Author's Note: Not gonna lie, I'm a little impressed with myself for managing to write a full update in like three days. This story is quickly becoming one of my favorite projects. There were some hot off the presses errors in the first chapter. Thank you for pointing them out, and they are fixed now!

Thank you so much to mhcalamas for beta reading this chapter. Not only is she the best cheerleader, she also did an amazing job, and I am so grateful.

Chapter Two: March - Everything in Between

Hermione

Fred was on the mend, and he was still making jokes whenever and wherever he got the chance. The first thing out of his mouth when it came to Sunday dinner at the Burrow, the affectionate nickname for the Weasley home, was how Molly could tell him and George apart now.

Molly flew out of the kitchen as the timer over the oven blared, exclaiming she needed to get the blasted pie out of the oven. Arthur let his head fall into his hands from his spot at the head of the table, while Ginny's lip curled up in disgust.

Hermione's mouth fell open; a loud clatter echoing in the room as her fork fell to her plate. "Fred," she hissed, "you can't just make a joke about your missing ear to your mother."

Fred blinked, the picture of ignorant innocence. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

If she'd been seated on the other side of the table, Hermione would have smacked him.

Ginny, however, was within range of delivering a sound wallop to the back of her brother's head, glaring as he protested. "Absolutely ridiculous." Ginny grumbled, snatching the bowl of roasted potatoes from the middle of the table. "Mum was catatonic in the hospital; the least you could do is drop the jokes."

Hermione grimaced at the story Ron and Harry had recounted; involving Molly Weasley and the poor surgeon that had only been doing his job when he delivered the good news. She wouldn't be surprised if every employee in St. Mungo's hadn't heard Molly's shriek as she supposedly launched herself at the surgeon.

Ginny chose to tell her how the surgeon in question was fit, rather strong - probably from lifting patients - and how he had awkwardly patted Molly Weasley on the back.

In the two weeks since Fred had been allowed to return home to his shared flat with George, Molly had sent no less than four appreciative baskets of home cooked treats to the surgeon. It was Hermione's opinion that the entire surgical team should have received similar tokens, but she decided inserting such thoughts when not asked would not be in her best interest. , Dinners with the Weasleys were still more awkward than not, and some days she wasn't sure why she subjected herself to them.

Perhaps it was because they had been family before she'd been with the youngest son, and maybe it was also for the bouts of free entertainment. Still, she didn't sit beside Ron if she could help it. One failed relationship, and dissolved engagement down, it was too risky for Molly to think they were getting back together if they gave the image of coziness.

And Hermione did not want the Weasley matriarch to think she was getting any grandchildren out of her.

Molly swept back into the cramped dining room once more, her mascara smudged from tears she seemed to be unable to control. She set the pie in the middle of the table that she swore was an antique from a noteworthy Prewitt relative. "Alright then," Molly cleared her throat as she settled into her chair, smoothing a napkin across her lap. "How has everyone's week been?"

In true Weasley fashion, loud conversation exploded across the table. Hermione leaned back in her chair, quietly chewing her chicken, waiting for Molly to reign control back in over the table. This chaotic event had become part of an unchanging routine; it was partly why she continued returning.

"We'll start with Ginny!" Molly yelled, seizing control at last. "How was your week, dear? Did anything exciting happen?"

Her daughter stared at her from over the edge of her cup. "Not particularly. I had practice on Wednesday and visited St Mungo's. Harry and I have come to a decision you might like though."

Harry shot Hermione a pleading look. "Stop her," he mouthed.

Hermione glared back at him before giving in and shoving her spoon into her mouth, making a show of choking on her food. "Can't—breathe —" she gasped, laying her hand against her chest.

"Ron!" Molly shrieked, snapping him with a hand towel. "Do something, would you!"

Well familiar with this hoax of an emergency, Ron played his part well; that is, until his shoddy attempt at a Heimlich truly made her choke. Hermione thrashed in his arms to get the message across. "Blimey," he muttered, smoothing her hair after she fell into her chair. "Maybe not shovel it into your mouth so much? Mum might think you're not feeding yourself." Ron added.

Her face was still red when Molly focused on her with narrowed eyes. "Hermione?"

"I'm feeding myself, Molly."

The woman didn't look convinced. "How has your week been?"

"Oh," Hermione waved her hand, "just busy with work. Valentine's Day was a bit of a nightmare, really, with all of the ridiculous articles we printed."

"I saw that article about how to slob on a knob," Ginny chimed, a wicked grin twisting her lips, "Harry appreciated the tips especially." At the remark, the tips of Harry's ears flushed red and Molly turned away from that.

"Did you meet anyone for Valentine's Day?" Molly asked with a smile. A bit forced, Hermione noticed, but the woman was still holding onto the smallest shred of hope to have her as an official daughter-in-law.

Hermione was briefly reminded of the prick with grey eyes from the Three Broomsticks. Technically, she had actually met him before the holiday, at least that was when she'd first spoken to him, and that had gone so well. As for the loveliest day of the year itself...it was only a coincidence that he'd done something nice for her.

All too late, Hermione realised she had been staring off into space for several long moments. The entire table was staring at her, some open mouthed, some with quiet joy written across their faces, and one with a muted jealousy laced through the weak smile he gave.

Molly squealed, throwing her hands in the air. "You did meet someone!"

She immediately shook her head furiously, her face heating up even though she didn't have a reason to, and she waved her hands as if she could swat away the ridiculous notion. "I didn't! Not really, he was just some prick at the coffee shop." she reasoned.

Molly laid her chin against her palm as she grinned. "A coffee shop romance? That sounds darling, love. Tell us more about it, would you?"

Ron looked as if he was going to be sick, but he nudged her foot under the table. Her ex nodded to her, and while she knew this wasn't a true romance, it did say something about his trying to be happy for her.

Seeing as there was no way out of this situation, Hermione sighed as she caved. "Fine, but it's really nothing. This isn't some grand love affair. He's truly just some prick I met at the Three Broomsticks." Not a total prick, she reminded herself. "Fine, he's not a total prick."

"Adversaries to lovers is certainly passionate." Molly said with a dreamy expression.

Hermione balked, though, not at the word itself. She'd written far worse in her own stories, after all, but there was something about hearing it from Molly's mouth... "Earlier in the month," she blurted out. "I saw him then; I think he may be new to the area since I've never seen him before."

George had propped his head up from his plate for the tale as well. "Just because you've never seen him before doesn't mean he hadn't been there before." he pointed out.

"True, but ever since I saw him the first time," and took notes about him for character building, you little creep, "he's visited almost every day. He's there just as much as I am, and his schedule seems just as scattered, if not more so."

"What does he look like?" Ginny asked.

"Tall, blond," Hermione replied, "and seems to have a sour look on his face most of the time." Except for that time he thought he'd harmed her, and she'd caught a hint of concern flittering across his face. "He dumped his tea all over me by mistake once; completely ruined my manuscript ."

For which she had still not apologised for, she added to herself, despite seeing him enter the shop every day since.

She dismissed the thought and continued, "I shouldn't have gotten so angry with him, but I did. He was a prick in return."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "What did you expect?"

"Well, then he paid for my order after asking Luna what I liked. He also left a check with a note to cover any damages to my clothes, or what was in my hands. Now that I think about it, I'm a bit ashamed I haven't quite apologised myself, or thanked him for that matter."

Molly looked scandalised. "If he's there as much as you say, why haven't you spoken to him?"

"It's been two weeks." Hermione replied. "Too much time has passed since it happened, and if I do it now, it only looks like I was looking for an opportunity to talk to him."

"Don't you want to talk to him?" the older woman asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Not particularly. Like I said earlier, it was an accident that I even met him in the first place. I have no desire to get to know him. This isn't a love story in the making, Molly."

"Well, you should meet someone - I have an idea!" Whatever her idea was, it couldn't possibly good with the look on her face and gleam in her eye. "I have another basket to be delivered today."

Hermione blanched as the pieces came together. "Are you trying to fix me up with a surgeon?" she blurted.

Molly had the good sense to look embarrassed. "He's quite brilliant, dear. I would assume you would be attracted to his intelligence, wouldn't you?"

"I do not need you to play matchmaker." Hermione groaned, sliding her hands down her face. "No, thank you, Molly. I'm due in the office to review some last minute deadlines."

"But…" Molly trailed off, looking to Ginny, "like she said, he's rather fit. Surely you're due for some sort of check up sometime soon?"

"He's a surgeon," Hermione said dryly. "Even if I was due for a check up, it would not be a surgeon to give me an exam." She thought she ought to shut the conversation down then, but it was too entertaining even if her mind was made up.

Molly waved a hand, ignoring her husband's attempt to quiet her. "You could say you took a wrong turn,"

"Mhmm," Hermione hummed, "I somehow doubt saying I got lost will lead to snogging in a closet."

Ron coughed. "Mum, can't you let this go? Hermione doesn't want to deliver your basket, and she doesn't want to be set up on a date with that surgeon - Malloy was his name?"

Harry shook his head. "Maltoy, right?"

Molly huffed. "What would you know about what Hermione wants, Ronald? I don't think she'll be telling you when she does plan to date again."

Hermione almost snorted. She and Ron had mutually promised to remain friends, which meant being open with all parts of their lives; even if it was utterly awkward when Ron had told her he was taking Lavender on a date.

Ron looked to her. "Do you want to meet the bloody surgeon?"

His mother waited with a smile and bated breath.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not interested, but thank you for trying, Molly." She laughed. "I'm not interested in dating anyone at the moment."

"I can try harder," Molly Weasley murmured. "Oh! Charlie will be visiting this weekend. Maybe you could show him around?"

Ron's face turned as red as his hair. "Mum, my brothers are off limits."

Hermione gave him a look. "You realise I have no intentions of dating a Weasley ever again, don't you?"

"Ouch," Fred said, "she wounds us so, doesn't she, Forge?"

George nodded, wiping away false tears. "She does, Gred. 'Mione, if you were to date another Weasley, which one of us would it be?"

"Not Percy, that's for sure. He's more uptight than even you." Fred whispered to his brother.

Hermione sniggered while she watched the twins.

"Not Bill either. He's married to Fleur already, and so in love with her it makes me want to vomit." George said. "Ickle Ronniekins is out. He already made a mess of that."

"That would leave the two of us and Charlie then. Won't you tell us?"

Hermione shook with laughter. "At this point, if I were to date another one of you lot, it would be Ginny."

The aforementioned Weasley smirked as she leaned into Harry. "Better watch out, Potter. She could read me poetry. Fuck, she could even write me poetry."

"Shall I start with your eyes, or your curves?" Hermione commented, moving for a paper and pen from her handbag.

Molly let her head fall to the table.

Draco

The drive back from Wiltshire was always pleasant as long as his son was buckled up in the backseat. Scorpius bounced in the car seat, gazing out of the window as trees raced by. Draco could hear him quietly counting the lines of the paved road as well, grumbling when he couldn't count any higher.

"How was your week?" Draco asked. A head of messy blond hair snapped up to look at him in the rearview mirror, and he could see the child's face was covered in chocolate. "Did you nick treats from Mummy's stash before we left?"

"Maaaaybe," Scorpius drawled, popping another sweet into his mouth. "Want one?" He strained to lean forward as Draco stretched his arm back. "Sharing is caring, Miss McGonagall says."

Draco grinned from ear to ear while he steered with his knee as he unwrapped the candy. "Smart lady. How as your week?" he asked again.

His son gave a small sigh. "Mummy was a jerk."

"How so?" Draco was more than aware of his ex-wife's tendency to write off their son's concerns, lumping them in as nothing because he was a child. The surprise on his face told him that it had happened again this week.

"In class, Miss McGonagall asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up."

"And what is that?" Draco asked while he drove along the curved road.

"A surgeon," he replied without hesitation and Draco smiled to himself. "But Mummy complained about it to one of her friends."

"I'm sorry you heard what she had to say." It went without saying that Scorpius wouldn't have overheard anything good, but Draco wasn't going to ask his four-year-old to give an exact recounting. It sowed the seeds of doubt if he needed to report the workings of his parents to one another.

"Mummy said I shouldn't want to be like you," Scorpius said regardless. "She was talking to Pansy and she said that you left your family." Draco's fingers tightened on the wheel. "I don't think you left me, Daddy."

Overwhelmed, Draco wasn't sure how to respond.. "I don't want you to ever feel that way," he managed to answer.

He caught Scorpius slump in his seat. "Do you love Mummy?"

If there were ever a question to make him freeze in place, this was surely it. Still, he never wanted to lie to his son, and there were some hard truths to swallow when it came to divorce. Slowly, Draco shook his head. "I love your mother very much, Scorpius. You are half of her. I'm not in love with her."

His son blinked. "What does that mean?"

Draco sighed. Fuck his need for honesty. "You can love someone without wanting to be with them anymore."

"So you love her because…"

"She gave me you."

Scorpius nodded, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. "But you don't want to be with her?"

His grip on the steering wheel hadn't let up. "That would be correct."

Scorpius relaxed. "Okay." he paused. "Do you want to be with anyone else then?"

Draco choked on his own saliva. "What?" he asked, his voice much louder than it needed to be. "No, there's no one I want to be with. You're my priority, Scorpius. I have no interest in dating at all."

Humming to himself and unwrapping another chocolate, Scorpius didn't notice the awkwardness one bit. "Okay. If you ever do, can I meet her?"

There was no doubt Astoria would be furious if any of this conversation ever got back to her. As jealous as she was even after the divorce, Draco hadn't been worried about having this conversation for a long time yet. He sighed. "Of course you would meet her. You have to like her too, you know." Draco said.

"Wicked."

Hermione

Loud rock music streamed through her headphones as she sat in the corner of the coffee shop, one leg tucked beneath her bum. It was a quarter past three in the morning, and Hermione had not yet slept. Despite knowing that she would be dragging herself out of bed for a morning run in just a handful of hours, and trudging through the door into her office, she turned up the music and settled into her work.

Ron had invited her to go out the night before, to visit a new club that had opened in central London. Even though she'd told him it wasn't a new club at all, it hadn't mattered one bit. Frequent visits to the Shrieking Shack to get pissed had been a thing of her youth, and she had no desire to discover how well she handled hangovers now.

Her pen was laying in front of her, mocking her from its diagonal placement. The sheet beneath it was fully marked up, several sections marked through with red, and she was no closer to ending her writer's block than she had been the night before.

"Fuck," she muttered as she crumpled up the paper. It wasn't going to do her any good anyway. There was no point of still looking at it. A shadow fell over her table suddenly, and she glanced up, hands already moving to cover her outline. "Luna, you scared the shite out of me."

The blonde slid into the seat across from her, being sure to have a decent view of the shop. "Sorry. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Hermione replied quickly, flipping her notebook shut. "How long are you working nights?"

Luna clicked her tongue, ignoring Hermione's attempt to change the subject. She slid her hand sliding over the notebook, pulling it to her. "Come on, Hermione. You've known me for a long time; you can trust me to have a look." Her eyes flickered, "But, only if you feel comfortable, of course."

Hermione nibbled her bottom lip. "Well," she trailed off, still not loosening her grip. "You'd have to promise not to laugh."

Her friend snorted, which wasn't a promising reaction in the least. "You're an editor; you're paid to look over the work of others and critique it. I somehow doubt anything you write will make me laugh unless it's meant to be humorous."

Hermione sucked in a breath, averting her eyes. Luna was right. Given her career, she should have been more comfortable with others seeing her work. How else was she ever going to publish? Still… "I'm not sure. It's just awkward."

Luna waved her hand. "Well, let me just…" She trailed off, scribbling something on the side of Hermione's cup. "That was my pen name for when I wrote atrocious self insert fanfiction when I was fourteen. Feel free to have a look and a laugh."

Hermione's loud laughter echoed in the shop, and she let go of the folder and her notebook. "That's fair. There's honestly not much to look at yet; I've been stuck since the beginning."

She nodded. "What has you stuck then?"

Everything, but Hermione wasn't likely to say that. "I can't write romance." She settled with that answer. "It's bloody impossible. I haven't had much experience and everything I've scraped together sounds like a prepubescent adolescent is writing it."

The week before, she'd set aside her plans for a high fantasy novel when it was beginning to suck the life out of her. She might revisit it, one day... Or she might not...

"I can see why you feel that way." Nice as she was, Luna had a streak of brutal honesty, and she wasn't likely to hold back an opinion when asked. Nor would she sugarcoat it either. "But I think you have a good start. I like these character sheets. God, you're so organised, but I should have never expected anything less."

Hermione smiled a bit. "Well, I have to admit they're only due to observation. A coffee shop setting is a good way to imagine characters."

Luna snapped the paper into place in front of her, ice blue eyes flicking to Hermione's as they scanned the sheet in front of her. "I see," Luna cleared her throat, the corner of her mouth twitching. "And this male lead, was he inspired by any customer in particular?"

Realising she'd been caught, heat flooded to her cheeks. "Not really." Hermione's voice cracked, giving her away immediately. "It's more a collective observation, you see."

Luna giggled as she placed the paper back on the table. "Did you know that almost any time you tack on 'you see', your voice shoots up that high pitch range? You're lying."

Bugger. Hermione swallowed. "It might have been from one person. He made an impression is all."

Bobbing her head, Luna nodded toward a customer as the overhead bell rang out. "Tell me about this guy then. Don't worry, Neville can take his order."

She rolled her eyes, but obliged any way. Hermione rested her chin on her knuckles, shifting in her seat and crossing her ankles. "For starters, he's just left a gym." The man was drenched in sweat through his shirt. "He might just live close by, or he decided not to change so everyone would know he's just finished an intense workout.

"He usually wears a wedding ring." Hermione whispered, pointing to the tan lines that revealed he was missing his ring. "So, it's likely that he doesn't wear it to work out because who would? He might lose it, or it's even possible that he's recently lost it if you want to think of all of the possibilities."

"Hmm, what else does that make you think?"

She drummed her fingers against her nose before sighing. "I don't think he's the type to have an affair. Obviously he wears the ring often, and if you look at him instead of me," Hermione swatted Luna's arm, "he's buying two coffees. The large one isn't for him. He's also buying a pastry, probably to take home to his wife. Maybe she works the early shift somewhere and he's going to surprise her."

"Huh," Luna commented. "So you sit here and just create an entire life for someone while you brainstorm?"

It was the first time she'd talked about her writing process with anyone, and as she did so, Hermione thought it could be construed as weird. "Typically. I think it helps to have a face to keep in mind while I plot. Does that make sense?"

Luna readily agreed. "Okay, I'll do this one." she smirked.

Hermione's stomach dropped as she saw the familiar head of blond hair through the glass. "You bitch," she hissed under her breath.

Giggling to herself, she waved to the man before settling into her seat. Luna patted the seat beside her. "Come on, come sit beside me so you get the full show."

Begrudgingly, Hermione complied.

"Since you've mentioned rings so far, this one definitely isn't married. No line, no ring, and he doesn't give the impression that he plays well with others."

Hermione snorted but added nothing.

Luna continued, dismissing she'd ever been cut off. "He's attractive though, maybe a girlfriend? A friend with benefits? It seems I'm not as good at this as you are. What do you think he does for a living?"

Hermione hesitated. There weren't any hints at all, but there was something… curious. It could have been a habit, but still altogether noticeable. "I'm not sure," she remarked quietly, "but I would hazard the guess that it's something with his hands. Do you see how he constantly looks down at them? It's a bit unusual, and —" Hermione broke off.

The man, Malfoy was his name, she remembered, pulled his wool gloves from his hands carefully. He placed one in the palm of his still gloved hand, rolling it off the hand, and wrapping one inside the other before tucking it into his pocket.

"He must work in the medical field, but don't you dare ask me to narrow it down anymore than that." Hermione said, keeping her voice down and eyes on the table lest the man turn around and catch her staring. "Is he walking over here?" she murmured.

"Yes," Luna replied quietly, flipping the notebook closed. "Hello, how are you?"

Hermione met his eyes, and she was certain that her cheeks were tinged with an awkward crimson colour. He would likely get the impression his looks had something to do with it, but she also realised that his learning of their… discussion would be even worse. "Hello," she managed.

"Good morning." His voice was raspy and he slid his fingers through his damp hair. "I haven't had the chance to ask, but were you able to replace your clothing and whatever it was that you were holding?" Still holding the styrofoam cup in his hand, steam escaping the hole at the top, he motioned toward her.

She nodded, aware of Luna's knee knocking against hers beneath the table when she didn't reply soon enough. "Yes, I did, but I work as an editor, so you didn't need to replace the paperwork." Hermione wasn't sure why she didn't just say manuscript as she always did. "Of course you didn't know that, but I'd love to pay you back for that. I kept the check."

A slow, heart-stopping smirk curved his lips. "I'm aware. It never cleared my account. I checked."

Had she sounded ungrateful? "And my shirt was cleaned in the second wash," she quickly added, "so I thought you would like your money back. I saw you here the day after, but I, unfortunately, had a family emergency, and needed to rush to St Mungo's. I meant to thank you that day."

She'd meant to thank him every time she'd seen him after that too, but as more time passed… Well, it was just awkward at that point, wasn't it? Hermione dug through her bag, producing the check and handing it to him.

He shook his head. "Even if your belongings are fine, please keep it as an apology for my horrid behavior that day. As anyone could understand, it was a shitty day, and I took it out on the first person I saw."

Her mouth dried. "This is too much for an apology!" Hermione insisted.

Luna appeared to have relaxed in her seat, looking entirely too entertained by the scene playing out to interrupt.

He gave a dismissive wave. "I've budgeted. It's nothing to me. Just take it and buy something nice for yourself."

Hermione gaped at him, waving the check in his face at a reasonable distance as she shot out of her seat. "This is absurd. My shirt was worth seven pounds because I pulled it off a clearance rack in a second hand shop. And as I've said, I printed my paperwork free of charge. Fifty pounds is simply too much. Just buy me a coffee for being a prick!"

He chuckled as he sipped his drink. "Are you always like this?"

Hermione blinked. "Like what?" she asked.

"Ridiculously self-righteous. I assume you must always be this way as it usually isn't a randomly occurring trait."

"You know," Hermione placed her hands on her hips, "I was going to mention that I was a scathing bitch to you that day..."

"And now you aren't? Pity," he murmured over the edge of his cup. "Here I was so looking forward to it."

She tripped over her own voice. "Just buy me a coffee."

He arched a pale brow. "Are you typically so forward when it comes to dating?" He was teasing her and she was at a loss on what to say.

If he wasn't mostly a stranger, Hermione might have entertained the idea of striking him. Yet he was, and that would be problematic no matter the situation. "I meant instead of giving me fifty pounds."

He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" Malfoy snatched the check from her hand. He pulled a leather wallet from his pocket, pulling a few bills from it and pressing the crisp bills into Luna's hand. "Use that for her coffee addiction, will you?"

Luna grinned ear to ear. "Absolutely."

It was decidedly not what Hermione had meant at all.

Draco

The days had the tendency to blur together following the trip back to Wiltshire. He'd made the drive back, carried his sleeping son into the house that his wife had fought tooth and nail for in the midst of their divorce. Astoria glared at him, as was the usual, over the edge of her tea cup, while Draco took a moment to put Scorpius to bed.

And then, as was also the usual even though he wished it weren't, they argued. It was hushed on the lower floor while their only shared link slept fitfully up the stairs and to the right on the corridor. He told her that she needed to keep her opinions to herself, or at least to be sure that Scorpius couldn't hear her.

She'd volleyed back with the weak jab that Scorpius should know, and she certainly wasn't going to hide Draco's closet of skeletons.

Draco had walked out the door at that, knowing it was a lost cause. He would never call his ex-wife crazy only because their vows, and marriage, and talks of forever turned out to be a whimsical hope. At the root of all of their problems, Astoria had a temper that she often lost control of, and she was unwilling to admit her own faults. It could never be her fault. The blame was constantly placed on his shoulders.

Until he'd grown tired of it and filed for divorce.

He'd stopped by Malfoy Manor, and sat for tea with his mother since he would only get a phone call riddled with tears if he didn't. Narcissa still spoke highly of Astoria, despite knowing just what sort of woman she was.

"Draco," she said. His mother unfolded a napkin, spreading it across her lap. She wiped the crumbs from her mouth before speaking again. "How is Astoria? Have the two of you made any progress in regards to your marriage?"

He wanted to snap at her, but she was his mother, still very dear to him, and it wouldn't do. Draco sighed, dabbing his mouth with the embroidered napkin she handed him. "Mother, there is no marriage to discuss. We're divorced."

Her shoulders slumped, but she wasn't deterred. "Such an ugly word don't you think? Divorce."

"I disagree. I find it liberating."

A fork clattered to the floor and she cursed quietly under her breath. "Draco," she chastised.

He shook his head. "I know you wanted us to patch up our problems, likely more than I did, but there is nothing to discuss. Astoria is unwilling to change, and she's happy to poison my son against me."

"She would never—"

"—I have already spoken with Scorpius. Yes, she would, Mother." Draco pushed his plate away, crossing one ankle over the other. "Enough about this. Tell me how your week has gone. Have you found a new event to plan yet?"

Brow furrowed still, Narcissa studied her son a moment more.. "No," she answered, allowing the subject change after all. "Lucius has been meeting with shareholders this week and it is apparently imperative I entertain the airheaded twits. How are you settling in at the London location?"

He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It's going well. I'm either there or my flat. I've picked up visiting a coffee shop near my flat."

His mother latched onto the smallest detail about his new life. "A caffeine addiction isn't good for you. Have you made any friends since you've arrived?"

Friends?

Draco scoffed. "Mother, I'm thirty-five,"

Swiftly cutting him off, Narcissa waved a napkin in his face. "You're never too old to make friends. Come now, you must have talked to at least one person you don't work with."

There was the one he'd spilled steaming tea over and yelled at, but he didn't think she counted all things considered it. "The barista is nice. Her name is Luna, I believe."

"And are you friends with this Luna?"

"I've just told you—" he cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, she's not a friend. She's just someone I happen to see everyday."

Narcissa scrunched her nose in disdain. "You can brew your own tea at home, Draco. You shouldn't spend so much money in a coffee shop. It's a waste."

Oh, yes, because his mother was an expert when it came to staying frugal. "I like how they make it," he offered.

"Well," she grumbled, "as long as this woman keeps her hands to herself—"

"Mother," he warned, clenching his jaw. "I'll tell you just as I told my son, I am not interested in dating. Not in the slightest. My divorce was only just finalised six months ago." But both he and Astoria had been checked out of the marriage mentally long before that. He might not have mentioned it, but being married to Astoria fucking Greengrass for six years was enough to make him swear off relationships for good.

She flashed him a million watt smile. "I'm only looking out for you, darling. You're a young, and successful surgeon. Someone who is undoubtedly making so little would latch onto you in a heartbeat."

He stood from the table, throwing his napkin down as he donned his jacket. "Clearly, this conversation is always going to circle back to my private life."

Narcissa jumped out of her seat, her sensible heels clacking against the linoleum as she followed him. "I just think that you should move back here. Must you put so much distance between your son and yourself?"

He whirled on her, his expression not entirely unkind. "I want nothing more than to tuck my son into bed every night, but I will not see that witch every day either."

The sound of someone clearing their throat came from behind his back. "Hello. I didn't know you would be by today, son."

Rolling his eyes, despite finding the move so utterly juvenile, Draco turned to face his father. "It was spur of the moment. I've just dropped Scorpius off with Astoria in the last hour and I thought I would come by before driving back to London."

The mention of his newfound home garnered a visible reaction from Lucius. His nostrils flared. "How is Tori?" Lucius asked as his slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored suit.

Draco tucked his hands into his pockets, mirroring his father's movements. "Same as she always is, I'm afraid."

"Oh?" Lucius arched an eyebrow. "We've just had her for supper—when was it Narcissa?"

"I'm thrilled to hear that you still see my ex-wife." Draco interrupted, his patience running thin. It was never a day to engage in a verbal spat with either parent, but especially his father, when it came down to the topic of his divorce. "Considering she is the mother of my son, and will always be in my life, it's always good to hear she was a support system."

He didn't voice that the support system was half of his financials as they had stood during the time of the divorce. Or the sneaking suspicion that Astoria was now sleeping with her solicitor.

It didn't matter.

"Are you leaving so soon?" Lucius asked as Draco passed him.

Draco looked back to see his mother's eyes wide and nearly brimming with tears as she stared at him. "It's a long drive back."

"You could stay the night." Narcissa rushed to say, slipping her arms around Draco's middle.

Draco patted her hair, kissing the top of her head. "I'm afraid I need to be at the hospital bright and early. I should get back." It was a lie. He would be off the next day, but he knew the likelihood of finding his ex-wife in his room if he stayed the night.

Narcissa nodded sadly. "You'll think about what I said, won't you?"

He wouldn't. "Mother, we've separated. I think you should learn to let this go." Draco said smoothly, wrapping his mother in a tight hug.

Lucius fixed him with a hard look. "We only want what's best for you."

Hermione

On a Thursday, the rain and wind bordered on torrential. Her day had started fine, with the normal run, and frappuccino from the Three Broomsticks. She'd driven to work and hurried into her office just a minute before she was due to be there.

On a typical day, Hermione would arrive twenty minutes early, spending five of that searching for a parking spot on the bottom floor of the parking garage. Then she would take ten minutes to herself to jot ideas, blurbs, and the like in a notebook she kept in her centre console — due to her best ideas coming to her while driving.

That day, she'd instead taken a short nap in her car that was not meant to happen. She'd jerked awake as the radio station blared to say, "Good morning, London!" which only happened at exactly eight o'clock in the morning.

Being the sort of person she was, Hermione had set the digital clock to be a few minutes behind the company time, which gave her three minutes to get to the lift and barrel into her office.

The lift had been broken.

Still, she'd made her way to her office with minor inconveniences, such as dropping her sugary drink, and her scone that Neville had freshly made just for her after making the joke that she still had thirty pounds to spend.

The rest of the day truly was uneventful until around six. Maintenance was performing regularly scheduled fixes that day, and there was a man in her ceiling. More than once, he'd made the joke that she might have to rush him to a hospital if he fell through the roof. Hermione offered a grimace and the information that a supervisor would need to take him.

And then he really did fall through the ceiling and the waterline broke, drenching her and her entire office.

Xenophilius would replace her laptop, he assured her, but he truly hoped her files were saved. In a stroke of luck, she'd left her personal laptop at home, and it was only the one issued by the Quibbler to be so utterly fried.

The office had closed early for the day, pending repairs, and possibly more damages as another line broke over Seamus' office.

After making her way home for a change of clothes—a pair of gray joggers, and a black sweater—Hermione went to the Three Broomsticks. Her hair was still frizzy, but tying it up hid the flyaway strands somewhat.

Luna grinned at her from behind the counter. "I'll get your order ready!"

As she turned to make her way to the usual spot by the window, she groaned to herself. Malfoy had taken up residence in her seat. She could wait him out, but her laptop was nearly dead, only two percent left, and due to poor planning by Rosmerta, the only viable plug in was directly beside him.

The other option was going home, and she wasn't going to let a little thing such as someone sitting where she normally did deter her.

Hermione walked to the table, clutched her laptop in her hand as he looked up at her, crumbs falling from his face. "Hello," she said.

"Um, hello," he answered, eyes widened in surprise. "Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but the only outlet is beside you. Would you mind if I sat here, just until my laptop is charged?"

He shifted his seat. "No, that's alright. I can move if you prefer?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's fine. I wouldn't want to run you off." She didn't like to sit right beside him, but there was no doubt Luna or Neville would attempt to read over her shoulder when delivering her order if she sat with her back to the shop. Hermione would just tilt her screen partway so Malfoy couldn't see anything.

Besides, he was immersed in a book so she doubted he'd care to peek unless she made it obvious she was hiding something.

Hermione plugged her charger into the strip, quickly tucking a leg beneath her as she leaned back in her chair.

The first thing waiting for her was an email from Padma, detailing that she needed assistance with a follow up article on London's most eligible bachelors. Hermione closed her tab for her personal document with a sigh, and plucked her glasses case from her purse.

As she worked her way down the list via internet search engine, Hermione opened two windows beside one another. Typing idly while reading, she would just run it through a basic spell check later.

Luna sat her drink in front of her with a smile as she passed a cup of water to the man to her left. "Anything else?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not for me."

Luna flounced away, dancing as she did so.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before he said anything to her, or if he had said anything to her, and she perhaps just hadn't noticed. He tapped her shoulder and Hermione looked up. "Yes?" she asked harshly.

He arched a pale brow.

She blanched. "Oh, fuck, I didn't mean for it to sound like that." Hermione apologised, slapping a hand over her mouth. "Yes, what did you need?"

"I'm starting to realise you're naturally abrasive, so no need to apologise for it. I wasn't watching you type, but I happened to notice a typo. If you're planning to send this to an employer," he trailed off, chuckling. He leaned over with a sense of familiarity, as if he knew her from more than a few chance encounters.

Malfoy took her mouse in hand, his shoulder—his broad shoulder, her mind unfortunately chimed—brushing her own. He scrolled up, tapping away before he moved the mouse to hover over a word.

"Oh, my," Hermione laughed loudly. "I planned to run it through basic spell check once I'd finished, but it didn't highlight it."

He smirked. "Yes, it typically does that when you've added it to your dictionary."

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh fuck no.

Hermione's cheeks filled with heat, a blush taking over her face. "I'm a writer." she explained lamely. "This is terribly awkward."

He laughed loudly then, drawing attention from the front of the shop and all of its patrons as he leaned away from her. "It's just a word."

"I meant to write 'count'," she muttered under her breath.

"Yet you wrote 'cunt', and you typed it rather confidently, might I add."

She elbowed him sharply. "Keep your voice down, would you?"

They settled into a comfortable, inhabitable silence as Hermione kept her laptop turned away from him from then on. It was bad enough that he must think her to be some deviant now, but she wasn't sure she could stand another awkward, albeit hilarious, correction.

Hermione glanced up again when she heard him gagging, and realised he was holding her drink rather than his own. "Did you try my drink? Gross, you could have asked."

He glared at her. "Do you actually drink this? It's bloody disgusting!" he exclaimed, attempting to wipe the taste from his tongue with a napkin. "What is that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Pumpkin."

Malfoy shook his head, gagging again. "Disgusting and no doubt loaded down with calories as well."

"I go for runs in the morning, thank you." she said.

He blinked several times before he shook his head and put his hands up. "I didn't mean it that way."

"I didn't say you did."

"I just meant it must be terrible unhealthy."

Her nose crinkled as it sounded oddly like he was telling her what to do. Which might make sense if her prediction of his career was correct. "I'm sure."

A beat of silence passed as he looked around the shop. It had mostly cleared out, and he braced his elbow on the table and looked at her again. "You seriously drink that?"

She gave a light laugh. "Sometimes I get caramel as well."

"Tea." he said dryly. "Drink tea."

Hermione shook her head. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

He stepped into what she couldn't call a trap per se, but he did confirm exactly what she was curious to know. "Dr Malfoy, nice to meet you. Stop drinking this shite before you clog your arteries." Dr Malfoy left her with that, rising from his seat, and grabbing his book. "I'm off now. You were more pleasant today. You should keep up with that."

It almost didn't sound like an insult with the playfulness lingering behind it. "Off to save other patients from sugary drinks, Doctor?"

He waved her off, and Hermione was left by herself, the hour having passed more quickly more than it ever had before.

She pulled her notebook and added to the character page that was quickly becoming more and more real to her: sense of humor, teasing, nice smile.

Luna caught her staring as the doorbell rang out, announcing the man's departure, and she ducked her head down, cheeks flaming.

And this concludes the update for March. I'm so excited for April. It's one of the ones I'm the most eager to write, just for the dramione scenes. I know that this updates slowly, but I would be so happy if you would click the box and leave me a review to feed my muse and also my ego.

I'll see you next month!