*I do not own Harry Potter.*

**Because my brain won't stop with this story tonight, a bonus chapter for this week.**

Chapter 13

Hermione knew whose family, whose home, from whom she was about to receive a guest. Five chimes equaled five minutes away, and there were only nine people that ever came from five minutes away. That was the exact distance of the Burrow, in floo time, and the eight Weasleys plus the occasional Harry Potter thrown in equaled nine. Except for the latter, she could think of no one that she would like to enter her living room right now – and even the latter wasn't a great choice. He would at least listen and consider, though. The damn Weasleys love to react before they think anything through.

And if any of them saw the tableau currently on display, it would be shock, dismay, and then brave Griffyndor-like behavior. Which, in any other situation, she would have loved. But right now she longed for just a moment to gather her wits.

Draco was still beneath her, looking up into her eyes and waiting for her cue to get moving. She just couldn't help it – she leaned over and kissed him. One last, intense kiss.

"Now go, Malfoy. Hurry hurry hurry. It's likely Ginny or Ron or Harry. A reporter or two aurors. This is NOT good."

She was feeling the panic rising in the back of her throat just as Draco come up behind her, holding all his things in his arms and her at the same time.

"Tell me when I get to see you again."

"Mmmmm…Whenever you want, but at least 12 hours from now."

"I'll text you soon, then."

Before she got a chance to really turn around, he had thrown the floo powder and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. She scrambled to repair her disheveled appearance, adding back some weight to her pajamas and a comfy bra to boot. Let whoever came through that portal in the next couple minutes believe she made this disgusting yet delicious mess all by herself. It was better than the horrific alternative. She tried to arrange herself in a comfy but awake and aware countenance and started the movie just in time for Ginny to stumble out of the hearth.

"So glad to see you, Gin! To what do I owe this surprise appearance at 11:30 PM?" She tried to keep her tone light but slightly sarcastic. She knew exactly what the impetus for this visit was. Even tipsy though she might be, she was ever the investigative reporter.

"You know, I think you've got it bad for this masseur, Hermione. I've been thinking about it a lot and it's the only reasonable conclusion that I can come up with." Ginny, seemingly unaware of the fried chicken boxes and wine bottles around her, fell dramatically on the couch and started peeling off her heels.

"Also, just as important, I need us to decide together that we're not wearing heels any more, we're only choosing comfortable yet cute shoes. But in order to change the world, I'll need the consensus of the great Hermione Granger first."

"I'll go along with that. I've got some Rothy's that I'm obsessed with and…" Hermione stopped when she turned to see Ginny's eyes drilling into her.

"Who's the dude? Seriously. Something's up, and this style of Hermione is usually reserved only for a new guy."

"And what style of Hermione, exactly, is that?"

"A distracted Hermione. A slightly giggly, always acting like she's a bit inebriated, less inhibited and responsible, but only in a good way. I like her. And if this amount of takeaway is any indication, she is here to stay for a little while. WHO IS HE, SERIOUSLY?" These last four words were punctuated with slight shaking.

Hermione took a deep breath and blew it out. She could trust Ginny. She could. She knew she could.

"It's Draco Malfoy."