That week, Hermione found a takeaway cup of coffee at her desk at work every day. Splash of milk, two sugars. He didn't say anything about it, waving her off when she thanked him the first day. They kept coming, she thought about saying something about the expense of spending a Galleon a week on coffee, but thought better of it.

They didn't talk about the night they spent together, however innocent, or the fact that he had goaded Ron into believing otherwise. Hermione had decided it wasn't worth the hassle and wasn't totally sure she wanted to hear his response to it. Instead they talked, like they always did, about cases and coworkers, the latest in the medical magazines and in fiction they had read. On Friday, he invited her to come over the next night for another round of their project.

So that was how Hermione ended up in Draco's posh London flat, luxury space in a renovated old building. The floo connection he'd given her deposited her in a foyer space, the grandness of the fireplace only matched by the grandness of the bookshelf opposite it. These books were old, leather bound, she recognized some and others were brand new, though none looked like Dark Arts, at least based on the cover alone. She ran her hand over the spine of Hogwarts: A History, that looked to be a hundred years old.

"You can go shopping with those too," came a voice from the doorway that made her jump. Must be something about the cold marble that made the place feel creepy. She shook it off and turned to face him, he was in jeans this time, no doubt designer, and a raglan sleeve shirt rolled up his nicely toned arms. She shook that off too. Possibly more notably, he was holding a mostly-drunk glass of what looked like firewhiskey. "The only books I really care about are in my bedroom or the office."

"You have multiple bookshelves?"

"Don't we talk about books all the time, Hermione? C'mon the tour,"

He led her into the living space, which was equally grand for a relatively small space. It was like a mansion in miniature. Though the blind trust controlled the Malfoy fortune and they had given most of it away after the war - by court order and by philanthropy - it clearly was so deep Draco could afford to live very comfortably.

It wasn't exactly much of a tour, more just him gesturing around the large open space. The living area, a velvet sofa and a couple of wingback chairs, the dining space, detailed woodworking on a maple colored table for four, likely from the third dining room in the manor, and the kitchen, finally a space that looked like a 25-year old bachelor lived there. "Drinking before a procedure? That's not protocol," she tried to keep the edge off her voice.

"None of this is protocol," he laughed looking over his shoulder. "And just one or two."

She looked at him as he sat down next to her on the sofa, "is it one or is it two?"

"Two," he said, finishing it off and summoning the glass bottle from the bar cart.

"You've had two or this is two?"

"Granger! Merlin, what's with the interrogation?"

She felt a burst of anger but it soon gave way to something else. There was something in the knit of his brow, the tension in his shoulders. "Is something wrong, Draco?"

He sighed and put down the firewhiskey, picking up a stack of folders and papers from the table and arranging them neatly. "Pansy just left, you remember her from school?"

"Parkinson? How could I ever forget. Didn't you two…"

"We were supposed to get engaged, long story, arranged marriages, very dull. Tried to make the most of it by fooling around when we were teenagers but it never was really there. Turns out all we felt for each other was fondness between friends."

Hermione smiled a little at that, "I know the feeling."

He nodded, "anyway, she's a solicitor now, defense mostly, and she's damn good. We're trying to get the terms of mum's house arrest changed so she can sell the Manor and not have to be there."

"I didn't know she was on house arrest. I thought parole, like you."

Draco smiled something a little bit sad, "like I said, Pansy's good. Mum couldn't take the humiliation. Society was her life for twenty some years. All those people reading about it in the papers…she'd sooner leave England forever."

"But she can't, because of the house-arrest."

"Right, all she can do is come here. Our appeal was denied because there's no confidence we can sell the Manor given…everything. We were just on the floo, I offered to break the lease on this place, find something with two real bedrooms and have her live with me but she says it's unbecoming of a bachelor to live with his mum and if I'm determined to find a wife on my own that simply won't do."

He groaned and tipped his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose like he had an immense headache. "I'm sorry, putting this on you. Tough life, being ex-Death Eaters trapped in a mausoleum of your own making, huh?"

"I dunno, I get it. I'd do anything for my parents," it caught in her throat despite her efforts to keep her voice steady and Draco looked over at her, guiltier than before.

"What you've done for your parents is a whole lot harder than paperwork."

"Probably," she said quietly, "but I get it."

He cleared his throat, "shall we get on with the procedure so you can start catching up?"

Draco's bathroom was larger, she had to cross the room after washing her hands in the sink to get to the large clawfoot tub where he sat, his sleeve rolled up all the way. She noticed he was trembling a little, maybe from the booze.

"Ready?" she asked and waited for him to nod. "And you'll tell me if the pain gets too intense?"

"Yes, let's get it over with."

Hermione took a deep breath and began applying the serum like she did the first time. They had managed to brew a more potent version of the venom antidote in her kitchen. The hope was it would work more quickly but as he winced when it touched his skin, she wondered if they had gone too far. He waved her off again and looked away as she spoke the incantation and started to trace the dark mark.

After their first session, he had described it as his skin being snapped with a rubber band, over and over and over again, every second her wand was on his arm. Other than that description, which she felt he was probably even downplaying, all she had to go off was the smell. And the smell was awful.

Malfoy gripped the side of the tub and muttered curse words to himself, and then one to her when she reminded him to breathe. His knuckles were turning white and his breathing was ragged, but she had promised to keep going unless he said to stop, so she did. The stopping at starting was worse, he said. Much, much worse.

So she didn't stop, even as he made one noise that made the hair on her neck stand up, something close to a whimper, or as his breathing got shallower and shallower. She only stopped when she felt his body go limp beside her and he slumped down to the bathroom floor.

"Draco! Draco!" She held onto his shoulders as he came to a second or two later, "shit, Draco."

He sat himself up, his eyes still a little glossy, "fuck. Did I pass out?"

"Yes you blacked out you…you…you imbecile! You were supposed to say something if the pain got too intense!"

"Well I started seeing stars, that seemed reasonable."

"Reasonable? You thought it seemed reasonable? And you didn't say anything at all, didn't clue me into the fact you were about to lose consciousness?

"Worried about me, Granger?"

She shoved his shoulder at that, "of course I was! You scared the hell out of me! We're supposed to be a team, how am I supposed to keep you safe if you're not telling me what's going on? If any patient of yours did that, you'd be livid. Honestly what a stupid, short-sided-"

Hermione didn't get to finish that sentence, because suddenly he was kissing her. One hand was on the nape of her neck, cradling her chin and pulling her into him. The other was around her waist, steadying her from the surprise. It wasn't just a peck, it was a deep kiss, the kind that blocked everything else in the world out and completely engulfed her. She could hear her own heartbeat pulsing in her ears and pressed into his arms, desperate to be closer and closer to him.

It broke for a second, both of them gasping for air. Before she knew it, she was kissing him again, his hand running along the small of her back, pulling him into him. They were so close she was practically in his lap, and she found herself thinking she might rather like to be in his lap at this moment. The kiss continued, and it may have continued forever, had he not grazed a narrow strip of bare skin where her t-shirt had risen up. It set her on fire, and broke her out of whatever temporary insanity had overtaken her. She broke the kiss and pushed off from him, he dropped his hands to the floor, though she missed their touch right away.

They looked at each other, breathless. "I could slap you for that," she said.

"Yes."

"But you're in pain, so I won't."

He grinned, "bright side. I uh…I don't know what came over me there."

She looked away, trying not to blush, "well there's not enough oxygen going to your brain. So I'll look past it."

"Right," he said, and then, "so what's your excuse?"

Hermione stood up suddenly, jittery, "you're feeling alright?"

"Uh, yeah, mostly. Better than last time."

"I'll leave some of that pain draught for you."

"You're not staying?"

She shook her head, arms crossed over her chest defensively, "no, I should go."

"Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…I'm sorry"

"It's fine, really, I just have to go,"

"Clearly it's not," he stood up tentatively, bracing himself against the wall, "I'm sorry. If I thought you didn't want me to kiss you I never would've-"

"Draco." Her voice was harsh and it stopped him mid-sentence. "I'm gonna go now, owl me if it gets bad, okay?"

"Okay."

He waited until she had left the room, until she had bounded down the entire staircase, and until he heard the distinctive sound of a floo departing his fireplace. Then he kicked the basket of dirty clothes next to the vanity.

"Fuck!"