"You can come in!" she laughed, calling to Draco who was pacing the corridor outside their bedroom.
He pushed the door open and smiled at Hermione. She looked beautiful curled up with a book spread open on her lap. Her deep brown eyes sparkled, and he felt his breath hitch.
Walking around to his side of the bed, he sat on the edge to slip his shoes off before lying down and pulling her flush against him. His heart slowed; he was home.
"I missed you," he murmured into her neck, inhaling her familiar scent.
"It's not been that long," she chuckled.
He growled, "even a second is too much, Granger."
"So how was your day, love?"
"Long," he sighed. "Dull."
"That good, huh?"
Draco shrugged, he hadn't been given anything other than paperwork for the last year, it was mind numbingly boring.
She poked his ribs, "you're not eating properly again."
He thought about this, contemplating the last time he'd had a proper meal, "it's been so busy at the Ministry recently, you know what it's like."
"You're going to run yourself into the ground if you carry on like this," she admonished. "Luckily, I made you something!"
Hermione extricated herself gently from his arms and fetched a small tupperware pot from her bag. He smiled, knowing exactly what it would be; she could, after all, only reliably bake one thing.
She levitated it over to him and confirmed his suspicions, "an apple loaf cake."
"Thank you," he said, reaching out to pull her back onto the bed again.
Eating anything these days generally made him feel sick, but he finished the portion for her. She was right, after all; he knew he'd lost a lot of weight and his face had taken on a seemingly permanent grey tinge. Even Potter had mentioned something to him about it recently.
As though she could read his mind, she said, "hey, do you remember that time I tried to bake something different for Harry's birthday?"
Draco suppressed a smirk, "of course, I'm surprised you didn't end up in Azkaban for the attempted massacre of war heroes."
"None of them actually died," she laughed, "they only thought they were going to."
"I'm sure halving the cooking time seemed like a good idea at the time, love."
Her laughter was music to his ears and he tightened his grip around her. Hermione's head was resting against his chest, her hair fanned out in a mass of curls, as she hummed contentedly.
Draco stroked her cheek gently, before noticing something was amiss.
"No, no, no…" he cried suddenly, shooting up and away from the bed. "I thought we had more time."
Blonde was creeping into the chestnut brown more rapidly now as the locks straightened themselves out.
"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy," the woman, who wasn't Hermione, said gently. "We'll shorten our session next week, perhaps increase the potency of the Polyjuice Potion."
"Please," he gasped, raking his fingers almost painfully across his scalp, "please leave."
She nodded and gave him a sad smile as she left the room.
It had been over a year since their first appointment, since his wife had died. Mr Malfoy had been meticulous in telling her everything about Hermione to ensure she acted in just the right way. It had taken some trial and error but now, after the Polyjuice, it was almost impossible for him to tell the difference.
She'd sometimes wondered about the ethics around this long-term arrangement, usually she didn't see clients for more than a few weeks but, she'd thought, if it gives him an hour of happiness in an otherwise miserable week, there's nothing wrong with that.
Unfortunately, what she hadn't considered was the store of Hermione's hair running out. Mr Malfoy had been luckier than most of her clients because he'd had the foresight to collect it all before she was cremated. Now, however, the agency had enough to last another month and then he would never be able to talk to or feel his wife again.
She should have told him today, but she couldn't bear to. She would try again next week.