A/N: Surprise! You guys get this a day early because my in-laws will be in town tomorrow, so I won't have time to update. This chapter also marks the halfway point, and I'm still so glad to have you all here reading along! I hope you all have a lovely weekend wherever you are in the world. 3

Chapter 6: Rule Number Four: Never Talk About Your Problems

Though Hermione had no work to complete over the weekend, she still rose at seven sharp.

As she settled into her favourite armchair with a cup of coffee, she welcomed the sun's rays spilling over her from the open window.

She'd missed this—the slow, quiet mornings that she'd been so careful to carve out for herself after the war. Self care hadn't been a part of her vocabulary at Hogwarts; she'd always been scrambling for new knowledge or trying to keep Harry from stumbling into one near death experience after another. Only when she'd left the school and come to realise that she was more high-strung than her grandmother's half-blind chihuahua had she settled into the easy routine of a good quiet morning.

But then she'd worried she would stagnate. They'd lasted all of a month, those mornings where she ignored the work she had to do and settled in with a coffee and a good book. Success was such an ingrained desire in her that she felt wasted when she didn't start the day with work after a well-balanced breakfast.

Now, though, it felt nice to relax, even if only for a while. So she closed her eyes, sinking into the soft chair while lifting the coffee to her lips.

It was hot, but not so hot that it scalded her; just the way she liked it. Harry heckled her for loving her "hot bean water" so, had even gone so far as to tease her that her British card would be revoked if anyone caught wind of the fact that she loathed tea, but she didn't care.

Give her hot bean water or give her death, she'd thrown back at him.

And so she relaxed, stretching her legs out before her with a satisfied moan. The air was crisp, just cool enough that she needed to drape her blanket over her legs to ward off the chill, but when Crookshanks hopped into her lap with an introspective meow, she buried her hand in his fur, grateful for the rare display of affection.

But then a knock sounded at the door, and Crookshanks spooked, peeling out of her lap in a flurry of fur and claws. As he spluttered and hissed in his retreat, Hermione lifted her coffee over her head with a sigh, unfortunately experienced in Crooks' escapes.

With the cat safely off her lap and only a few minor lacerations from his claws, Hermione deposited the half-drank coffee on the end table, glancing at the clock. Only half eight. She wasn't expecting anyone to visit so early, but…

But what if it was Theo?

Hermione scrambled to the mirror, heart pounding as she fluffed her hair. She hadn't thought to put on any makeup since she didn't have plans, so she settled for pinching her cheeks, twin spots of bright colour springing to life on them.

Crookshanks glared at her from the back of the couch as she passed, and if she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn judgement flared in his knowing yellow eyes.

Prat.

Just before she flung the door open, she paused. She was wearing ratty old pajama shorts and a thin white t-shirt. Remembering Malfoy's words, she frowned to herself. Surely Theo wouldn't judge her for—

Another insistent knock sounded from the door, sharper than the last, and she muttered a quiet swear to herself as she waved her wand over the lock. Plastering a bright smile over her cheeks, she pulled the door open and deflated as Daphne strolled in.

"Morning!" Her friend breezed to the kitchen counter, depositing her larger than necessary handbag on her breakfast bar. When she turned and took in Hermione's outfit, a frown marred her features. "What are you wearing?"

Hermione looked down at her demiguise-covered pyjamas. They were comfortably worn, the fabric a little light in places, and a t-shirt that had been her father's years before. She worried the hem, rocking up on her toes before she summoned her half-drank coffee to her and took a fortifying sip. "Pyjamas. What does it look like?"

With an uncharitable shrug, Daphne entered the kitchen, summoning a mug. Hermione turned to watch over her shoulder, Daphne's voice echoing from the kitchen as she poured a cup of coffee. "So what's the plan for the day?"

As she made her way down the hall to her bedroom, Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't know, Daph. You're the one that barged into my flat at eight in the morning." She could hear her friend titter in the kitchen, and she ducked into her closet. Though she eyed the fancy skirts, trousers, and nice blouses that Pansy had sent over, she settled on a pair of skinny denims and a light, oatmeal-coloured cardigan. Once she'd pulled the jumper over her head and fixed her hair with a quick wave of her hand. Another quick flick of her wrist settled a light makeup charm on her face, and she smiled into the mirror of her vanity before she darted out to find Daphne.

The other woman had usurped Hermione's chair, feet tossed over the arm as she dangled a previously discarded piece of tissue paper over Crooks' head. Though he looked thoroughly unamused by the game, he reared up on his back paws, batting at the piece with wide, manic eyes. When he pulled it loose from her hands, he stood from the recycling box, sashaying away with his kill.

Daphne rolled her eyes, sliding free of the chair and rearranging her clothes as she spoke. "Your cat has to be the most dramatic animal I've ever met."

Snorting a laugh, Hermione summoned her purse. "Tell me about it; you're not the one that has to live with him."

Hermione's friendship with Daphne was an easy one; Hermione always found herself settling back into it no matter how long they'd been apart, for which she was grateful. They were both so busy with the magazine that they didn't often see each other outside of the office, but days out on the town like today made up for it.

"So how did the office handle the afternoon without me there?" Hermione tried to pry nonchalantly as she glanced into a shop window, but she could hear the amusement in Daphne's tone when she answered.

"No one burned the place down, if that's what you're asking." They stopped at a small coffee shop, both of them ordering cups of plain black coffee, Daph's with room for cream, and a couple of small breakfast sandwiches. When they began again, Hermione took a healthy gulp from hers while Daphne continued. "Creevey needed direction, per usual, but it was nothing that a swift kick in the arse couldn't remedy."

Groaning, Hermione nodded. "For as long as he's walked around with that camera attached to his neck, it amazes me how little he's able to accomplish with it."

Daphne's lips flattened into a small grimace. "Some days I wonder if it'd just be easier to let him go and invest in cameras for all the reporters, but he's got such big puppy eyes whenever I even broach the topic." Her friend turned to her, affecting a wide-eyed, pleading expression that was uncannily similar to the way Colin seemed to look at them despite his fast ascent into maturity. "Then I feel like an arsehole and change the subject to something rubbish like the weather."

Humming, Hermione tipped her head toward one of the small parks nestled between buildings in wizarding London, and they left the cobbled path onto it. It was a testament to how magic had come to thrive since the war, that it was able to transform the once-barren, charred square of land that had housed an old building and turned it into such a quaint community space. "Do you think I ought to talk to him about it?" Hermione asked as she slid onto the bench of a picnic table.

Lifting one shoulder as she slid in opposite Hermione, Daphne answered, "Nah, I don't imagine it's worth it." As she sipped her drink, her brows climbed high on her head. "There is something you ought to talk to me about."

Groaning, Hermione took a large bite of her breakfast sandwich, gesturing wildly to her full mouth.

A wicked grin lit up Daphne's features. "Okay, don't talk. I'll just sit over here and voice my speculations." The other woman slowly buttered her biscuit, her singsong voice settling between them as Hermione chewed awkwardly. "Draco Malfoy has become a semi permanent feature in our office; I've walked in on the two of you in compromising positions twice, and you made me seal an Unbreakable Bond for the two of you." Another sip of her coffee before, "You're telling me there's nothing going on between you two?"

Finally swallowing the mush her sandwich had become, Hermione took a quick pull of her coffee before answering. "There's nothing going on, Daph. He's a coworker." She paused, remembering the easy banter that had developed between them and the genuine laughs she'd managed to pull from him, and she corrected herself. "Okay, he's become my friend, as inexplicable as that may be."

Daphne canted her head to the side, eyes narrowed as she studied Hermione. "Right. Friends." Her lips lifted slightly. "So this Unbreakable Vow then… he's helping you fall in love?"

A flash of embarrassment flit red-hot across Hermione's face, but she nodded anyways. "He is. I have a new neighbour, and I'm very interested."

Daphne tucked into her own sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before she responded. "So what do you need Draco's help for? You're an eligible witch; you're pretty." She shrugged, spearing a piece of tomato that had slipped free of the sandwich with her fork. "What's he got to do with all of this?"

Pausing, Hermione considered her friend's question. "It's not that I need his help; he offered it in exchange for taking it easy on him with WW." She shrugged, taking another bite as she thought. "Theo's a healer, and I assumed—"

Her friend's eyes widened, and she leaned across the table. "Shut up, you're dating a healer? Hermione Granger, it's a violation of the friend code to keep gossip like that from me."

Flinching at the genuine hurt in Daphne's voice, she pushed her food aside, leaning forward and placing her head in her hands. "It wasn't intentional, Daph. There's been a lot going on with Witch Weekly, and with Malfoy suddenly taking up most of my spare time, there hasn't been much time for us to get together."

"No kidding; he's usurped our standing lunch dates all week long," Daphne groused. Amicable silence fell between them as they both dug into their breakfast. But after a few minutes of silence, Daphne spoke again. "So is it working? Draco helping you fall in love?"

An uncomfortable warmth settled in the pit of her stomach as Hermione responded. "Erm, we haven't really gotten to that part yet. I Floo-called Theo earlier in the week, but I haven't heard back from him. Probably doesn't help that Malfoy made me hang up on him and I haven't gotten home until late evening all week either." Much to Crookshanks' chagrin.

Nodding, Daphne gathered up their trash and deposited it in the bin. When her friend offered her an elbow, Hermione gladly took it, falling in step as they returned to her flat. "Sounds like Malfoy's monopolizing your time. And you're sure there's nothing there?"

Daphne's hopeful gaze roved over the side of her face, and Hermione swallowed thickly, ignoring the flash of his grin and the way she'd lingered on his notes before she fell asleep the night before. Tightening her grip on her friend's arm, Hermione aimed a tight smile at the other woman. "I'm sure; it's just Malfoy, Daph. He's not the priority at the moment."

They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon watching trashy television and gossiping about the myriad occurrences outside of work and dating. Daphne had taken over her parents' estate recently, so she spent most of her evenings dealing with cursed objects and the paperwork that came with it. As much as she denied it, Hermione was sure that she continued to stumble over something that required the Auror's assistance in order to gain the audience of one Harry J. Potter.

A handful of popcorn landed in Hermione's hair as she voiced her thoughts. "So that 'cursed painting' was just a regular ol' painting, yeah?" She sniggered, eyeing the colour that rose to her friend's cheeks. "Harry said you were quite flustered when he showed up and told you, yet again, that his sweep of the property revealed no dark magic signatures."

Frowning petulantly, Daphne picked through the popcorn, searching for a perfectly-buttered piece. "I was sure—"

"That a panicked Floo call to the Auror department would result in a frazzled Harry Potter showing up on your doorstep at all hours of the day?" Hermione finished, huffing a laugh as she dodged another handful of popcorn. Crooks peeled out on the hardwood, tackling piece after piece while his tail snapped back and forth, a low growl warning the discarded pieces to stay in their place.

Grumbling to herself, Daphne answered, "If he's not interested, all he has to do is say so."

Hermione laughed, briefly recalling the starry-eyed expression Harry had worn when he'd told her of Daphne's distressed call in the early morning hours and turning up to find her with an old broken clock and clad in risque pyjamas. But it wasn't her secret to tell, so Hermione just brushed off her friend's insistence. "Maybe you could make a move instead of coming up with increasingly ridiculous plans for him to turn up at your place."

Daphne's nose wrinkled up, entertaining the suggestion. "I'll consider it. If—"

Three short knocks sounded at Hermione's door, interrupting Daphne, who turned towards it with a quizzical lift of her brow. Slowly, Hermione rose from the sofa, circumventing Crooks' massacred field of popcorn, and approached her front door with more than a little trepidation. Her instincts must have been on high alert, because when she opened it, Draco Malfoy breezed through.

"Malfoy? What in Merlin's—how did you get my address?" Hermione spluttered, slamming the door shut behind her.

For his part, Malfoy looked utterly unbothered by the high pitch of her voice, though he did skirt around Crookshanks' popcorn pile with an upturn of his lips. "Anything's public knowledge if you pester people enough."

With an air of comfort that was a bit unnerving for never having visited her home before, he slipped out of the light jacket he wore, hanging it up on the coat rack inside her doorway. He eyed her flat, gaze lingering on the bookshelf marking the divide between the living room and the dining room that she'd converted into a mobile office. "Granger, how do you live? This place is miniscule."

Instantly, she bristled, spine straightening as she came to her home's defense. "It's not miniscule; it's modest. And I'll have you know that it's perfectly comfortable for Crookshanks and I." As if to spite her, Crookshanks tore from the room, his amplified galloping echoing off the largely bare walls that led to her bedroom.

With an unconvinced nod, Malfoy crossed to the chair she'd occupied that morning, throwing himself into it as he stared impassively at the images flickering across the television screen. "Is this that telly that I've heard so much about, that Muggles are obsessed with?" At her noncommittal grunt, he shrugged. "I don't see the appeal." He lifted his legs, propping his feet on the corner of her coffee table.

Pasting a false smile to her lips and propping her hands on her hips as she walked, Hermione stared him down. "Thank you for that delightful commentary. I fail to see, however, why you're showing up at my flat uninvited."

Slowly, Daphne placed her bowl of popcorn on the side table and summoned her bag. "Well, it seems like you've got a lot on your hands today. I'll see you at work on Monday."

As her friend edged around her, Hermione gaped. "No, Daph, you don't have to leave. Malfoy is—"

But Daphne was already out the door, a calculating smile lifting her lips as she glanced between the two of them. "Behave, you two." And then she was gone.

Hermione was fuming by the time she turned to Malfoy, still reclined in her chair and looking the picture of innocence. "Well look at that. Now you've all the time in the world."

She would not hex him to death in her flat, she told herself; the cleanup would be far too strenuous. "I had plans until you ran them off with your snark."

His hands fluttered up to his chest, eyes rounding innocently "I do not snark, Granger. I banter; there's a difference."

Tossing herself into the couch with a huff, she rolled her eyes. "Whatever you do, it's annoying." Glaring at him again, she pushed, "What are you doing here?"

He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Did you get the clothes Pansy sent over?"

A flutter of nerves rioted in her stomach, and she resolutely ignored the way his eye colour seemed to deepen with the unasked question: did she get the knickers he'd had sent over? Clearing her throat, she rose, busying herself by cleaning up the popcorn Crooks had scattered everywhere. "I got them last night; I haven't had a chance to try on any of the items that Pansy added, but they should all work well given that she took my measurements."

Nodding to himself, he snapped once, standing in a fluid motion as he waved her away from the popcorn carnage. "Right, well, I'd like to see if you're not opposed."

With an audible pop, her mouth dropped open as he crouched and began picking up the popcorn she'd missed. "Malfoy, what are you—"

"Believe it or not, Granger, sometimes I can be a decent human being. Now, go get your arse into a pretty dress and come out here; we've got a final rule to go over before you earn your wings to fly." Malfoy shooed her away, and she went, dumbstruck and rendered speechless, down the hall as he muttered under his breath, "Honestly, how you allow yourself to exist in such conditions is beyond me. You could at least get some flowers to brighten the place up in here."

WIth a scoff, she retreated. "I'm allergic to most pollen-producing plants."

Malfoy's voice followed her down the hallway. "Rule four! Never talk about your problems!"

When she darted into her closet, though, she was at a loss, staring at the clothing Pansy had given her.

The purple dress would be a safe bet; he'd seen her in it already and had seemed to approve. Her gaze landed on the black dress, and she tugged her lip in between her teeth, considering it for a half a second too long before she pivoted, settling on a deep mauve with a slightly lower neckline than she was usually comfortable with.

She shed her clothes, quickly pulling the dress over her "grandma knickers" while sticking her tongue out in Malfoy's general direction; she'd be damned if she'd give him the satisfaction of putting one of the lingerie sets on even if he'd never know what she wore beneath the fabric. With a satisfactory glance in the mirror and a quick fluff of her hair, she slipped into the other pair of heels Pansy had chosen for her and walked down the hall.

And quickly stumbled to a stop, disbelief screwing her face to one side.

Malfoy had resumed his seat in her armchair, having turned it to further face the room instead of out the window. But what shocked her more than his casual movement of her furniture or how out of place he looked was Crookshanks lounging proudly on his knee while Malfoy, head canted back against the pillow with his eyes clothes, pet his fur in long, lazy strokes. She could hear Crooks' rough, uneven purring from where she stood on the threshold of the living room and kitchen.

Everything she knew about her cat was a lie. As he purred happily away in Malfoy's lap, she felt a slight twinge of betrayal.

He hadn't purred like that for her since Hogwarts. What an arsehole.

Clearing her throat, she strode forward, hands on her hips, in the tight-fitting mauve dress. "Well?"

Malfoy's head snapped up, eyes narrowing in confusion, and—

"Malfoy, did you fall asleep?" Her jaw popped open incredulously, staring in disbelief as he blinked his sleep-addled eyes.

After a too-long beat, he yawned, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Of course not."

"Right." She rolled her eyes. "You always look like you've been beaten by the Whomping Willow."

He shook his head, returning to petting the cat while a slight pink tinge rose to his cheeks. "Look, Granger, it's not often that I get a cat—"

"Half-kneazel," she corrected.

In a horrible imitation of her, he repeated, "Half-kneazel purring in my lap." A slight look of disgruntlement flit across his face as he refused to look anywhere near her and muttered, "It was cozy."

His quiet assertion took her by surprise, and she barked a laugh. Crookshanks spooked, tensing in Malfoy's lap and shooting her a glare. "It was cozy," she repeated. "Every day my life becomes more and more ridiculous."

"I'm glad that I'm so amusing." Malfoy's glare was eerily similar to Crookshanks, but he leaned forward, shooing the cat off his lap as he stood. "Not half bad, Granger, but something's missing."

An unpleasant jolt of disappointment rocked through her, and Hermione jerked her head up. "What do you mean something's missing? I did it all: the dress, the shoes, the makeup, the— the—" she waved her hands on either side of her head. "The fluffy 'sexy hair' thing that Pansy showed me. What more do you want?"

Sudden understanding dawned in Malfoy's eyes as he clapped his hands. "Glasses. Where are your glasses?"

"Glasses?" Her mind raced to keep up. "They're in my work bag… what do you need my glasses for?"

He flipped them open, stepping into her space to slide the arms over her ears. "I don't need them, but you do." Hermione gestured for him to continue. "We're going for the sexy librarian look. The dress works; the hair is great, but you just need a little extra umph."

"Extra umph?" Malfoy was still in her space, eyeing her critically.

A slow smile furled up his lips as he eyed her. "Much better. And now—" his gaze snapped to hers. "—Now I'll teach you how to flirt."

If possible, her jaw dropped even further as she crossed her arms with an indignant huff. "I know how to flirt."

Ooh, she wanted to hex that crass little smile off his face. "Do you? This isn't Hogwarts-style flirting anymore, love. You don't want to be an old spinster, do you?"

With a saccharine laugh, she straightened, staring him in the eye from the extra height her heels afforded her. "Spinster? Gods, you purebloods are all so archaic; it's no wonder you've been relegated to rubbish humour and cheap dates. 'Do you want to be a spinster, Granger?'" She dissolved into laughter at her own poor imitation.

His eyes flashed. "Watch yourself, Granger."

A thrill of satisfaction ran through her as she stepped into his space, her chest brushing against his. She ran a hand up his chest, the digit lingering on the smattering of blond curls that peeked out from the open neck of his shirt. Peeking up from beneath her lashes, she forced her voice into a low, breathy version of her speaking tone. "Or what, Malfoy."

He'd gone stock still, his breath shallow as he stared down at her. With a hard swallow, he said, "What are you—quit doing that."

She moved her hand again, curling it up his chest and around the back of his head. Her heart raced in her chest as she toyed with the small, wispy hairs at the nape of his neck. "Quit doing what, Draco?"

The use of his given name made his eyes flutter shut, and though she expected to feel victory at affecting him so, it was laced with the tiniest amount of guilt. Finally, he responded, his voice low and tight. "That thing with your hand."

"Hmm," she mused, the vibration rocketing through her, and his gaze snapped open, locking on hers. She'd never noticed the shade of their grey before, something bordering on gunmetal but with a distinctly warm touch she wouldn't have noticed had she not been so near him. "Is it turning you on?"

His tongue flit out, wetting his lips, and suddenly she found herself captivated by his proximity. "Yes."

It was an honest answer she hadn't prepared herself for, but she forced a coy smile to her lips as she threaded her fingers into the ends of his hair and pulled slightly as she leaned closer, hovering her lips over the shell of his ear. "Gotcha."

With a low groan, Malfoy wrenched himself out of her grasp, tossing himself in her chair with a muttered, "Witch," just as the Floo rang.

A quick glance at the address drew a loud gasp from her. Wild eyed, she turned to Malfoy as the Floo continued to ring. "It's Theo; it's his work Floo." She ran from the grate, heaving Malfoy up by the lapels of his shirt. "What do I do?"

He grunted, steadying himself on her elbows. "Granger, breathe. You can do this."

"Hermione?" Theo's voice rang through her flat. "Are you home?"

She shook Malfoy frantically, edging him around the breakfast bar and into the kitchen. "Be there in a minute!" she hollered before she turned back to Malfoy, gesticulating wildly.

His expression sobered, and he turned her around by the shoulders. "Keep it short and mysterious. Let him in, talk for a couple minutes, then make an excuse to get him out of there." He swatted her on the bum, and she stepped forward with a yelp and a nervous giggle as she approached the Floo.

Sticking her head in the flames, she glanced around Theo's office, searching for the source of his call. When she spotted him sitting in an expensive leather, high-backed office chair, she beamed. "Theo! Hi! You can come on through."

She took a few steps back, straightening the skirt of her dress and smoothing off a few nonexistent pieces of ash from the fabric. Though she tried to appear relaxed as he stepped through with his work bag, she was sure he could hear the pounding of her heart from across the room.

He straightened, taking in the decor of her apartment, and Hermione found herself suddenly grateful for Malfoy's anal retentive cleaning of the popcorn that Crooks had mutilated. When his gaze landed on her, though, he froze, an appreciative smile lighting his face. "Hermione, I— wow, you look good."

Resisting the urge to fuss with her hair, she smiled up at him "Oh, thanks. I'm actually— I was getting ready to run out; I've got plans tonight." The lie rolled easily off her tongue, and she cringed internally at the false brightness in her tone.

Theo didn't seem to notice as he traced her frame appreciatively. "You're a hard witch to pin down." His grin was easy as he allowed her to walk him to the door. "I've been stopping by all week, but your lights are never on."

She frowned sympathetically, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "I'm in high demand," she joked, elation buoying her at his laughter. With a flick of her wrist, she unlocked the door and it swung inward.

"And no wonder. You're an impressive witch." He leaned closer, eyes lingering on her lips. Of its own accord, her body seemed to sway forward towards him.

Behind her, the bowl Daphne had used for popcorn clattered to the kitchen floor, and Crookshanks darted down the hallway.

Spell broken, Hermione reeled backwards, using the door as a buffer between them. "Do you mind Flooing me later? I've got plans, and—" She edged the door shut with a muttered apology, but his foot shot out, propping it open.

"Hermione, wait."

Heart in her throat, she peered through the crack, watching Theo fish in his pockets for a minute before he pulled out two long strips of paper. "Yeah?"

He extended his hand towards her, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "I've got tickets to the Quidditch Final tomorrow; it's the Falmouth Falcons and the Ballycastle Bats." His other hand hiked his work bag high on his shoulder before it pushed through his unruly hair. "Do you want to come with me?"

She rocked up on her toes, a huge grin on her face as a riot of pixies erupted in her stomach. "I'd love to, Theo."

His own answering smile showcased his relief, and he turned down the steps, glancing over his shoulder to shout, "It's a date, Hermione. I'll pick you up at eleven."

Clicking the door shut behind her, she managed to sag against the wood for all of five seconds before she rocketed upright, dancing around maniacally as she squealed. A low whistle caught her attention though, and she paused, looking up to find Malfoy lounging against her countertop and watching her dance with a mixture of disgust and begrudged interest. "Congrats, Granger. You've got yourself a date."

Endless alpha love to mcal and LadyKenz347.
My stellar beta is In Dreams, and I'm once again going to plug her new fic Nocturnus! Go read if you haven't started yet!