Over the next four days, Hermione began to feel slightly settled in, both in her new environment and in her new whatever-it-was with Draco. They had yet to officially discuss their "situation." Hermione was positive that it was more than a friends with benefits thing, but going so far as to declare it a relationship—that was a little scary. She wasn't quite ready for that big of a change yet. Plus, what if Ron and Harry found out? It'd be even harder to repair their friendship.

She was sitting at the kitchen table with some tea, recovering from a cleaning attack on the bathroom that had resulted in a shower of dust falling from the ceiling, when Draco bounced into the room, humming and clearly pleased with himself.

"Guess what?" he announced, sitting down backwards on a chair.

"You were attacked by a swarm of vultures who stole all your money and ate the couch," said Hermione, who was covered in dust and mildew and not in the greatest of moods.

"Nope." Draco displayed the miniature couch, which he had taken to be reupholstered, and brought it back to its normal size.

"The couch man told you that it would cost a million galleons to fix the couch, and then a swarm of vultures came down from the sky and—"

He sighed. "How about I just tell you?"

Hermione gave him a petulant stare from over the top of her mug.

"I can stay here with you for two more days," he announced, beaming. "I just found out that the Ministry has advised all wizards not to Apparate to London until Wednesday. You know that big committee meeting they're having? Apparently there are going to be so many people attending that Apparations will be dangerous."

Hermione brightened a bit and spouted off some complex calculation that explained exactly why it would be so dangerous, which ultimately meant that two people could collide in midair and exchange body parts.

Draco pulled a face. "That's disgusting."

Hermione shrugged. "I didn't make the rules." She took another sip of tea and suddenly realized something. "Draco, what are you going to do all day while I'm at work?"

"I don't know." It was his turn to shrug. "I'll find something. I'm sure there'll be enough around here to do." He cast a critical stare around the apartment, which was in a very sad state of disrepair.

"It was the only one left in the building," Hermione said, feeling rather defensive about her new home. "They wanted me to be in the same place as the rest of the staff."

"I know," Draco said quickly. "I was just—um—suggesting that it would be nice of me to help you out here. . . ." He trailed off, not wanting to lose any more ground than he already had.

Hermione grimaced and held up her mold-speckled arm. "Hey, I'm not saying you're wrong. Thanks. I'd love the help."

"Good."

Hermione, foreseeing an awkward silence about to occur, got up and began clanking around in the sink with her mug.

"What time is it?" she called over the noise of running water.

"Almost nine."

"I should probably try to get some sleep," Hermione said, yawning and stretching her arms above her head. "Big day tomorrow."

"Mm."

"Goodnight, then."

She started down the hallway towards her bedroom, but stopped short as Draco called after her, "That's it?"

She turned and stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"'Goodnight, then?'" he repeated. "That's all I get?"

"Oh." Hermione cottoned on and blushed. "I—um—I—"

"C'mere, you," Draco said, patting his knee and looking highly suggestive. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Hermione went over to him and carefully perched on his knee.

"Draco," she began hesitantly as he wrapped his arms around her, "I think we need to talk."

"About what?" Draco asked, his face buried in her hair. "You smell nice."

"I smell dusty," she corrected, shivering as he fluttered a finger down her bare arm, "and you're changing the subject."

"Am I?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, and without breaking their eye contact, brought her hand up to his lips. "Or," he whispered, muffled, "is it even relevant?" He placed a gentle kiss on each knuckle.

"Draco," she whispered, closing her eyes and shuddering, "seriously. . . ."

"Do you really want to talk right now?" he asked teasingly. "I, personally, would much rather—"

"Draco! Could you please listen to me?!"

"Avoiding the subject is what I'm doing," he said, in response to her earlier comment, "because I don't feel like it's a necessary subject."

"Well, I do," Hermione said firmly, folding her arms. "I mean, what exactly is this? What are we doing?"

He shrugged. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes, it does!" She was incredibly frustrated. "I need to know!"

"Why?"

"Because—" She was finding it hard to put her feelings into words. "Because I—I—well, I know what I think, but it's hard to say."

"So what, you don't like it?" He was beginning to look slightly put out. "I thought—"

"No, I do like it," she interrupted, turning rosy, "I'm just a bit confused about exactly what it is."

"But does it matter what it is?" Draco asked, looking directly into her eyes. "Can't we just let things progress as they are?"

"I need to know what it is!" Hermione practically shouted. "Doesn't it bother you, living it without knowing what exactly it is, what you can and can't do? Don't you want to feel more settled in because you know if it's a relationship, you know if it's just a benefits thing, you know what it is?!"

She was expecting a highly emotional retort, but all he said was "Ahh," and leaned back looking as though he had just figured something out.

"'Ahh' what?" Hermione said grouchily.

"Would you like it to be a relationship?" he asked directly, ignoring her question.

"That's the problem," Hermione said, fidgeting, "I don't know."

"Do you want to just take things slowly and see what happens?"

"I—uh—okay. Sure." There was a long silence.

"Are we going to get awkward because of this?" A slow smile was beginning to curve Draco's lips.

"That wasn't my intention," she said apologetically. "I just wanted to find out."

"I didn't help much, did I?"

"No," she grinned, feeling more relaxed, "not really, no."

"So this 'talk' hasn't changed anything, right?" he probed.

"Not a bit," Hermione said, feeling much happier than she had ever since the bathroom had decided to rain dust on her. "Except I think maybe I might have become bipolar recently. Because I don't see how else I could have gone from slightly depressed about mold to nervous to grouchy to raging to happy now."

"It's just the effect I have on people," Draco said, grinning.

"I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable," Hermione said to her lap, lacing her fingers through his.

"Quite understandable. I forgive you."

"No awkwardness?"

"Nope."

"Good."

There was a pause.

"Are you sure?" she asked, grinning and poking him in the side, hoping to elicit a smile.

She succeeded. "Miss Granger," he growled, poking her back, "I'm not so sure you want to be doing that."

"Actually, Mister Malfoy," she said with a mock-solemn expression, jabbing him again, "I rather think that I do."

"And the consequences?" he threatened teasingly, wrapping his arms around her and exhaling into her neck.

"I'm not terribly worried," Hermione whispered, reaching up to weave her fingers through his hair.

Draco sighed. "As much as I don't want to suggest this, you probably should go to bed. Big day tomorrow." He unwound his arms and gave her a tiny peck on the forehead.

"Hmm," Hermione groaned, standing up and stretching. "I suppose you're right. Good night." She slowly made her way towards her room, stopped at the door and blew him a kiss, and went inside.

"Good night," Draco said softly.

*     *     *

"Okay. I can do this."

Draco, standing behind her at the fireplace the next morning, squeezed her shoulders gently. "They'll all love you."

"I hope so." Hermione took a deep breath and forced a smile. "See you later." She stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a swirl of green flames.

She emerged into a large room very similar to the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic. She was swept into a sort of flood of people making their way to a set of doors that read "STAFF ENTRANCE". Once through the doors, Hermione shoved her way over to the side of the hallway to let the masses go by, and then began walking more slowly, reading the doors and looking for the office. Once she located it, she timidly knocked on the door, and heard a gruff, "Come in."

She stepped inside, a bit wary about what she was going to find. The office was cluttered with odd contraptions that reminded her forcefully of some of Dumbledore's possessions. Behind a huge desk piled with paperwork sat a large, balding man wearing sky blue robes.

"Miss Granger, I presume?" he said, after a pause during which Hermione stared around the office.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," she babbled. "Hermione Granger. I'm very sorry. Everything in here is so interesting and. . . ." She trailed off and stuck out her hand rather feebly. The man grasped it.

"Jerome Hutchins, Head of Staff," he said, with what he clearly thought was a winning grin. "Love the accent."

"Er. . . ."

"So," Jerome said quickly, sorting through one of the paper mountains in front of him. "You're the new girl, eh?" He pulled out what Hermione recognized as her résumé, and scanned it, muttering to himself. "Hmm . . . yes . . . well, I think I'll start you off up on Fourth. Spell Damage, you know."

"So, is the building set up the same way as St. Mungo's, then?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Jerome said absently, jotting something down on an official-looking form. "We've found it's easiest to get all the hospitals organized the same way. So people don't get confused coming in from other places, you know." He barked out a wheezy laugh.

"Ah," Hermione said intelligently. She watched him scribbling. "What will I be doing?"

"You can help the Healer-in-Charge, Jenna Faye. Run errands, help distribute potions, that sort of thing."

"I—uh—" Hermione took a deep breath. "I thought that my job description was a bit different than that."

"Hmm?" Jerome said, looking confused. "Oh—this will be just to get you used to working here, you know. Can't let you off on your own until you know the place, eh?"

"But if it's just like Mungo's," Hermione put in, desperate not to be reduced to an errand girl, "then I won't have any problem."

Jerome shrugged. "Sorry, dear. Everyone starts the same way."

"But I didn't apply to be a messenger girl!" Hermione said, fighting back tears. She dug into her satchel and pulled out her acceptance letter. "Look, it says here that my job includes "brewing and testing medicinal potions in the research department." I went to college to learn how to do this, Mr. Hutchins!"

"Really?" Jerome grabbed the parchment and brought it close to his face. "Whaddya know? Forgot all about that."

"So where should I go, then?" Hermione asked, relieved.

"Oh, I'm still starting you off with Jenna," Jerome said firmly, handing the letter back. "You'll get into this as soon as possible. I need to get everything sorted out. This wasn't entered in my records."

"I—oh, fine," Hermione said wearily. "I'll go find her, then."

"See ya later, Hermione!" Jerome waved cheerily at her. Hermione slammed the office door behind her and stalked off to find her new boss. She was not at all happy with the arrangement. If she hadn't been afraid of getting fired, she would have refused to leave the office until her demands were met—but losing the job before she had even started it was not acceptable. So—just for now—she would listen to Jenna.

*     *     *

beachLEMON: Oh. My. Gosh. You just made me cry (happy tears). Thank you so much.