It was terrifyingly complex with a large magical reserve behind it. This was a collosal problem and Draco could not get enough of it.

The magic was at the tips of his fingers. The runes were singing to him and he was answering. In nearly two years of not holding a wand, touching magic again was a relief. It was like he was suffocating and he could suddenly breathe again. And what magic that was! Extraordinary. Powerful. Ancient. It was primal. Draco held an Uruz on an outstretched palm and let him be taken by its wild power, to be moved by it. Draco, then, realised that magic was not something he simply missed; he had taken it for granted until it was denied to him, but that longing was not just the absence and the void it left. No, Draco loved magic. He never truly understood it as much as he did sitting over a table of runes. He didn't just miss it, he loved it with his whole being.

He also understood why Granger was having trouble with this abstraction. From what he knew, and that was a lot considering that she was always a step ahead of him in Hogwarts, she was practically minded and most definitely tried to solve this by applying logic to the runic equations. This was not a type of magic to be treated with thinking. There was intuition and feeling, much like potions, much like cooking. Granger, although brilliant, did not have the knack for that and yet somehow she came across this challenge. If he didn't know any better, Draco would have assumed that Granger was an Unspeakable in the ministry. But then she would have not brought this work home. He shamelessly helped himself to all of Granger's rune books, including the ones from her bedroom and created an office on the living-room coffee table.

The trick of Draco's approach was listening. Runes speak to the wizard who is willing to understand them. The real work then, is to reason with them. Negotiation. Come to an understanding. A formula cannot do that. So what Draco spent most of his day doing was speaking to the runes. Metaphorically. Somewhat. Both.

By the time Granger arrived back at the flat, Draco was dressed and set to go. The bags with the ill-fitting garments were in bags, ready to be taken back to the shops. When the door racked open, Draco did not greet Granger, he was holding a rune scripture, eyes closed in concentration, feeling for the effect of the combination. He felt her eyes on him but he remained seated, letting the scripture finish speaking. He then set it aside and fixed his eyes on Granger.

She looked sad. Tired. But less so than in the morning. When he saw her then, it was clear that she cried, he also noticed her flinch at his presence, so he decided to be less of a dick than usual and give her the morning to get herself together. Whatever she was going through was something that he did not wish to aggrevate.

But the morning was over.

"Ready to go, Malfoy?" Granger said from the doorway to the living room.

"Most certainly, Granger," he responded, getting up and moving to don his new winter jacket.

"We will start by getting you a haircut at a nearby barbershop," Granger started, "then we will apparate to the city centre and take this back to TkMaxx, you can choose and try some clothes there, then we can go to any other stores you might need - do you need shaving supplies and things? We might be able to find these at Tesco…"

As Granger rumbled on, Draco adorned all the warm items she got him. Scarf, gloves, hat, and then they were out of the door, with armfuls of TkMaxx bags, waiting for a lift.

As luck has it, a middle-aged lady was taking her trumbling dog out for a walk in subzero temperatures. The shaking thing was dressed in a jumper of its own and looked as reluctant as Draco to go out. They exchanged a glance of dismay. In the meanwhile, Granger, being the talkative Gryffindor that she was, was chatting with the lady who turned out to be Mrs. Bucksley, from two floors above. In the very short lift ride, Draco learnt that Mrs. Bucksley's two cats were in fine health and were hogging the radiators while poor Porridge in the sweater was kicked out of his dog bed and was left to sleep on the rug. He, the "handsome young man," as he was called by Mrs. Bucksley, was Granger's school friend who has just moved to London, and was staying with her temporarily. Draco exchanged looks with Granger as Mrs. Bucksley chatted on. Granger shrugged at his expression, as if saying "a lie close to the truth is a better lie."

Or was he just imagining it? Could he tell the meanings of Granger's looks?

As they walked toward the door to the building and Mrs. Bucksley opened the door to let herself out, a cold breeze hit Draco. He froze.

Malfoy stood still. His eyes were wide, staring into the whiteness outside. Mrs. Bucksley stood at the door, holding it open for them, a look of puzzlement appearing on her wide face.

"You can go ahead Mrs. Bucksley," Hermione called out to her neighbour, "he's just not used to the cold, we'll be out in a minute."

The door shut behind her and the lady and her dog trotted outside.

"Malfoy," Hermione said gently, "it's alright."

When he didn't move, she put a hand on his forearm, lightly touching him. His eyes flew to her hand, there was a look of petrification in his face that, in that instance, reminded Hermione of the Final Battle, when they were just children marching to fight a war.

"It's okay, Malfoy," she spoke gently, "we don't have to go out today."

He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the outside again. "No," he responded after a moment, voice coarse, "we do."

As they stepped out of the apartment block Hermione kept her hand on his forearm.

It wasn't far, the barbershop, Granger promised him. She delivered on it. After only a few minutes walking through the snow, they arrived, Granger pushing the door open, letting them in. In quick chatter with the receptionist, Granger confirmed his appointment and settled the pay for it.

It would appear that today was a day of silent agreements between them. Draco let Granger's episode in the morning go, and she let his in the afternoon.

Well, not entirely in silence. Her way of dealing with the situation appeared to be endless chatter. He has learnt a seemingly endless amount of useless information over the span of minutes. Granger told him about new developments in Diagon Alley, which apparently included a Bertie Bott's all-flavours ice cream shop, a novelty Muggle appliances store, and a ridiculous expansion of the Weasley's business. It was apparently led by George Weasley and his wife, Angelina née Johnson. There was kid friendly sections, ranging in ages from toddlers to pre-teens, a love potions and other things (cue for Granger to blush) shop, and other specialised units for growing odd vegetables, non-broom flying devices, and an app-zone (which turned out to be in collaboration with the WizPhone giant). They were apparently also developing an entertainment unit for children, where parents could leave children in the care of trained and paid house elves while they went shopping in peace.

It also turned out that the Weasley clan was expanding exponentially. Potter already had a kid, Weasley (the original) was a healer (what happened in the Wizarding World in my absence?!), the dragon-Weasley was dating someone and everyone was excited about it, and the good-looking-now-scarred Weasley was apparently having a third baby with his half-Veela French wife. It was a lot to take in, and none of it interested Draco in the slightest. Except for the ice cream shop.

Granger left him in at the barber's pointing to a café across the road where she promised she would wait until he was ready. And then he was left to small talk. Argh, there was nothing Draco Malfoy hated more than small talk. Perhaps only Weasley stories.

Oh dear Merlin and all his Arthurian minions. That was awkward. She couldn't come up with anything to talk about, and then she started rumbling on and on about changes in the Wizarding World, and when the Weasleys came up she should have shut her mouth but she kept talking and talking and talking. Her mind was screaming to shut the tap but it was like she wasn't in control.

Never did she think that she would be receiving an 'are you alright there?' look from Malfoy that looked genuinely concerned for her sanity.

"Oh fuckkkk," Hermione moaned into her scarf, pushing her head into her hands. It was also the moment the barista decided to arrive with her coffee, so Hermione pasted that British smile on her face; a flat line that signified awkwardness in its very pure form, and thanked the young woman with the piercings.

Still, she decided that chatting away about meaningless stuff was a successful operation. Malfoy looked too distracted by her temporary derangement to be overwhelmed by the snow. She didn't really know why she decided to help him, actually. Just yesterday she was content with being spiteful and he right back. It was probably his behaviour this morning, then, that inspired this weird truce.

"So fucking strange," Hermione mumbled to herself, drinking her coffee.

Malfoy, living with her. Making her breakfast, solving her runic problems… If someone told her even two weeks before that she would be taking her now-flatmate-Malfoy for a haircut, holding his hand through the snow, she would have laughed them off and contacted Ron for vacancies in the Janus Thickey Ward.

Perhaps it wasn't that bad. They would have to co-exist for a while. At least until she got to the bottom of what happened with that trial two years ago and got Malfoy reinstated in the Wizarding World. How could she find that out then?

A sudden squeak made Hermione jump. The two girls in an adjecent table were squealing in delight about something, staring into one of their mobile phones.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Hermione spoke again, apparently now in profanities only, and pulled her WizPhone out. All the Daily Prophets were now in an app. But of course.

They were just starting the backward digitalisation of pre-WizPhone issues, but the trial was close enough in time to the launch. Hermione found the articles on Malfoy: "Malfoy mansion closed for investigation" called one title, "Malfoy takes ministry to court" declared another, and then "Malfoy heir accounts frozen" and "Gringotts refuses statement". What befell Malfoy, Hermione decided after half an hour of scrolling, was bureaucracy. Or rather, all its malfunctions together.

It seemed that Malfoy's assets and properties were frozen on the basis of undeclared Dark Artefacts, allegedly still in Malfoy Manor and other Malfoy holdings. Two years ago, in December 2016, Aurors closed the scene and confiscated the keys, locking Malfoy out until the investigation was complete. Within two months, however, Malfoy was taking the ministry to court on account of 'wrongful allegations and transgression of public law'. He was claiming that the accusation of Dark Artefacts possession were false and the delivery of results was being delayed on purpose. It turned out that he did not win the case, there was a round of hearings that lasted through January 2017, cultimating in February of that year where Malfoy's case was dismissed over lack of evidence in regard to the first accusation, and a dismissal in regard to delays being purposeful - it was apparently standard procedure that took far longer due to the dimensions of the mansion, declared the paper.

It read that Malfoy stormed out of the ministry, and was not seen since. A dramatic photograph showed him pushing the doors open and striding through, robes flying open, face contorted in rage. "Where is the Malfoy heir?" read the last title, published four months after the original story.

Hermione was reading some nonsense speculations in the Witch's Weekly about Malfoy's whereabouts in the summer of 2017, when a figure in black entered the café, shaking his boots off snow. So annoyed Hermione was at the author of the ridiculous article, positioning Malfoy as the head of a unicorn preservation unit in Surinam, that she barely glanced at the man. Tall, slim, handsome, was Hermione's quick assessment, and she returned to seething over the improbable fiction.

Only when the man in black sat down in front of her did Hermione register that the man who just walked in and her childhood-nemesis-turned-flatmate were actually one and the same. She blinked, unable to contain the surprise.

Malfoy, the dying-stinking one in the alley was gone. In front of her sat a young man with a ridiculously sharp jawline, accentuated by a short beard - exhibiting an air of nonchalance of 'I was too busy in my art studio to shave for a couple of days' - and platinum blonde hair, caught in a manbun on his head. Hermione had to commend the barber. He transformed a hobo into something like a Twilight-loving girl's wet dream. With his slim form he looked like a tragic Tim Burton character. Hermione blinked once more.

"You know, a picture would last longer," Malfoy produced a cliché.

"I'm good," she responded, recovering her sense, "I think I've seen this film. You propose to a skeleton in the woods and end up playing piano with her."

Malfoy frowned at her, "if you need help, Granger, all you need but ask," he said in a mock comforting tone. Well then, he didn't watch all Muggle films.

"As I said, I'm good," she repeated, "but you might get devoured by those two," she pointed toward the two teens (were they university students?) who seems to be salivating at Malfoy, "so we probably should get going."

Malfoy looked positively mirthful. Smirking, always smirking, the bastard. Hermione got up, dragging her jacket on when she witnessed Malfoy turning toward the girls and winking at them.

They giggled, the baloonheads. Hermione rolled her eyes, pulling her scarf around her neck. How dumb are they?

"After you, darling," Malfoy announced loud enough for nearby tables to hear.

It was Hermione's turn to look at him like he lost his mind.

"Please," he held the door out for her and as she exited slipped his arm around her waist.

Scandalised, Hermione look up at him, not knowing what to say or shout as he walked her away, across the window of the café and around the corner from it.

"What the fuck?!" she finally managed as Malfoy dropped his hand away.

"Just to mess with them," he announced, grinning. Grinning.

"What?!" Hermione shouted at his retreating figure.

And that is it for today. Comment, review, let me know what you think because honestly, I only know a fraction of where this is going... And on this note, seeeeee youuuuu sooooon :)