The morning sun should not be shining on my face, Hermione thought with irritation. She raised an arm from under the silk sheet covering her and placed it over her eyes.

Wait, silk? While her Egyptian cotton bed linens were soft and comfortable, this was a different sensation entirely. She sat up quickly and soon regretted it.

"Ow," she moaned as she rubbed her temples. "I need paracetamol!"

"Is that some new spell, Granger?" spoke a voice from the doorway.

Even in pain she recognized the timbre and scrambled to cover her (happily) not-completely bare breasts with the aforementioned sheets. "Malfoy!? What are you doing in my bedroom?"

Draco, fully dressed, settled on the opposite edge of the mattress and made himself comfortable, plumping up the other pillow. "You're definitely hung over. You're in my bed."

"Oh." She shoved her uncontrollable hair out of her face. "Damn."

"Don't worry, nothing happened last night." Sighing dramatically, he added, "Unfortunately for me, this is the guest room. So, what does 'paracetamol' do?"

"It is muggle medicine that gets rid of headaches," she glared at him so much that he began to think she was referring to him.

He waved his wand and whispered an incantation before flinging its result towards her. "Granger, you're a witch," he reminded her. And one of the best, he thought as she physically caught the spell before it hit her and examined it closely.

Deciding that it was harmless, she transformed it into an anatomically correct gingerbread man and bit it ferociously.

"Ouch!" He winced. "Did you mean for that to be Weasley?" When she cocked an eyebrow, he indicated the remainder of the biscuit. "Gingerbread?"

"Hmph!" she snorted. "Ron doesn't taste this good!" Her face revealed mortification as she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Godric! I didn't mean...that! Oh," she fanned herself, "change the subject, quickly!"

Draco subdued a laugh. "Okay. Then, how about I can't believe you passed out after so few drinks? You must have a weak head for alcohol."

"In my defence," she grinned, thankful to be free of pain (if not embarrassment) now, "I might have grabbed a few pints from patrons of that damn sports pub on my way out."

"I'm surprised you didn't send half a dozen hexes towards your Weasley fiancé."

"Ex-fiancé, Malfoy!" She pointed at him as she snapped off another piece. "That lying cheating sack of slugs. Oh!" Her eyes brightened. "I should have given him that one–second year, remember?"

Easily recalling the barfing git with his bucket of slimy mollusks, Draco grimaced. "I gather from this that fidelity is not featured among his myriad charms."

"Ha!" Her brows drew together. "One of those...women was kissing him—tongue halfway to his pancreas—while the other had her hand down his trousers." Hermione snickered. "She sure removed it once my spell hit him."

"Do tell." He chuckled. "Yours were always the most elegant and effective."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why, Malfoy, what a silver-tongued devil you are."

He placed both hands over his mouth and spoke behind them. "Please don't make it literal. That was genuine admiration."

"I'll choose to believe you." She shrugged. "Anyway, I cast a hex that turned every red hair on his body into fire."

"Granger, that's against—"

She waved nonchalantly. "It wasn't fire meant to burn humans; he wouldn't feel the heat at all," she smiled slowly, "but anything else flammable that touched him would."

Draco found himself gasping for air. "You mean—you basically denuded the man? In public?"

Shrugging, she affected insouciance. "Coolfyre doesn't harm anyone so it's not going to get me into too much trouble. I'm still one of the Golden Trio, after all."

He snorted. "Careful, there. I just heard a Slytherin sneer in your voice."

"That house system at Hogwarts pretty much served to divide us all." Hermione began to mount one of her soapboxes but recalled something. "Wait! What time is it?"

"Um, about nine thirty in the morning. Why?" he asked as she scrambled out of bed, wrapping the sheet around her; clad she might be, but scantily.

"That spell was cast to last twelve hours. Once Ron can wear clothes he's going to hit my place and wreak havoc. Where did you put my things?" Her neck rotated almost with the flexibility of an owl.

"Your 'things' were destroyed when you upchucked all over me as soon as we arrived here," he informed her, wincing in memory.

"And why did we come to your place? And who undressed me?"

He lifted a finger to halt her questions in order to answer them. "One, you wanted to view my etchings, which I tried to inform you were nonexistent." He smiled as she groaned and raised another digit. "Two, my house elf undressed you, and, before you ask, yes, she is female. Ah, Trix!" A small figure popped into the room. "Do you have the clothes I requested you appropriate last night?"

"Yes, Master Draco." The tiny elf, wearing a white and green hooped skirt and a large straw hat on her head, bobbed a curtsey. "In the wardrobe, sir! But today my name is Scarlett." The door opened on its own right before Trix—or rather, Scarlett—disappeared.

Hermione blinked at where the elf had been before turning her attention to the clothes. "These are mine! How—?"

"House elves have their own special magic. You recall that from," his voice lowered, "our mutual acquaintance at Malfoy Manor."

"Yes." Her tone was also solemn, then she waved a shooing hand. "Now scram so I can get dressed."

"Granger, you're not nearly as much fun when you're sober," he whined.

They apparated into the foyer of her flat. "What on earth—?" Hermione gasped at the stack of owl messages on her table then shook her head. "Never mind, I'll read them later. First I've got to recast my wards to keep Ron out."

"He's been with you when you've done this before, hasn't he?" Draco turned from her shelf filled with muggle fantasy books.

"Yes, when we were on the run from Voldemort." She turned. "Why?"

He pulled out his wand. "Let me add an extra layer. He may be able to undo your spells, being that familiar with your magic."

Hermione stared at him. "That's very...nice of you, Malfoy."

"Don't mention it...please." She caught a flash of straight white teeth. "If my reputation becomes too pure, I might be mistaken for a Hufflepuff."

She ignored the wisecrack and turned her attention back to the spell, adding a few extra twists to the scheme. "Why did you accompany me?"

"It occurred to me that it probably wouldn't be a good idea for you to be in the apartment when Weaselly 'Won-Won' gets here." He felt a stab of satisfaction when Hermione giggled at his impersonation of the redhead's first girlfriend. "It also wouldn't hurt to find a different bolt hole until he cools down. No pun intended," he added.

"I thought of asking to borrow Harry and Ginny's spare room," she said slowly, "but she's his sister and he's bound to turn up there eventually."

"You think she'll take his side?"

"No!" She shook her head vehemently. "She'll tell him what a sodding bastard he is. Harry is the big softie. We three were like family for seven years and he hates conflict."

"Can't blame him," Draco muttered.

"If you had known what he had to go through with his muggle relatives—!"

"I heard." He shrugged. "Hogwarts is a hotbed of gossip, full of talebearers, of which I was, regrettably, one. But just because you live with your own family doesn't mean all goes well."

"Ah, yes." Hermione recalled that his father had mysteriously disappeared before his sentence, endangering his wife's and son's acquittals by doing so. While Harry Potter's testimony of Narcissa Malfoy's deception of Voldemort and her willingness to reveal all that had happened in the Death Eater meetings had swayed the Wizengamot to consider mercy, Lucius must have feared that even naming all of the Death Eaters would not save him from Azkaban. The leniency of the Auror Department in allowing the family to return to Malfoy Manor under disapparation wards while awaiting his sentencing had provided him the opportunity to somehow escape, a feat which had yet to be deciphered.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "I had forgotten about your situation."

"It's all right." She smiled sadly. "I pop in and visit every now and then. I own the cottage next to theirs and rent it out to travellers most of the year. They think I'm just another English tourist who loves that area of Australia."

"Now!" He concluded his magic with a snap of the wrist. "What do you need to pack up?"

"Pack up?" She gave him a confused expression.

"For your hiding place." He grinned at her. "Don't tell me that the almighty Hermione Granger's wits are fleeing her in old age."

"Old age—?! Why, Draco Malfoy, I'm less than a year older than you! And," she added primly, "where do you propose I hide out?"

"What do you say to my place?" he asked, almost diffidently.

"I'd say that would set a lot of people talking and not do a single thing to cool down Ron."

"And why are you still concerned with what Big Red thinks?"

"You're right," she twirled a curl near her temple, "but I don't want to add problems to your life."

"Look, Granger, you've been a problem to me for over ten years. I think I can handle myself by now."

"Haven't you forgiven me yet for punching you?"

"In all honesty, I deserved it." When she gaped at him, he shrugged. "I've had a while to reflect upon the actions of my youth. Look, even back then, in Hogwarts, I admired your brain. And once puberty dropped by," he grinned, "your body too."

"What about all that 'mudblood' stuff?" Hermione may have been stunned but she still tried to pick apart his claim.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I believed my Dad's prejudices. After all, we only socialized with purebloods, so Hogwarts was my first encounter with anyone else. I guess you could say I was fighting against my feelings."

"Hmph!" She crossed her arms. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"Well, I was going to ask you to dance at the blasted Yule ball in fourth year…" His voice trailed away.

"What stopped you? Your pureblood date?" she added sarcastically.

"No, it was actually your date."

"Viktor?"

"Yes." He shuddered. "He was as large as a lorry, even back then, and I was still a twig. I was afraid he'd break me in two."

Hermione laughed. "He could have, although I knew him as a big teddy bear. He had quite the crush for awhile."

"And then later you and Weasel got together."

She scowled. "Yes, well, that is definitely in the past. Oh, what's that?" A red envelope popped into the room and flew around, halting in front of them. "Crap, a Howler!"

Ron's voice shouted from the paper lips of the envelope. "Hermione, you raging insane piece of slapper shit! Unfaithful bitch, how dare you humiliate me in front of my fans! And then go and snog that damn prat Malfoy! Wasn't Krum enough for you without whoring with the Death-Eat—"

"Enough profanity," Draco sighed and pulled out his wand. The animated envelope exploded with a flash of light and turned into sparkling confetti, each of the hundreds of pieces a miniature envelope. Another wave sent them rushing out the way they entered, continuing the rant in high-pitched whines.

"I didn't know you could do that to Howlers." Hermione stared in wonder at the rapidly fleeing shards.

"Granger, purebloods love spell chains," he drawled. "That was an overpowered Geminio combined with a shrinking spell, followed by a simple 'return to sender' charm. Now, get your trunk, for I'd say it's time for us to vacate the premises. Oh, I guess that isn't necessary," he said to himself as items flew from the bedroom into a small bag she held in front of her, shrinking as they neared the opening.