A/N: welcome back, readers! Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited the story so far.

Unlike Treacherous Affairs, which was based on a movie, Part Two has to come entirely from my imagination. It's certainly getting a workout :)

Let's join Draco and Hermione as they start the next leg of their holiday…

Draco and Hermione sat on the train to London. Malfoy Manor was now just a pleasant - if somewhat sexually frustrating - memory.

Hermione peeked up at Draco, whose shoulder she was borrowing as a pillow. His head was turned to the window, but his eyes were closed. He looked asleep.

She smiled to herself. Any other bloke who had spent nearly all of his life in the Wizarding world would probably be having kittens at the thought of spending two weeks thrust into the deep end of the bottomless pool of Muggledom. Not Draco. He takes everything in his stride, probably assuming that the Muggle world will fall at his feet – much like the Wizarding one has. Whoever thought arrogance could be a positive feature?

At least she'll be there if he ends up tripping over those feet of his. Hermione gently snuggled into the arm that he'd wrapped around her, and continued with her Healer course reading.

Draco was, in fact, not asleep. His countenance may be serene (and gorgeous), but inside, he was as panicky as a Quidditch merchandiser whose wife just ran off with the bloke who supplied all his Quidditch jerseys and the Quidditch World Cup is just five seconds away from officially opening and he hasn't got any bloody jerseys to sell at highly marked-up prices.

Oh yeah, and his wife's buggered off, too.

Two weeks in which he can't use his wand, which has been an extension of his body since he started school. The thought of it made him feel naked, but definitely not in a good way.

And then there were Hermione's parents.

She'd assured him that they were modern, rational people, who trusted her to make good decisions and to take care of herself.

And they would definitely understand why she and Draco were a couple after not being on speaking terms for most of their school life.

Their train pulled into Victoria Station, not with the dramatic hissing, honking and billowing steam of the Hogwarts Express, mind you. As they got up and stretched, Hermione reminded Draco that they were responsible for collecting their luggage from the train, due to the lack of house-elves.

Draco's heart sank a tiny smidgen. And so it begins.

Eventually they located their school trunks and heaved them on to a cart. They weaved their way slowly (and to Draco's mind, irritatingly) through the crowds of passengers, meeters, greeters and seer-offers. Then Hermione let out a rather unusual, high-pitched 'eep' sound and disappeared ahead of him, only to be swallowed up by a complicated conga line of tourists in loud shirts and even louder tour guides, waving fluorescent triangles in the air and honking 'Follow me please!' in English and half a dozen other languages.

While he waited for the lurid line to sod off, two giggling teenage girls in cut-off denim shorts and tank tops sidled up to him. 'Excuse me,' one of the girls (with blonde hair and braces) said with a bashful smile, 'could we have a selfie with you?'

In front of Draco's baffled eyes, she brandished an oblong, metallic object that Draco vaguely recognised as a Smartfone. Hermione had one.

He knew he was in England. But he'd was damned if he understood the language.

'Um, I have a girlfriend,' seemed to be his safest response. Especially when talking to girls wearing shorts that short.

They giggled again. 'That's okay, Troy, I'm sure she won't mind!'

'Um, who?'

They weren't listening. Giggling Teenager One velcroed herself to his left hip, and Giggling Teenager Two (also with blonde hair and braces) did the same on the other side. Giggling Teenager One held the fone in front of them and said 'Cheese!' The two girls beamed and thrust out their chests. There was a click, and Draco wondered to himself if all Muggle people were this forward.

Friendly.

Forward.

Giggling Teenager One peered into her fone, then jumped up and down in delight. 'Omigod, that's so awesome! Thank you!'

'I loved you in 'Apocalyptic Vision,' your abs were so muscular!' gushed Giggling Teenager Two, looking hungrily at Draco's torso.

'Um… thank you?' said Draco. Hermione, where the fuck are you? he channelled desperately.

'OMG, look at his eyes, they're so gorgeous! I could never get tired of looking into those.'

Draco looked around him. Instead of just two giggling teenagers, there were now a bunch of people staring at him, pointing at him and having intense discussions with their neighbours. Presumably about him.

He noted with alarm that some were creeping forward towards him, proffering their bloody fones.

'Troy! Over here!'

'Troy, I love yooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!'

'Troy, is there any truth to the rumour that you and Rihanna are' –

'Troy, I want to have your babies!'

'Draco!'

Oh, thank Merlin.

He whirled around in search of his saviour. He found her nearby, practically doubled over with laughter, in the company of a middle-aged couple with excellent teeth. He leapt over the trunks in a graceful, athletic move that set his audience off oohing and aahing, and wrapped his arms hard around her. 'Never leave me again,' he growled.

Stepping back, he took her by the arms. 'What the hell is going on? Why are people calling me Troy and wanting to have my babies?'

'Your babies?' Hermione looked over his shoulder, intent on finding the generous but seriously misguided baby incubator.

'Hello, dear,' beamed the curly-haired woman next to Hermione. Hell. He'd almost forgotten about the parents. 'I'm Jean, Hermione's mother. You look strikingly similar to a famous actor called Troy Fendalton. I think these people have mistaken you for him. Don't you think, dear?' she said, turning to her husband.

Andrew Granger, who was reading something on his fone, looked up vaguely. 'Oh! Hello there. I'm Andrew, Hermione's father. And you must be...' he looked confused and glanced at his wife. 'Troy?'

'No, dear, this is Draco.'

'I thought so,' said Andrew, perplexed. 'But why are people calling him Troy?'

Draco offered his hand. 'Hello, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for letting me stay with you.' He and Andrew shook hands, and he took Jean's hand and kissed it formally. She turned pink and giggled.

Meanwhile, Hermione was having interactions with some of Troy's fan club.

'Oi! You're not his girlfriend!'

Hermione bristled. 'I bloody well am.'

'No yer not! Troy's girlfriend is famous movie star Sage Gibbs-Everett, 'oo's got long blonde 'air down to 'er arse an' boobs that stick out to' –

'You'd better not be looking at my boobs, mate!' Hermione retorted.

Damn straight, thought Draco. And Andrew.

Draco put an arm around his indignant girlfriend's shoulder and dropped a kiss on her hair.

The crowd gasped. Fones clicked like mad.

He ignored them. 'Come on, lioness, I'm dying to see your home,' he murmured.

Smirking, Hermione stuck her nose up in the air and turned on her heel. She rested her hand in the crook of his arm and walked proudly off the platform to the car park. Not because everyone thought Draco was Troy Fendalton.

Because she had someone much better.

'Oh, home! I've missed you so much!' Hermione burst through the front door and skipped through the lobby into the Granger's large kitchen, flinging her arms wide and whirling around and around and around.

Jean smiled indulgently and tiptoed around her dancing daughter to put the kettle on. 'Careful, dear, Crookshanks is skulking nearby.'

Meanwhile, Draco and Andrew were struggling with the luggage.

'Crikey, what's she got in this thing?' puffed Andrew, manoeuvring it to the bottom of the stair.

'Pre-reading for Healer School.'

Andrew smiled fondly. 'Ah, that takes me back.'

Both men looked at the trunks, then at the stairs – then at each other.

'Is the front door closed?' whispered Draco.

Andrew checked. 'Yep.'

'Sing out if Hermione comes.' Draco took out his shrunken wand, un-shrank it and silently levitated the two heavy trunks upstairs.

'Draco! Come and meet' – Hermione paused in her bouncing along the lobby floor and looked curiously at the two innocent-looking men. 'What's up?'

'Nothing!' they blurted. Draco's wand was behind his back.

She shrugged. 'Draco, come and meet Crookshanks.' She grabbed his non-wand hand and tugged him to the kitchen.

He tossed his wand to Andrew, who deftly caught it and stored it in the umbrella stand by the door.

'Ah. Crookshanks.' Draco knelt down gave the enormous orange kneazle/cat a cautious hand for him to sniff. Whatever Draco's scent was, it must have been like catnip to the furry beast, for his eyes lit up, and he launched himself into Draco's surprised arms, purring like a lawnmower and rubbing his head under Draco's chin in ecstasy.

Jean and Hermione both beamed and said 'Aww!'

'He likes you, Draco! That's so sweet!'

Jean laughed. 'I'd say he's in love! You might have to compete for his affections, dear.'

Draco staggered slightly under the cat's weight. 'As long as he doesn't call me Troy.'

After a restorative cup of tea, Hermione jumped up from the kitchen table. 'Right! Draco, I'll show you where you're sleeping.'

Draco pulled back his chair and transferred a disappointed Crookshanks from his lap to the floor. Andrew rattled the newspaper and mouthed 'Umbrella stand' as Draco passed by.

Sure enough, Draco located his wand, and shrank it before following Hermione up the stairs.

She was waiting for him, leaning against a door and smiling shyly.

Draco looked around, confused. 'Where are the trunks?'

Hermione's cheeks were pink. 'I, um, used magic to put the trunks in the room. They were pretty heavy, weren't they?'

Oh-ho. Draco fixed her with a superior smirk. 'What happened to 'no magic in the Muggle world?'

She pouted.

Draco grinned lazily and kissed her. 'I'm sure there's more books than clothing in my trunk.'

'I'll have to cast a magical extension to my wardrobe to fit the clothes your mother got me.'

'Hmm.' Draco kissed his way along her jawline, to her earlobe, and started down her neck. 'I think this is the part where we would be told to 'get a room.'

She giggled. 'No sooner said than done.' Taking his hand, she opened the door to her bedroom, and stepped in, looking shyly back at him.

Draco looked around the pretty room, decorated in blue and cream. Firstly and foremostly and most importantly, the double bed was big enough for two. The next thing that took his eye were the books. Almost every available wall space was shelved and practically pulsing with books of all shapes, all sizes, and probably all topics. In the corner near the window seat was a large doll's house. He smiled and headed over to look at it – and discovered that it was stuffed full of books.

Meanwhile, Hermione was counting the luggage and looking confused. Number of trunks: one. It really should be 'Number of trunks: two.' But fifty percent of their belongings have appeared to have not made the trip from the second-floor landing to her bedroom.

Draco noticed Hermione spinning slowly around her room and looking perplexed. 'Lost something, love?'

'Yes.' She stopped turning and looked up at him. 'Where is your trunk?'

He looked around. Damn good question.

'I thought you said you used magic to put the trunks in here?'

'I did! Oh, what were the words I used?' She screwed up her face, looking like an adorable little chipmunk (not the Draco would ever tell her) and thought. 'I said 'put the trunks where we will be sleeping.' I didn't wait to see where they went, though.'

Then her eyes went wide. 'Oh, God no.'

Draco didn't like the sound of this. 'Oh, God no, what?'

Instead of answering, Hermione ran out of the door and down the hall. She opened the next door along and stepped inside. Then she said a very rude word.

'Language, young lady!' came an admonition from downstairs.

Draco followed Hermione's path to the other room. He had an idea what he would find.

It was a very lovely guest bedroom with neutral tones, a double bed, bedside tables, a desk and a wardrobe.

Oh, yes. And his trunk.

Hermione sat on the couch with her elbows on her knees, gripping her hair in handfuls. 'We're eighteen years old, Mum,' she gritted. 'We can vote – well, I can,' she clarified, looking at Draco, who was trying not to inhale Crookshanks' tail as he swished it lovingly over his new nice-smelling wizard. 'And need I remind you that the age of consent in Great Britain is' –

'We know, dear,' Jean said patiently. 'And we accept that you both have more than likely been intimate together already' –

Draco was suddenly grateful that Crookshanks' considerable plumpness was hiding his red cheeks. Now he knew how Hermione felt at Malfoy Manor when he and Lucius were having much the same discussion, albeit a little less civilised than this one.

'…but,' continued Jean, 'we also understand that sex education is not taught at Hogwarts – that really is a shame, something must be done about that,' she added to Andrew, who harrumphed enthusiastically behind his newspaper. 'So, there's no time to waste!' Jean beamed at them.

'What do you mean?' asked Hermione cautiously. 'And anyway, we were taught magical contraceptive charms.'

'Indeed? How long is their potency?' Jean asked, interested.

Hermione looked to Draco, who shrugged. At least, she thought he shrugged, it was a little hard to tell behind Crookshanks' glorious orangeness.

'How long does it stay active in your body, dear? What happens when you want to have children? Is there a weaning-off time? Do they protect against sexually-transmitted diseases?'

'I don't know, Mum,' cried Hermione, frustrated. She hated not knowing the answers. 'If you let me take a look at my Healer books' –

'We don't need to do that!' Jean said happily. 'Here's what I propose. You and Draco – if you can detach Crookshanks from him, of course – are welcome to sleep in the same room, after you have both listened to my lecture and passed the attendant coursework on Sex Education for Muggles.'

Hermione and Draco stared at her, aghast.

Draco put the last of his clothes in the closet, then crossed to the bed and sat next to a despondent Hermione. 'At least your mum means well,' he said softly, putting an arm around her. 'Unlike my old man, the most vindictive bastard in England.'

'Did she honestly think we'd be happy listening to my own mother talk about intimate bodily functions – and make us complete a written assignment?'

'Well, I doubt she'd approve of a practical assignment prior to passing.'

Hermione screamed softly in frustration.

'She did say that if we changed our minds at any time, she'll be happy to educate us.'

Hermione fell back on his bed. 'Can you last another two weeks without sex?' she asked dolefully.

He leaned back on his forearm, turning to her. 'The previous two weeks - and the three months before that - taught me something,' he said. 'It wasn't so much the sex I missed. It was going to sleep and waking up without you in my arms.'

Two tears formed in her eyes and slowly trickled down her temples.

'Come here, love.' Draco pulled her into his embrace and held her tight. 'It'll be all right.'

Jean, standing outside Draco's open door with some fresh towels, smiled. She could see what her daughter saw in this rather aloof, icily good-looking boy. He was also a calming foil to Hermione's pepperpot temper.

She carefully laid the towels by the door and tip-toed off.

They still weren't having sex, though.

Since the evening weather was light and airy, Andrew cranked up the barbeque on the patio for supper. As is always the way of things, Andrew and Draco stood around the sizzling steel monster and sipped beers, while Hermione and Jean prepared some salads in the kitchen.

'This is so much food, Mum,' Hermione commented, chopping gherkins for a potato salad. 'Draco's not that much of a glutton.'

'Oh! I completely forgot, didn't I?' Jean slapped her forehead. 'The Dorchesters are coming over.'

'The Dorchesters? What, all of them?'

'All four of them? Yes, of course.' Jean fossicked in the larder for a tin of beetroot.

Hermione slowly pushed the gherkins into a salad bowl. Dr Dorchester worked in the same superclinic where her mum and dad worked, and were good friends. They had two children: Daisy, who was fifteen, and Noah, who was eighteen. Noah rather vigorously tried to relieve Hermione of the burden of her virginity the previous summer, and may possibly be expecting to pick up where things left off, so to speak.

She glanced through the kitchen window at Draco, who was smiling at something her Dad said. She should warn him.

'Mum, I need to speak to Draco for a minute' –

Ding-dong!

'Oh, dear, they're early!' Jean staggered from the larder with her arms full of produce. 'Can you get the door, dear?'

Hermione dragged her feet to the front door. She supposed it would be rather rude, if not illegal, to obliviate Noah's memories of her. Thinking back to his clumsy, stubby efforts, she shuddered. If there's anyone that could benefit from Mum's sex ed. lecture, it was him.

She sighed, pasted on a smile, and opened the door.

A/N: please stay tuned, readers! Will Draco and Hermione spend another two weeks looking but not touching? Is Draco going to be mobbed by Troy Fendalton's fans every time he steps outside? And who's this Noah dude, anyway?