Ginny, to her credit, didn't blink more than twice when she saw Draco sheepishly standing behind Hermione when they arrived at Grimmauld Place. She stepped aside and her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, strands sticking to her temples and forehead, her hands and face were sooty. Hermione forgot to mention the troll leg and Draco tripped over it, Ginny snorted, but she still looked wary.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked her, tucking a red stray strand behind her ear while Ginny looked like she was holding back a floodgate of relief from barrelling outward. Draco was mumbling sorry, sorry behind them as he fidgeted with the troll foot.

"George sent some boxes over and they started exploding. I-" Ginny hesitated, finding the words, "didn't know if you made these, and I'm not blaming you! But the magic at Grimmauld Place must have set them off and I can't get a handle on it and Harry's not here yet, and he's gonna come back to a ruined house-"

"Where're the packages?" Draco asked quietly, cautiously, but Ginny started anyway. She pointed up the staircase and looked mildly traumatised. Draco nodded, and without looking at them, he continued, "Send an owl to George and explain, maybe he has instructions or some insight that would be useful. I'll-"

"We'll-"

"-go up and deal with it." Draco blinked at Hermione, registering the two women looking at him. "Sorry…work habits." Hermione realised his sleeves were already rolled back onto his lean forearms. Ginny managed a grin, particularly toothy at Hermione before she shot Draco a salute and disappeared into the drawing room up the stairs. Hermione thought she was putting on a brave face because her eyes had lost their fire; she paused at the door and jabbed her finger upward.

"Follow the smell of burning everything." Ginny shut the door behind her and Hermione could almost hear her breathing a sigh of relief through the door. Turned out, following the smell was exactly the directions that worked because finding the smouldering room was easy. Draco hesitated then looked at Hermione before he chuckled.

"What?" Hermione was confused.

"I thought for a second about protecting you, but I realise that's the stupidest idea. If anything, you'd be the one protecting me ." Draco grinned. And with an air of drama, he raised his wand and opened the door, Hermione noticed the smoke refused to enter a bubble of space around them and wondered when Draco had cast the spell.

The room was chaos. This room didn't have a bed or wardrobe in it, Hermione couldn't even remember what it had been before or whose room it was. It was filled almost to the ceiling with stacks and stacks of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes merchandise, the logo branded on every one of them. Boxes in the corner bellowed smoke so ominously, Hermione was reminded of the Battle. She flicked her wand and the smoke cleared for a second, long enough before it oozed more for her to see singe marks on the wallpaper where there was obviously a blast of some kind, sort of in a cluster. Draco placed a bubble around the box, invisible, but the smoke was filling an orb now, the opposite of what he had encapsulated them both with and Hermione let out a breath.

"Ginny doesn't strike me as a panicky person." Draco said, more as an observation, and sort of like caution because he didn't want to underestimate the boxes. Hermione opened her mouth to say that Ginny wasn't-

There was a loud scream, bloodcurdling, a call for help and Hermione almost turned tail to find Ginny to make sure she was alright; before she noticed that the scream came from the boxes. The boxes within the bubble to be exact. Draco looked a little green. Hermione slipped her free hand into his and gripped; she understood what his reaction was, it was hers too. Her heart was thrashing against her ribcage and she could physically feel the rivers of adrenaline seeping into her extremities.

For a moment, Hermione wondered what would possess George to make an object that did that before she breathed a sigh of relief, the scream dying as she did, and a logical explanation justified it. Then she was laughing, humour but more relief than anything. "It's meant to be a distraction. They sell Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and the honking things. I'm sure this is meant to be a distraction." Draco lifted his eyebrow sceptically. Hermione lifted her fingers one at a time, her wand clasped by her thumb against her palm because she didn't want to release his hand. "It's an explosion, minor, judging by the scorch marks, but it was probably loud and attention grabbing; smoke, to make you think there's an emergency; the scream because if you think someone else can handle it, the scream makes you think someone is in immediate danger and they would go running."

"Oh-" Draco's eyes opened with understanding and Hermione saw him being impressed. "That sounds like some of the items the Department was considering getting for us."

"Because they've been buying from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes since the war." Hermione squeezed his hand. "Heck of a first date, Draco." Hermione tiptoed and kissed him lightly then gestured at the almost opaquely black bubble of smoke. "What are we gonna do about this?"

"Well, we can't dispose of them." Draco brushed his chin with the back of his hand, his wand deftly held in his fingers. "I have the activated ones isolated." Hermione was nodding. She jumped when the scream filled the space again and Draco tightened his fingers around her and she relaxed; they waited for the disembodied voice to stutter off and then Draco looked down at her, his eyebrows together like he was thinking.

"I have none magical properties. I can take them there and put up wards so muggles won't come 'round. You can tell Weasley about it and everyone wins? I think I might be saving our department budget too, if I find a way to not destroy these." Draco hummed and Hermione melted at the sound. She realised he did it when he was weighing his thoughts in his head, mulling things over.

"Ok, I'll go tell Ginny." Hermione was reluctant to pull away. He let his finger hook hers before she left him to find Ginny. Ginny was crouched over the writing desk, tears had dried on her cheeks and etched tracks through her sooted skin.

"Hey, it's fine. We took care of it." Hermione stroked her back and stooped. "Did you already write to George?" Ginny nodded but her eyes were empty. She was in shock, Hermione remembered reading the symptoms of PTSD. So she counted with Ginny, one second in, one second out, up to six seconds in, six seconds out; Ginny had long stopped crying, in fact her eyes looked dry and Hermione realised she wasn't blinking. But then she did and she was breathing normally, and Hermione felt the tightness in her chest loosen; the front door opened and Hermione knew Harry had returned home.

He met them in there, he pulled Hermione into a hug and pecked her cheek; Hermione gave them privacy as she returned to the bedroom and found it half emptied, the offending boxes already cleared away. Draco was waving his wand and the boxes vanished one at a time with him giving about a two second delay before moving onto another. He smiled over his shoulder.

"Because this is a Black household, and I guess I have Black blood, the houselves are able to be summoned, I didn't need to send an owl." Draco flicked his wand almost like a symphony conductor and another box vanished. "I have Goose receiving the boxes at one of my stables."

"Oh, that's nice." Hermione said lamely as she watched him work. "Harry's back and he's looking after Ginny. I think she was swallowing a panic attack when we came in. The war-"

Draco nodded and Hermione knew she didn't need to complete the sentence. He cleared his throat. "This was not our first date, Hermione." He said it so seriously, Hermione laughed.

"I knew it wasn't." She felt indignant about it too because he so obviously missed her teasing. Then he smirked and she blushed and everything just felt better with him here.

Hermione returned home to very smiley parents after spending the rest of her afternoon with Ginny, after Harry gave Draco a tour and showed him the Black history. The day had felt like a month and Hermione fell into bed, grinning when she remembered Draco's hand in hers and the way he had taken charge.

When the weekend came around and she was sufficiently rested and restored from that tumultuous first 'date', Hermione found herself so giddy she couldn't sit still. So even after having dressed herself an hour too early because she was in want of something to do (working on joke shop items proved to be a futile attempt), she showered and spent too long brushing her hair so it poofed outward before she magicked it into a bun and then absentmindedly pulled strands loose. There was still too much time before she finally, finally , heard a knock on the door.

Draco had insisted on picking her up. She heard her mother answer the door and the sounds of pleasant greetings drifted up as Hermione walked down the staircase, hardly able to contain her grin. Draco wore a cosy jumper, slouchy and somehow fitting him perfectly at the same time, where the lines fell on his shoulders and the neck hugging him carefully, and soft looking dark pants.

Hermione felt the blush creep up her body like she thought prom girls must feel walking down to meet their dates, because her dad was there watching her too. Draco beamed and Hermione ducked her head and her eyes before she scooted him out of the door with a muffled goodbye to her parents.

"Where are we going?" She managed to ask after her cheeks felt like cheeks again. His arm was linked with hers, and they strode in step, side by side like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they had been doing it for years. The feel of him beside her had uncurled something in her stomach, warm and wanting.

"I'm wining and dining you, Granger." Draco said with a slanted smirk and Hermione's insides swooped. "Ready?" They had gotten to the park, ready to apparate, and the jolt in her stomach, ribcage, then chest had nothing to do with the travel.

They materialised outside a little cottage, a sign swung merrily in the breeze creaking everytime it did. The smell of bread and sauces, butter and herbs, wafted out of it like the air was just made of it, dense with only that so the aromas had become tendrils, calling anyone within its radius toward it. It was open fields and meadows with a treeline in the distance and short rock walls as its only decor.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked as Draco pushed the swinging wooden gate inward to open it with a familiarity that told Hermione this was a place he came to often. Draco looked at her a little devilishly.

"They say this place is run by fairy folk and nymphs." Draco was grinning so brightly his face was nothing like she remembered. How could she have thought him cold before?. Hermione giggled at the sight of it, taking in the whimsy of Draco Malfoy outside a cottage on a seemingly abandoned dirt road in the middle of the countryside.

Hermione had to admit, the place did feel like magic, situated out here and surrounded by nothing and everything. The smells became their air when they pushed through the door; a stout woman with ruddy pink cheeks pulled Draco into a hug.

"Hello, Martha." Draco wore that wide, rare grin. Not so rare, Hermione realised, now that she spent time with him. Her brown hair had stuck to her neck where she was sweating and Hermione thought she smelled like if bread was a person.

"'Oo do we 'ave 'ere?" Martha's hazel eyes shone with interest as they roamed Hermione's face. "Oh!" Martha's eyes sharpened with recognition. "Hermione Granger!" Then Martha turned to Draco and squeezed his arm, followed by a pinch to his bicep and wink, "You sly man. You got 'er!"

Draco blushed and ran his hand through his hair, his blush stretched to a smile and then a grin and Hermione squirmed.

"Nice to meet you, Martha." Hermione greeted her, holding a hand out which was ignored by way of a warm hug akin to Molly Weasley's. "This is amazing. It smells amazing." Amazing was the only word in Hermione's vocabulary at the moment. Everything was muggle, not an ounce of actual magic existed. Another woman, the splitting image of Martha, shuffled out then back into the kitchen quickly, and she yelled hello to Draco without a glance back.

"That's my sister, Maggie." Martha gestured to the vacant space where Maggie had just been. "Sit, sit, I'll bring you the special." She hurried off in an impatient rush, and Hermione wondered how she had slowed down to talk to them to begin with at all. Hermione blinked, and when she finally looked around, she noticed the little cottage had six dining tables with varying amounts of chairs, all mismatched and completely homey, where a family sat at one, two children and their parents, and a lone man sat in a corner, sipping coffee and reading a paper.

"How did you find this place?" Hermione asked when they situated themselves by a window where flowers overflowed from a trough outside, framing the bottom with bright pinks and purples.

"I was foraging-" Draco laughed, "Well, actually, I own a stable near here and I took my horse out for a run and so I can forage, then I smelled the bread and the butter, and it was like it enchanted me. I had to come. I left Polo, the horse, grazing, then came in. I've been coming every week since. They make their living by selling bread to the village a couple miles away."

Hermione never had an experience like it before. The bread bowl was soft and pillowy, small, meant for two, and inside it was cheeses swirled together in a gooey mess. They dipped toasted pieces of a different type of bread and giggled when the strings of cheese wrapped around their chins like tentacles.

What followed was a meal of food that made Hermione nostalgic for something she couldn't place. Until she remembered. It was like Christmas morning with her grandparents; eating roasted potatoes and carrots, with baked chicken and green beans, the specific mix of herbs and spices, and cinnamon wafting through the room from the kitchen like cinnamon cookies for dessert. Draco observed all of this on her face and he reached across the table to touch her limp hand, concern tinted his eyes a little and Hermione smiled.

"I- this place just reminded me of my Grandparents. I miss them." Hermione savoured every bite after. After dinner, they spent some time foraging and Draco took her to visit Polo, a black stallion with a white thin stripe on his forehead and one white sock, who snorted happily into her palm before crunching happily on a carrot, then an apple fed to him one slice at a time.

"Let's take these ingredients home." Draco hefted the basket and Hermione nodded. They linked their arms, and when they appeared at the Manor, Hermione was suddenly aware of how aware she was (again) of Draco against her side. They hadn't been close or alone since they left the dungeon. She had wanted to get to know him, but she also wanted him to touch her. She was starved for it, and he loved her. Her heart made a little flutter of impatience. Draco walked them in, and when he looked down at Hermione, his eyes were blown wide and dark, her thoughts mirrored in his expression.

"I think we've waited long enough." Hermione flushed at her own words. It was days, and usually, she'd like to be wined and dined some more, but... "Leave the basket, take me upstairs?"

Draco didn't hesitate. He slid the basket onto the side table that in a muggle home would have a bowl with keys or wallets, he held her hand and spun where they fell onto his bed and Hermione was giggling.

Their bodies were all limbs, hands roaming and legs tangled. Draco's hands were carefully, but hurriedly, working at the button of her jeans where he groaned in frustration as it refused to budge and Hermione's fingertips were already under his jumper, gliding her nails into the crevices of his muscles as they rippled. Hermione tilted her chin up, begging to be kissed and he obliged, his hands finally simply finding their way against her stomach to her bra, where she shuddered and moaned, fire bursting from his fingertips like tiny spells of pleasure.

And with each other's palms pressed into their skin, flesh against flesh with the barrier of their jumpers and trousers, their breathing steadied and their impatience became languid and savouring. Draco's tongue tasted of honey from the tea at lunch and she was lost in him and the feel of him against her, above her, enveloping her and not crushing her, his thigh fit between hers and a groan escaped both their throats, lips never leaving the other's.

All mirth and clumsiness gave way to an exploration they had stopped short of the previous time they were here. Hermione realised she hadn't even looked at his room at all, because all she could see was Draco. All she wanted to see was Draco.

She unbuttoned her jeans easily and slid the zipper down, Draco's hand had found hers and she grasped the back of his neck as his finger slid into her cotton underwear, gentle until he found her bundle of nerves and he pressed his finger in a torturing circle.

Hermione's back arched and she moaned, her voice echoing back to her and she would have been embarrassed if she could think, but all of her concentration had suddenly belonged to Draco's fingers and his mouth where he trailed his kisses down her jaw because her mouth had fallen open and kissing was not possible.

"Merlin, Hermione." Draco spoke it into her neck where he trailed kisses, pressing his lips to the fabric of her jumper. He withdrew his hand and she whimpered at the lack of contact but he was tugging her jeans off her hips and she helped by kicking them off. As he tugged it off her feet, she was throwing off her jumper and she was suddenly aware that she was now sitting on his bed in her bra and underwear, both black and lacy (the only pair she owned), and he was watching her, all of her, his eyes never staying on one part of her for longer than a second; until finally he was back to her face and his cheeks were flushed and his lips were bruised and parted.

"I'd say there's an imbalance here." Hermione jerked her chin at his clothed body and Draco immediately dragged his jumped off and dropped his jeans. And Hermione couldn't breathe, the sight of him. He wasn't all chiselled muscle and defined abs. He was like a marble sculpture, smooth but visible definition of his finely used body, the muscles taught where he held himself over her, the cut of his hips delicately sloping down to the fuzz of blond, short hair that bristled against his black shiny boxers. His hair was falling into his eyes and his jaw was clenched in what looked like restraint.

Hermione reached up to his neck and pulled him toward her until their bodies lay flush against each other and her underwear was soaked through by the feel of it against Draco's thigh. Somewhere along the way, she lost her bra, and his mouth met her nipple hungrily with a swirl of his tongue. The sight of him against her, consuming her forced her eyes closed as she moaned to the ceiling and agonised beneath him.

Her hands had a mind of its own and they roamed everywhere, tracing the lines of his back, to the dip of his spine, then the dimples at the lowest part of his back before her hands were grabbing fistfulls of his flesh and pulling him against her where she ached again to be touched, but he was withholding himself like torture.

His breaths were as shaky as hers and she laughed, and he chuckled but they were kissing so it came as soft breaths against each other's lips and cheeks.

"Draco, please. " Hermione whimpered when Draco's thigh pressed against her again, more forcefully and deliberate than before, like he was toying with her and all she could feel was everything coiled inside of her where he met her, and where he was hard against her hip, painful where he sunk against her flesh. He had to be torturing himself too, because his boxers were damp against her skin.

Her breathy plea seemed to control him and he sat back and rid himself of his boxers. Hermione tried not to stare, but without a stitch on him, he was simply beautiful. Long lines and liquid, lean muscle, pale skin, hair, and eyes, like the moon come to earth. Before she could protest, he was between her legs and his breath was hot where she was wet, his fingers hooked her lacy underwear at her hips and he pulled to expose her. Her legs widened involuntarily and he dragged his tongue against the length of her before concentrating his attention to the throbbing knob of flesh that controlled Hermione right now- or made her relinquish control.

Where his tongue worked, it distracted until the last second that his fingers had found their way into her and had curled into her to press against the inside of her like no one ever had before and she shuddered, one hand lost in Draco's hair and the other clasped over her mouth as she gasped, squirming away from him, but he pulled her back and held her waist firm as he worked; her thighs tightened on his shoulders, she had no idea when she had draped them there.

She would feel embarrassed if she could think. She was undone completely and her body was molten. Draco dragged his palm across his mouth, grinning, his chin still damp.

"You taste like a dessert worth having every day, Hermione." Draco was over her now, and Hermione was still dazed, quivering under him as waves of pleasure rippled through her. And his thumb was against her clit again, slow and solid so that the pleasure she felt was less of a shock and more like riding the waves of her last orgasm into another. She lifted her legs and linked them around him, and he was at her entrance, solid and pressing forward until he slipped in and groaned, almost falling limply onto Hermione.

There were no words for it, he filled her so completely she didn't think there was room to move. It didn't hurt, instead it was a pressure against all the pleasurable places inside her and she wanted to sob, it felt so intoxicating. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him there, so he relaxed onto her, into her, and pressed his lips to her shoulder, his breaths were shaky,

"I'll come if I move." Draco said weakly. Hermione laughed and stroked his hair before kissing his ear.

"It'll just make us even." She said into the shell of his ear, shifting her hips a little so they were flush against each other; she could feel his heart hammer against her breast and heard him gasp. "Come for me, Draco."

He didn't need encouragement, he shifted, sliding from her before he sunk into her again, and again, she sank her teeth into his shoulder because her own pleasure was unbearable.

And his rhythm increased just as Hermione broke again, her legs tightening as her hips buckled against him and back arched, his breath came in a shudder and Hermione held him to her so when he came, he stilled inside her and she could feel him pulsing, liquid warmth spreading through her.

"Bloody hell." Draco panted against her skin. "I'm sorry, that was poor."

"Poor? I haven't stopped orgasming." Hermione quirked her eyebrow at him, laughing, and he grinned, proud and sheepish at the same time. She held him to her even as he softened and slipped from her, stroking his hair and kissing his hairline. After ten minutes, he scooped her up and ran a bath in his too big, claw footed bathtub with too many soaps and they let their bodies recover. Hermione was pleased and embarrassed at the marks she had spread like spider webs across his shoulders.

She noticed lovebites on the insides of her thighs and she was pleasantly sore as she sunk against Draco's chest, her chin on her shoulder, bubbles cupping her breasts where his thumbs occasionally stroked absentmindedly.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." Draco said into her hair. He dried her, delicately soaking water droplets from her skin and kissing places along the way, like the curve of her breast, the wing of her clavicle, the dip in her neck, her sternum, her hips, her thighs.

When they made love again that evening, it was with care, and learning. Draco's eyes were always filled with awe from just gazing at her and she felt like the sun. Draco was unabashedly naked and Hermione found that she loved looking at him stroking himself, that she loved to tease him with shy movements that let him think she was being coy.

He didn't lie about liking the taste of her. He got her undone with his tongue again. When she returned the favour, he almost couldn't look at her and she couldn't remember sex being so fun.

They didn't keep track of time, they might have been having breakfast or dinner, but it didn't matter because toast and tea with jam and cookies were all perfect.

When she woke the following morning or afternoon (the curtains did a wonderful job blocking any light), Hermione felt absolutely at bliss. Like everything was right and had fallen into place. She reached her arm around and found the bed empty. She sat up.

"Draco?" She was holding the sheets to her chest, the room was warm but she felt cold. Then the door opened and he grinned when he saw her. In his palm, he balanced a tray with what smelled like breakfast. Eggs and bacon, sausages and beans and toast with tea.

"An owl came for you." Draco said as he slid onto the bed. Hermione let the blanket slip from her hands and felt Draco's eyes drink her in appreciatively.

"Oh. Thank you. I keep getting mail at your place, sorry." Draco laughed and kissed her temple. Hermione broke the Ministry's seal. And in it was a thick piece of parchment with a job offer.