A/N: Dear readers, thanks for joining for another chapter! Now, I must tell you two things. The first you might figure out yourself, but I will still tell you that the perspective shifts between Draco and Hermione. The second is that although the story is mostly linear, it sometimes skips back and forth in time. Not in this chapter, but in coming chapters it most definitely will. You should be able to see it immediately - but still, I am simply offering some advance warning.

I hope you will enjoy the chapter and if someone is up for beta-ing, I would love to hear from you. It's a tough job, editing your own work and finding all those minute typos.

Chapter 1: Christmas morning

For the first time in months Draco was warm. Warm and comfortable, in fact. The asphalt was no longer stealing the little body heat that he was generating and the hard ground was not making his bones ache. He did not smell the odours of his own body: the sweat and grime he has accumulated, to which he has become so accustomed that they felt like a part of him. Nor the bodily excrements that usually filled the air near the alleys he has come to call home. No, he was wrapped in a warm cloud of softness, the dreadful scents gone, and even the cars rushing by have quieted to a gentle faraway lull.

The smell of laundry detergent, vanilla scented candles, and that particular warm aroma generated by a working radiator filled the air around him. Engulfed in warmth and comfort, Draco almost slipped back into sleep, but through the haze of sleepiness, a realisation started creeping onto him. Really, there could only be one explanation for this sudden change: he must have finally passed to the next world… Froze to death, most likely. Indeed, the last thing he remembered was not feeling cold anymore, which any fool knew was bad when sat in a growing pile of snow. He remembered drifting away, too tired to defy sleep - and to be fully honest - no longer caring for the consequences. That must have been how Draco Malfoy has unnoticeably left this world.

A slight shift in the incline of his body alerted him to a body next to him. A source of the heat that was cozying him up, and probably also the source of the smells of vanilla and, yes, cinnamon and apples that was engulfing him. Though, he did not smell too bad himself, he realised. This was curious, had he slipped into an altered memory of the past in his last moments? Was it Pansy near him, warming his bed like during those cold months during his Seventh year in Hogwarts? Was it Astoria Greengrass, who he had a short but sweet romance with, before his life was turned into what it was in the last two years? That could be - after all, if the papers are to be believed, she was dead as well.

But no. There were two problems in his theory. First, Astoria smelt of lavender and rose hip, definitely not vanilla, apples, and cinnamon. Secondly, he was sure that if he was dead, he would not be lounging on a soft mattress, covered by a fluffy duvet, head resting on a pillow crafted by angels with his sweetheart-while-alive (who smelt false) at his side. No, the temperature would without doubt be higher, the air would be filled with screams, and there would be a pitchfork or two flying around. Unless… This was a preparation for that scenario and he was being fooled into a false sense of security. Damned afterlife bastard demons.

His curiosity finally peaked, Draco decided to crack one eye open and peer about.

The first thing he noticed was the cream coloured walls around him. Cream? That certainly served to rejuvenate the hell theory. He was in a bedroom filled with oak furniture: a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, books in piles on the shelf and in different corners of the room, and a partly drawn curtain revealing a sheet of white outside the window. There was a Muggle radiator under the window spreading heat in the room, and a door probably leading into the en suite. What was most striking, though, was the shape laying next to him. He could distinguish a female form under the blanket, but not much else, other than a great mane of hair that looked vaguely familiar. He could not see the face of the demon/kidnapper/mystery-person/hallucination that was hidden under a mass of dark brown curls.

Maybe it was one of those now-nameless bodies that he warmed the beds of in his first year of wandering… But why would this be his end-of-life hallucination? Should it not be more… well, meaningful? Draco wondered.

The form next to his suddenly took a sharp intake of air and lifted onto her elbow, her bare back partly exposed to him. She then snatched a robe from her bedside table and adorned it with expert speed, stood up, letting the definitely-cozy-material-by-the-looks-of-it fall around her. The woman turned toward him while tightly knotting the robe at her front.

"Ah, great, you're alive," she muttered, getting up and giving a flabbergasted Draco a critical scan. Seeming satisfied, she turned toward the bathroom. "One hell of a Christmas morning that would have been. Waking up next to a corpse," she added under her breath as she walked away.

Well, that excluded one possibility. At least he knew he was not a corpse. Or… maybe the after-life demons are a lot more sophisticated than he gave them credit for. Setting that theory aside for the moment, Draco decided to concentrate on the situation at hand. For one, he assumed he should have some questions.

"I will brush my teeth and then perform some checks on you." She informed him, her hand on the door knob. "You look fundamentally better than yesterday, so you might just make it, Malfoy."

No, that did not answer any of his questions. At least his identity was confirmed, he figured.

Draco blinked as the figure disappeared into the bathroom, attempting to process what had just occurred and the sequence of events that led up to it. He was not in hell, despite the colour of the walls trying to prove otherwise. Unless hell was a particularly cruel place and Hermione Granger was his personal torturer. The bossy tone and matter-of-fact attitude was unmistakable. The only reason the hair did not give it away is because… well, Draco just could not fathom waking up next to Hermione Granger after falling asleep in an alley just off Peter's Street. In fact, this was defying all logic.

"What on earth is going on?" he demanded, his voice coming out more feeble and pleading than he intended. As a response, a gurgle of sounds came from the bathroom. Hermione re-emerged a moment later, holding a toothbrush, a look of mild annoyance on her face.

"Just wait." She dared to ordain before shutting the door again.

Well, that wasn't helping at all.

"Don't try to get up," she reappeared at the doorway, without a toothbrush this time. "I found you with hypothermia and you might feel uncoordinated. Confusion is also normal. I will get you a cup of tea." At that she strode purposefully toward the other door in the room, or rather, attempted to - for Draco noted a limp in her otherwise straight stature. At the door, she stopped again and sternly added, with her back turned toward him. "Stay there." Glancing back, looking slightly over his head "milk, sugar?"

Draco's jaw was slightly ajar at the absurdity of the situation. "Milk."

She nodded sharply, disappearing once more through a door way.

"Eat something," Hermione nudged a toast forward toward Malfoy, who was sat across the table from her, glaring with narrowed eyes. "Seriously, Malfoy, you look malnourished."

When he slowly reached and grabbed a slice of bread, sliding it into his plate, Hermione sighed. "Merlin, it's not poisoned. If I wanted you dead, I would have just left you in that alley."

Apparently, resolving to munch on the bread, Malfoy picked up the offending object but kept staring at Hermione with a suspicious gaze. She considered letting him know just how un-intimidating he looked, huddled in a thick blanket, clutching his toast. A bit like an angry hamster… No, with his slender frame and albino look, he was definitely more reminiscent of a hostile ferret.

She rolled her eyes.

"Let's start again, shall we?" She requested, sipping her tea and leaning back in her seat. "Can you tell me how you ended up almost freezing to death yesterday?"

He stopped his nibbling, clearly considering how much to tell her. He cleared his throat, and gracefully set his toast back on the plate before folding his arms on his lap and staring squarely into her eyes.

"Out with my mates on a crawl," he responded, "must have ended up so pissed that I passed out in that alley." He then waved his arm in dismissal before picking up his toast once more.

"Give me a break, Malfoy," Hermione drawled. "Unless you've been at that pub crawl for months, you would have not smelt as foul as you did when I brought you here."

Malfoy gaze flattened, "I do apologise if my odours have offended you, Granger," he responded. "I do not, however, recall begging to be taken in and, mind you, being stripped naked while unconscious. Was that one of your fantasies, Granger? Because you could have told me, maybe we could have arranged something."

"You are disgusting, Malfoy," Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. "If that's your gratitude for rescuing your sorry arse from freezing to death, all the while spreading your 'odours' throughout my house, which were, by the way worse than the most potent Dungbomb, then you might as well - " suddenly an item on the table buzzed, shifting her attention to it. In the corner of her eye, she noted that the noise made Malfoy start. Good, let that ungrateful ferret jump, the nastier, vengeful part of her declared.

"What's that? You've got an iPhone?" The ferret squeaked.

Hermione gave him a quizzical look, getting off her chair to leave the room, "You know what an iPhone is?"

Stepping into the living room, Hermione glanced back at the open door to the kitchen before swiping to answer the call. Partly to make sure that Malfoy did not follow her to eavesdrop, who knows what goes on in the mind of that bugger, and partly to double check that he was eating. Despite the improving condition of his body temperature, she was worried about his overall health. The ribs were sticking out too much… not that she wanted to recall how she came to that assessment.

"Good morning," she spoke.

"Morning!" rang a cheerful voice on the other end of the line, "and merrrrrry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," she smiled. Familiar voice, familiar reality. "How are you?"

"Exhausted. I was on call yesterday, all night. Had 16 new cases of the Vanishing Sickness, all on Christmas Eve and night! Contagious as hell, half of the cases from one family… Anyway, I saw your missed call when the shift ended, anything urgent?"

"No, I shouldn't think so," she responded, contemplating how much to tell. "I came across a wizard yesterday, he was knocked out in the snow, and got a case of hypothermia. I wanted to consult you on how to treat him. And before you say anything! I decided against apparating to St Mungo's because of that nasty scrofungulus epidemic. I read it was spreading quite quickly these past two weeks, and judged him too weak to be exposed."

Silence. A clacking noise followed through the line, "mmm… you were probably right. No risk comes directly from hypothermia, of course. But you cannot know if there are any underlying conditions that could have been triggered," the voice finally responded. Yawn. "Sorry, it was an intense twenty-four shift, I am processing a little slowly," he added.

"Completely understandable, Ron, you should go rest."

"Do you want me to come by and check on the patient?" Ron inquired, "I can floo straight away." Hermione glanced toward the door, at the partly visible silhouette of Draco, who was aggressively destroying a toast with big chucks of butter. "Just need to grab a pair of clean trousers… got some potions spilled on me…" he laughed, "lucky it wasn't anything like Bundimun Secretion! That would have burnt a hole through the trousers in seconds!"

"What potion was it?"

"Murtlap essence… so no itchy legs or trousers for the foreseeable future."

"Hm, lucky you," Hermione said thoughtfully, briefly considering its use for leg shaving. "Either way, I think there is no need for you to come. I have the situation under control, but thanks for offering" she said, before adding "the patient's body temperature is stabilising, tremors have passed, I used my strongest heat isolation spells… I think it's just monitoring from now on."

"Yeah soun-" a yawn "- sounds like you've got it under control. Never doubted you 'Mione. Try pepper up if you have any. If not, I'll give you some this evening, mum always has a cabinet full of them."

Hermione chuckled, "Alright, go get some sleep. I'll see you at the party this evening."

"Yeah, party…" Ron's sleepy voice mumbled, "who's the wizard, by the way?"

Standing in the living room for a minute, Hermione stared at the WizPhone in her hands. She knew she made the right choice. St Mungo's would have been the wrong place to take Malfoy for more than just that one reason. He was also not a well-liked face in the Wizarding world anymore. Not after that scandal about two years ago. She assumed he left to some private Wizarding bohemian island when he disappeared. At least that was the rumour in Ginny's Witch Weekly that occasionally just happened to fall into Hermione's lap - and really, she had nothing better to do when waiting at the queue at the hairdressers… or when she was waiting for her coffee order to be ready… or when she was at the bathroom, after all, was there anything else to do there? Really, what she is trying to say is that you have no authority to judge her - what is important, is that she does not have a subscription. And besides: anyone with a sense of humour can appreciate the snarky comments of Brutally Honest Amanda in her love advice column. And this is all beside the point anyway. The concern now is with the precarious situation at the Granger residence.

She has made the right decision to bring him here, she persisted in her mind. Malfoy would have certainly died outside - and even such an ungrateful, rude git does not deserve such a fate. In St Mungo's, his sudden appearance would have sparked a controversy, and the more she looked at the thin figure in her kitchen, the more she was becoming convinced that perhaps it is better to keep him out of the public eye for the time being. His long blonde hair was a tangled mess on his head, despite being thoroughly washed last night. It begged for a haircut… and that is not to mention the matted beard. His face has not changed, though. It was still his sharp, aristocratic features. A long sculpted nose, chiseled cheekbones, defined chin - but his look was too sunken. He looked tormented and, quite frankly, starved. Too bad, put on some weight, and he could have been quite a handsome man if he wasn't such a prat, she mused. Well, now she was staring too long. Avoiding conversation no doubt. Such a fucking handful he is.

She glanced away from him for a second to put her phone in her jumper pocket, and started slowly walking toward the kitchen. Yes, Draco Malfoy looked hellish, she decided. In her school days, he would not have been caught dead without a thick layer of gel in his hair and now he looked ready to host those birds that he so keenly tried to house in her hair when they were younger. Indeed, she assumed he would not have appreciated reappearing in the Wizarding world in his homeless garb - not that his opinion mattered, of course.

Well, no point dwelling on this. Now was the time to face the consequences of her actions. Yes, she brought him here, saved his life in one of her I-spend-too-much-time-with-Harry moments, and now she had the despicable prat happily sipping tea in her kitchen, feeling comfortably entitled to insult her. It was time to act like an adult - Malfoy may not be acquainted with that idea, but she was. With purpose in mind, Hermione Granger marched (with a hobble) into the kitchen to face her childhood tormentor, resolving to leave the past in the past… Though a part of her, that part that was starting to sound a lot like Brutally Honest Amanda, reminded her how it may have been quite childish to scrub herself so roughly in her morning shower with her new loofah, following the night spent next to Malfoy. Completely naked. Gods.

Upon Hermione's return to the kitchen, she was unsurprised to face the grumpy ferret at the table. Grateful much. She was slightly surprised to find the bread, butter, and raspberry jam all gone. Empty plates gracing the table. Hm, he must have been hungry, she thought, uncomfortable.

"So, are we betraying the wizarding world? Muggle techies?" Draco greeted her, nudged toward the WizPhone in her hand with a self-satisfied smile. "And what's with the limp?" He pointed to her leg through his blanket.

"You've been gone for a while, haven't you?" she mused as she sat down, lifting her tea to her lips. "Never heard of WizPhones?"

"WizPhones? New Muggle adaptations?" Malfoy sneered in distaste.

"Hardly Muggle," she responded, "full magical technology, tips the market - everyone has one of those. Though I have to admit, it comes from a partnership with Apple. Steve Wozniak is a squib, so approaching him about the technology was not problematic… anyway, I doubt that makes any sense to you. As for the limp, that's your fault, lying around so irresponsibly under the snow after your 'night out'," Hermione motioned for air brackets, giving him a pointed look, "tripping innocent witches."

"Innocent, my arse," Draco retorted, "walking around alone at such hour." He snorted.

Hermione stared at him, "it was half five!" She responded incredulous.

"Well, maybe we started drinking early," he said defiantly.

"Okay, Malfoy, let's drop all pretences, I am not blind. I can tell you've been sleeping rough," Hermione refused to recoil from the daggers Malfoy was staring into her. "What I don't know is for how long, why, and I won't ask any more about it. You can tell me as much or as little as you want, but for now, I need to measure your body temperature and do a couple more tests to make sure that you are recovering."

A minute passed, and Hermione waited. No response. Malfoy was conveniently surveying everything in sight, a light sneer pasted on his face. Blimey, that pride. She sighed, stood, gripping the table for support when the misbehaving knee decided to buckle under her. She started weaving spells around him while Malfoy sat like a sullen child, refusing to meet her gaze, huddled in his blanket.

"Looking fine," Hermione commented as she sat down again. She tried to catch his eye, but he appeared adamant to stare over her right shoulder, studying the little flower pot she got last Christmas from Cormac. Pursing her lips into an awkward line, she moved into his line of vision. This has to be asked. She has to… so she blurted out: "do you have somewhere to stay?"

A genuine reaction. For a millisecond, Draco's eyes widened, eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes darted to the snowstorm visible outside the window. Then it was all gone - a blank look, probably meaning indifference, replacing the raw fear that was evident there just a moment before. Her heart clenched in sympathy. Fear was familiar. Fear was something she has felt every day during the war. Oh Merlin…

Malfoy did not say a thing, suddenly transfixed with his now-empty mug.