"So, tell me about these dreams you've been having."

"Not 'dreams,'" I protested. "Dream. Singular. And I haven't 'been having' it either. Just one dream. Just one time, alright? And it wasn't even that big a deal. Why I hardly think about it at all. I mean, it isn't as though I were fixated on it, or something…"

"Really? Well, then, why are you here, Miss Granger?"

That was a very good question. One that I had been asking myself for the last fifteen minutes.

'Here' was the plush gray couch near the window of the offices of one Dr. Nancy Calloway, Ph.D. muggle psycho-analyst, and, from what I'd deduced in the last quarter hour, complete quack. So much so that I had nearly forgotten why I initially came here, and was about two seconds from grabbing my coat, and storming out.

But for course there was a world of difference between 'nearly forgotten,' and 'completely forgotten.' The fact of the matter was that the events of this last week had left me feeling… distracted, to say the least. And I was more than a little disturbed at the form that distraction had taken. After this morning, the last thing I wanted to do was analyze that bloody dream. I was much more interested in forgetting it.

And there had to be something wrong with any psychoanalyst that took walk-ins.

"Come on, Miss Granger. Relax. Lay back down, and tell my what's troubling you."

"Thanks anyway, but I think I've had just about enough therapy."

"Very well, it's your call. But make sure to make a second appointment on your way out."

"Second appointment!" I stared, open mouthed, and shocked. Did she perhaps not understand the situation? I decided I'd better inform her. "I don't think so. You've helped me so much today, that I don't think a second visit will be necessary."

Dr. Calloway raised too-perfectly groomed eyebrows at me, and regarded me over her horn-rimmed glasses. "Is that so?"

"I'm sorry, I do realize that repeat business is your bread and butter, but…"

Her nostrils flared "Miss Granger, are you suggesting…"

"I most certainly am!"

She huffed, then sighed. "I can see why he cheated on you."

The air left my body in a great 'whoosh,' and I had to double over at the feeling of being punched in the stomach. "W-what did you say?" I croaked out, when I got my breath back.

"Your boyfriend… you really do seem like such a well put together person. Quick witted, smart, resourceful… and yet… I think it's obvious that your anger and sarcasm mask a hurt and fear."

"How did you—"

"Tell me about this dream."

"Fine. Alright… well, earlier this week I was involved in an accident. I was knocked unconscious, and before I came to, I had… well…" I blushed. I couldn't help myself. "I had a dream of a very personal nature, involving my boss… except… I really do hate him."

"hm…"

"You see, before he was my boss, we were in professions that put us at odds. And before that, we were in boarding school together, and he was always a bit of a snob and a terror. And to say this dream came as a shock… well…" I paused, then asked in a much smaller voice, "how did you know about my break-up?"

She smiled, and for a second, I thought she'd say something like 'trade secret' and refuse to tell me. "I guessed."

"You… you guessed!"

"Well, it was an educated one, to be sure. There was the erotic dream, which indicates a lack of sexual… um… release, the bitterness in your eyes…"

"But, surely, you don't think I desire my employer!"

"I didn't say that. Dreams are economists. Most likely you were using the dream to express two different ideas. The fact that it was erotic in nature suggests a desire for companionship, and the fact that it featured your boss indicates a change in your feelings toward him. Had he done something specific to earn your trust?"

I thought back to the horror that had been the last to weeks in Malfoy's employ. "No… not… well, the accident… something he gave me saved my life."

"There, so, you want someone, and you trust your boss… two totally un-related ideas."

"You're sure?"

"Most likely."

I sighed in relief, and turned to the window… and almost fell off the couch. Sitting on the ledge, near smirking, with a piece of parchment curled in his talons was Omen.

I left the office in a whirl, without even stopping at the receptionist's desk to make an appointment for the follow up. As quickly as my legs could carry me, I was out the door, and ducked into the alley, and half a moment later, Omen's talons were digging into my arm.

He regarded me for a moment, his head cocked to the side, beak open in a avian grin, eyes dancing in amusement.

"What's so funny, bird-brain?" I asked testily, taking the parchment he offered.

I began to unfold it, but stopped half way through, biting my lip.

"How much of that did you hear?"

His eyes flashed green.

"Could you… could you please not tell your master about this? I'd consider it a personal favor"

he snapped his beak twice, as if to say 'now who could I tell with these vocal chords?' but he didn't fool me for a second.

Granger,

I'll return your clothes to you tonight, around eight. The question is: 'your place, or mine?'

D.M.

'your place, or mine?' my eyes stuck on those word, and I stood, riveted to the spot… your place or mine, written in his flowing script, the curve of the words conjuring up the delicious sounds of his voice. Caressing each syllable. I imagined his tongue, stroking across the surfaces of the sounds, dipping into the hollows of the breaths between words, delving…

Omen chose just moment, to give a shrill, impatient call, and I could have kissed the bird for pulling me out of my reverie… there was no telling where that train of thought had been headed, and I was rather glad it was called back to the station.

No. No, this had to stop. Since when did I wax poetic about one of Malfoy's rude little notes?

Since the stupid dream? No, but it had certainly opened the door for it.

And about that dream, rationally explained or not, it had still been damned disturbing. God, I was tired of thinking about it!

"He wants a reply, does he?" I took my wand from where it was tucked, under my jacket, in the waist band of my jeans, and muttered an inking spell. "I'll give him a reply," I muttered, turning the parchment over against a wall, and scrawling something on the back of it.

Malfoy,

Listen, you slimy little toad, I have no intention of ever setting foot inside your manner again! And as for dropping by my flat, I would have to advise against it, as I would be well within my rights to hex you into a not-so-peaceful oblivion.

No, I think I'll just swing by your office later, I have something to discuss with you anyway.

H. Granger

"Here," I informed the bird, stretching the paper toward him, "take this to your master… and, uh, remember, personal favor…"

He may have winked, as he took off, but I couldn't be sure of that.

I watched him disappear into the clouds, and heaved a sigh.

100 pound that little 53 minute session had cost me, and I was probably worse off than before… no definitely worse off, because now that stupid bird knew I'd dreamed about Malfoy, and no amount of conspiratorial winks could convince me that my secret was anywhere near safe with him.

Christ, I thought Malfoy's ego was bad before… imagine it now.

And the good Doctor had said it meant nothing… Nothing! And so what if I couldn't even read one of his notes without picturing his milky white skin stretched over the delicate bones of his wrist, as his hand dipped and moved, dragging the quill tip along the paper. It didn't mean I didn't hate him, or want to see him behind cold iron bars for the rest of his unnatural life. It didn't mean I desired him… just that, no matter how low, how dispicable I found him, I was beginning to trust him.

The whole thing gave me a pounding headache, why did it have to be so difficult?

I hated Malfoy worse now, than I ever had before my 'growing trust' had caused me to conjure up images of… well, what they were of wasn't important. In fact, I shouldn't think of them ever again.

And what I really needed right now, was a nice long soak… let's see… approximately seven minutes for Omen to get my reply to Malfoy…another fifteen for him to have my stuff flooed, five for him to give his secretary a quick shag (I gritted my teeth at the thought, and felt the overwhelming urge to apparate into his office, hex him just because I could) actually, better make that two minutes, didn't want to give him too much credit… 24 minutes, roughly.

Well, not enough time for a really good soak, but I could at least get a shower in.

With a sigh, a swish and a flick, I was standing in my living room.

The shower did me an amazing bit of good, although the moment pre-shower that I spent agonizing over what to do with the knickers Malfoy had given me was a little less than relaxing.

I didn't want them, you see. What use did I have for such a racy pair of underwear? I have always been a comfort over style girl, and the knickers went against that basic philosophy. On the other hand, returning them was out of the question. The thought of giving Malfoy something that had been so, er, intimately worn first drained all the blood from my face, then sent it rushing back into my cheeks full force. No, I couldn't return them… then perhaps I could destroy them… no, if I didn't give them back, I felt I should at the very least pay to have them replaced, and Veela's Secret didn't come cheep. No one destroys a pair of knickers that cost nearly enough to buy a small country.

"God, I hope the check is worth it," I grumbled as I preformed a cleaning charm on the robes he'd lent me. Those at least I could return.

I hung them up neatly on the bathroom door until I was ready to leave, and exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body… and nearly dropped it when I saw what was on my couch.

Shoes. It was shoes. Sitting there on the arm of my couch, and while I couldn't see anything else from my hallway, I imagined that those shoes were filled with feet, that connected to ankles, that led to calves, to thighs, to a slim torso, to a slender neck, to a face upon which, I surmised, sat the smirking mouth, and mirth filled eyes of Draco Malfoy.

I shrieked in rage, "you rat!" It came out as a battle cry. I'd left my wand in the bathroom, but didn't let that stop me from attacking, launching myself toward the couch with an unrestrained fury.

How dare he. How dare he! After I told him explicitly not to come to my flat again.

I was inches away from attack, when Ron sat up, and stared at me with shocked, fearful eyes.

"Eep!" that was the sound a cry of rage made when swallowed.

"Under a bit of stress, are we?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"You could say that." I said with a sigh, tightening my towel, and motioning for him to move his legs. He obliged, sitting up, and scooting over to make room for me, and I slid heavily onto the seat next to him.

"Ron, why are you here, unannounced… I thought you were Malfoy. I was ready to strangle you."

"I saw that… look, I'm sorry to show up like this, but… God, Hermione, I was worried. You were barely able to walk last night when I put you on the knight bus, and when I flooed to make sure you got home okay, you didn't answer. You still weren't answering this morning, either, so I figured I'd stop by after work. You know, just to check on you." He gave me a lopsided little grin, "It has been one hell of a week. I mean, the last thing I wanted was to get another call from my mother saying he clock told her you were seriously injured."

"Injured? No, I wasn't injured last night… Ron, did you really put me on the Knight bus?"

"Well, of course, 'friends don't let friends apparate drunk'" he quoted, with a grin, "why?"

I growled, and leaned my head onto the back of the couch. "They must have gotten the address wrong, because I ended up at Malfoy manor last night."

"You what!"

I nodded, but didn't open my eyes. "Yes. I came to this morning with a horrendous hangover, and Malfoy grinning down at me like an idiot. That sadistic bastard really must enjoy my pain."

"Well… yes. That's what it means to be sadistic…" he paused, "Malfoy manor? I swear, I told him to take you back to your appartment. The last place you needed to go last night was to see Malfoy." He shook his head, "you were ranting about him when we left the bar. Absolutely ranting. I'm sure you must have told him all sorts of unrepeatable things."

I snorted. "What's he going to do, huh? He's already got me in the palm of his hand. This is rock bottom, there's no going any lower."

"Yes there is, believe me. You just think so because you've never been lower. And if you're in the palm of a man's hand, for god sakes, don't give him a reason to squeeze."

Ron's concern was touching, and I couldn't help but smile. "Worried for me?"

"Well, yeah, this is Malfoy we're talking about."

I looked him in the eyes then, "tell me about it. The worst thing is, he hasn't really made any move to retaliate. I show up at his house, wasted, and howling for blood, then wake up the next morning and accuse him of taking advantage of me. He can't be very happy with me at this moment, and I'm just sure he's got some sort of revenge planned, like a shorter skirt on my waitressing uniform. But luckily, it's Friday, and I have all weekend to forget about it."

"Wish I got weekends off, but Saturdays are a big business day, and Fred and George would have a fit if I missed." He shrugged, "oh well, no Footlong Staffs for me…"

"Nine Inch Wands, and yes, It's very nice. After I meet with Malfoy tonight, I can…" I gasped, jumping up, and running back down the hall.

"Sorry, Ron," I called over my shoulder, "but I forgot, I've got to meet with him tonight to discuss my most recent bit of evidence, and to… well, it isn't important… anyway, I have to be running."

"No problem, I'll see myself out," he called back to me.

I can't say much about getting dressed. Lets just say landspeed records were broken, and leave it at that.

By the time I walked through the glass double doors of Malfoy international, and passed the front desk with a nod to Darla, it had been a good 30 minutes since I sent Omen.

"He's still up there, isn't he?" I asked, waiting for the elevator to descend to pick me up.

"Oh, yes, and he said to send you right up when you got here. I'll warn you, he didn't seem entirely thrilled."

I couldn't help but to smirk.

"Good."

Darla bit her lip, "I know he's a bit difficult to handle, and, okay, he's more often than not a royal jerk, but it really doesn't pay to provoke him."

"Why is everyone telling me that?"

but the elevator arrived just at that moment, and I never got her answer.

It didn't really matter, I supposed, I would know soon enough.

Okay, this was way too long a space between updates. Sorry guys. I was sure I'd have this one out sooner, but I lost track of time. Anyway, here you go!

I have heard through the grapevine, that the fic suggestion thing has to be cut. Seems a bit odd to me, but I suppose this means I'll have to start using my favorites lists… damn, that means I have to log in when I' m not posting… oh well.

Oh, on a weirder note, I got an email the other day from someone who edits HP stories for a website, asking if I'd submitted this fic under another name, and apparently someone had tried to plagiarize this story. Um… why? It seems so pointless to try to take credit for someone else's fanfiction… It isn't like either of us are getting any money out of this.

I know why I'm writing it, but what does someone get out of taking it?

Anyway, that was weird more than anything else, and it isn't like I'm angry… just sort of sad for that person. Who needs recognition that badly?

Alright, enough of that. I'm working on the next chapter, and have a really clear idea of where it's going (which has been the problem with these last few chapters… I wasn't really sure what they'd contain before I actually got to writing, and as a result, put it off, and made a lot of false starts…)

See you soon…