Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

I'm so excited to hear what you think of this chapter – we finally have a kiss! *swoon*

Much love to littlered1992 for her wonderful alpha/beta skills.

Hermione had never been so indecisive in her entire life. She had, stupidly, expected that Draco would have owled by now, to apologise for his outburst on Wednesday…but she had to keep reminding herself that he had not known she had witnessed it.

A sensation like a hot ball of wax had solidified in her stomach, and she was unable to focus on anything other than the sound of Draco's voice;

"We both know I like her and I think it's pretty bloody obvious that she has feelings for you!"

It did not make sense to her, that Draco would think she liked Blaise. Sure, the Italian wizard was certainly handsome, and quite charming when he chose to be…but Hermione had never entertained the idea of dating him; how could she, when she had fallen so spectacularly for the ignorant blond?

She longed to discuss the issue with Blaise, who had continued to join her for lunch in her office at the Ministry. He did not seem willing to discuss the topic, however, and was yet to mention the incident. Hermione wondered whether he assumed that she had left before Draco had admitted his feelings; either way, it was driving Hermione slowly insane.

She spent her nights imagining how to broach the subject with Blaise without giving herself away and igniting his suspicion. She spent their lunch breaks with her heart in her throat, the words on her tongue; she told herself that Blaise never gave her the right opening, but the real reason she never plucked up the courage to ask about Draco was because she was terrified of the possible answer.

Draco watched the sun rise on the first of September from his bedroom window. He had not felt this excited since the morning of his first day of fourth year, when he had known the Triwizard Tournament was going to be held at Hogwarts. Closing his eyes, he imagined the flock of young witches and wizards who would be stirring to the sound of alarm clocks and cajoling parents, preparing for the journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

A whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as the sun tinged the horizon a deep orange. His mother was the one who would greet him early on the morning of his return to school. She would sit on his bed and run her long fingers through his hair until he was lucid, and then she would order the house elves to make him his favourite breakfast; waffles with syrup, whipped cream, and strawberries.

His stomach clenched painfully as he thought of Narcissa now; he longed to see her, to confirm that she still breathed the same air as he did.

Two weeks, he thought suddenly. Two weeks until the retrial…I only hope she can hang on that long.

Over the past few days he had considered owling Granger and asking if it would be possible for her to visit his mother; it would be only too easy, now that she was well ranked in the Ministry. But, he knew what her answer would be…

"I'm sorry, Draco," he conjured her pretty lilt in his mind. "If I visit your mother now, the Wizengamot could twist our case."

He sighed heavily. Guilt bloomed in his chest for his mother and warred with the elation he felt of the significance of this particular beginning of autumn. The watch on his left wrist told him it was a little after six in the morning. He assumed that Granger would be along around nine, given her office hours.

At half past eight, Blaise found him in the sitting room.

"Waiting for Granger?"

Draco nodded in response. Things had settled between the pair of them since his outburst last week; his admittance that he felt something for Hermione was oddly cathartic, and apparently it had been what Blaise had been waiting for.

"Enjoy your day," Blaise shot him a lop-sided grin as he slung a satchel over his shoulder. "Sorry I can't be the one to parade you around London, but I dare say you'd rather Granger be your chaperone." He winked, and then was gone.

At any other time, Draco might have scowled after his friend, but he was too focused on the state of the wards to pay Blaise any real attention. He sat with his back straight, utterly tuned in to the faint vibrations which told him that no one was trying to enter the Malfoy grounds.

His watch ticked over nine o'clock, and he began to pace. She would be here soon; she had to be.

At fifteen minutes past, Draco stumbled to a halt, a sickening heat settling in the base of his spine. Maybe he had messed up the dates; or maybe they weren't happy with his paperwork. A case worker had visited him weekly since Granger had quit, and though it was never the same person and he could barely recall their faces now, he knew he had answered every single question, and that the last one had been open about the fact that it would be his last before his release.

A sharp tapping on the window startled him from his thoughts. A barn owl flew into the room and perched on the back of the couch, an official Ministry envelope clutched in its beak; Draco hurried to take the parchment from it. The owl hooted once before soaring back out of the window, leaving Draco to tear open the letter and skim it briefly.

Excitement tingled through his veins as his eyes grazed keywords; house arrest lifted…hereby free…vaults opened…

With a whoop of glee, he turned on his heel, grabbed a fistful of Floo powder, and stepped forward into the grate. The emerald flames gathered him in their light and he was soon whizzing away, watching the flash of living rooms before he arrived in the belly of the Ministry.

A Malfoy arriving in the atrium should have been enough to stop the entire workforce, but Draco was surprised to note that no one paid him any mind as they bustled through the space. Nonchalantly, he made his way to the elevator and was soon on his way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

With a skip in his step and a grin on his face, he located Hermione's office and knocked three times.

"She's not in there." A bored voice said from behind him.

Draco spun around to find himself face to face with a rather flamboyant looking wizard. Atticus placed a hand on his hip and jutted it out; he looked at Draco as if the blond was a small snack.

"Miss Granger is taking a personal day," he explained as his gaze came to rest on Draco's face again.

"Thanks," Draco muttered before making a quick exit.

He tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment as it bubbled in his chest; was she avoiding him? He racked his brain, trying to find a reason for her absence; if there was one, it was lost on him.

As he stood in front of the grate in the atrium, Draco weighed up his options. The reasonable part of him said to return home, maybe send her an owl, and wait for Hermione to come to him. The irrational, and stronger part of him said to Floo to her place immediately. It would be a risk, considering he had never been to her house before, but he was confident he would recognise it…well, mostly confident.

His confidence was well placed. He exited the Floo into a living room decorated in soft beige and pale blue. His eyes darted around the space, before landing on the sleeping figure on her sofa.

Her hair was spread out over the edge of the sofa, one arm thrown behind her head, while the other rested across her bare stomach. Draco's eyes widened slightly at the strip of creamy skin visible between her thin cotton shirt and...Oh, Merlin; she wasn't wearing pants.

He swallowed thickly and forced himself to shift his gaze back to her face. In sleep, she looked more relaxed than he ever thought possible for Hermione Granger; in his mind, she was perpetually moving and talking and being. This version of her made him want to take her in his arms and never let her go; the thought was sobering.

"Granger," he barked. She began to stir but did not open her eyes. He took a step forward, so that he would be able to reach out and brush her hair from her forehead, should he choose to. "Granger!" He repeated and clapped his hands together once.

Hermione gasped and sat up, her gaze instantly on him. "Malfoy?" Her voice was adorably hoarse, and Draco stiffened so as not to drop into a crouch beside her and…

He cleared his throat. "Good morning. I would have thought I'd be held at wand-point by now, if Blaise is to be believed." She continued to blink at him, and he suddenly wondered if perhaps she was ill. "Are you unwell?"

Hermione shook her head, but the movement was slower than what Draco would consider normal. He frowned.

"I took a sleeping draught," she yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm free." He held his arms wide.

"Oh," Hermione blinked, and Draco watched as realisation and clarity hit her. "Oh!"

She was up off the couch at lightning speed, only to realise that the movement had put her chest to chest with Draco. He smirked down at her, noting the blush that bloomed instantly across her cheeks.

"What are you doing here?" He countered. "I went to the Ministry first and was told you were taking a day off. I didn't realise you knew how to do that."

"I needed a personal day," she shot back, her arms coming up to cross over her chest. Draco wished she had left them by her sides; it was painfully obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra now.

"A personal day? Why? Is Mother's case causing you trouble? Blaise told me about the vial, and I am utterly furious at that weasel, but I'm not annoyed with you…"

He trailed off as she shook her head. "No, Malfoy. I take the day off every year; it's painful for me to be around people…usually."

She bit her lip and avoided his gaze. It was different this year; she was over Ron, she knew that. But she didn't much feel like pretending that she hadn't overheard the conversation between Draco and Blaise last week.

The blond frowned but did not press for more details. "Come on," he said. "There's so much I want to do, and we're wasting time standing here."

"What are you - ?"

"You don't honestly think I'm going to let you sit here and wallow in misery, do you?" He smirked. "This is the first time I have been outside in nearly six years. So, do you think you can stop pining for five minutes and accompany me on a little adventure?"

She glowered. "Why can't you just go by yourself?"

Malfoy stopped, and Hermione watched as the shutters came down over his eyes.

"I see," he said quietly. "You don't want to be seen in public with me." It was not a question.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "No! That's not – "

"It's okay. I understand."

Hermione growled low in her throat and stomped her foot. Malfoy took a step back as he caught the fierce look in her eyes.

"Ron proposed to me on this day three years ago."

Malfoy blinked. Hermione felt her shoulder slump and her fists relax; she was unaware she had balled them at her sides. She felt heat flood her cheeks as Malfoy's expression melted slightly. Was that understanding in his eyes?

He snorted. "So? You're not still wallowing over that prick, are you? Good Gods, Granger. You're better than that."

Hermione wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She bit her lip as she pondered.

"I usually just take the day off and eat a tonne of Ben and Jerry's."

"Ben and Jerry's what?" Malfoy shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We're going out."

He looked her up and own as he swung his jacket around his shoulders.

"Do you need to change?"

Hermione fixed him with a glare. The corners of his mouth twitched.

"No, Malfoy," she deadpanned. His face split into a wide grin. "Of course I need to change, you dolt! I'm not wearing pants." She gestured theatrically to her bottom half before catching sight of the look on his face. She turned on her heel to stop herself from jumping into his arms, the heat in his eyes a magnetic force to be reckoned with, and marched into her bedroom. She returned ten minutes later in jeans and a t-shirt, a jacket slung over her arm.

"Let's go," she grumbled.

"That's the spirit," Draco rolled his eyes and held out her purse, which she snatched from his grasp. "You're welcome," he muttered beneath his breath.

"What?" She snapped, reaching for the door handle.

"Nothing," he replied quickly. He caught the door as she wrenched it open, allowing her to pass through first.

"Thank you," she said stiffly.

Draco grinned but did not reply.

"What do you want to do?" Hermione asked as the brick wall dissolved to reveal the bustling shopping district of Diagon Alley.

Draco smiled almost shyly. "Well, I don't have a wand…"

"To Ollivander's then!" Hermione squinted up at him, unable to help the grin on her face. Now that she was out, she was feeling grateful to her companion for dragging her away from a day of self-pity and too ingesting many calories.

The shop was empty close to lunch time on the day that the majority of magical British children were making their way to Hogwarts. A sense of nostalgia washed over Hermione as they entered the familiar space, the bell on the door jingling.

Draco felt his jaw drop; in 12 years the shop still looked exactly as it had when he had first entered it. There was no sign of the shop keeper, so they stepped towards the counter.

"Hello?" Hermione called. "Mister Ollivander?"

"Do you think this is a good - ?" Draco was cut off by the sound of wood scraping together; Mister Ollivander appeared halfway up a ladder that had come cruising into view.

"Miss Granger," he greeted in his soft tone. "And Mister Malfoy…" he trailed off, a faint look of surprise etched on to his features. Draco watched warily as the old man dismounted from his ladder and shuffled towards them. "I wondered when I'd be seeing you again."

"You-you did?" Draco stuttered.

"Yes," the old man nodded, his eyes wide. Draco felt the urge to look away but found himself held uncomfortably in the pale blue gaze. "Your wand changed its allegiance," he stated, "and then…well, unfortunate, and unnecessary if you ask me but…" he trailed off again.

Draco flicked his gaze to Hermione and quirked an eyebrow in a silent question; is he mad?

Hermione giggled, but stepped forward to grant Draco some reprieve. "We'd like to get Draco sized for a new wand please, Mister Ollivander." She said clearly.

It was not as easy - though just as fun - as when he was eleven. The pile of wands quickly grew as Draco swished and flicked, unable to produce much more than a feeble wisp of smoke.

"No matter," Mister Ollivander kept muttering as he opened box after box.

Draco was feeling quite desperate as the older wizard handed him what must have been his twentieth wand.

"Eleven inches, aspen, unicorn hair." Ollivander said.

As Draco wrapped his hand around it, he sensed that this was the one. He brought it up to chest height and cast a simple lumos. The shop was suddenly bathed in a warm glow. Hermione clapped her hands together and came to stand next to him.

"How does it feel?" She asked, her lips stretched into a wide grin.

"Amazing," he breathed, mimicking her expression.

After Ollivander's, they wandered down the cobblestone street, stopping every now and then to admire a shop front. Draco had placed his wand carefully in the pocket inside his robes, and regularly checked to make sure it was still there; his stomach flipped in excitement every time he confirmed that their trip to the wandmaker's had not been a dream.

An hour in to their shopping trip, Draco turned to Hermione to ask where she would like to go next, only to find that the brunette witch was no longer strolling beside him. He frowned as he turned back, where she was standing frozen three steps from the door of Flourish and Blotts. He jogged back over to her, ducking his head to read her expression. She did not offer an explanation, but the look on her face was enough for him to follow her gaze.

On the other side of the street, coming out of the apothecary was Ronald Weasley. Draco's face automatically pinched into a familiar sneer in reaction to the redheaded tosspot. He watched as Weasley placed his hands in the pockets of his robes - Auror robes, Draco noted - and looked both way down the street. As his eyes swept back along the cobblestone, he began to walk…and then he stopped.

Draco heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath as the git recognised them, his gaze locked on the brunette witch. He turned to her, poised to ask if she would like to continue towards Flourish and Blotts, when she suddenly moved.

Time slowed to a crawl and Draco would swear later that he watched every second of the next thirty in excruciatingly clear detail. Her left hand fisted in the front of his button up shirt first, effectively dragging him to her; he stumbled, and then caught himself by placing his hands on her waist. He would not have bet that she could support his weight, but she did not flinch as her right hand slid up his chest and around his neck, threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He thought briefly of his desire to get a hair cut from a few days ago; it had mysteriously disappeared as her nails scratched gently at his scalp.

"Please," she whispered, the one syllable stretching as if the wind had picked it up as it left her mouth and then echoed it into his ear on repeat.

He gripped her tighter as her lips met his; tentatively at first, as if she was trying not to scare him off. In that moment, it was all he could do not to turn her around and slam her back against the shop front, but he restrained himself, recognising with a pang in his chest, that she was only kissing him in reaction to seeing Weasley.

It was short and sweet, just lips moving against each other, until her hand slid from his hair to meet the other one on his chest, and she broke away. His breathing was shallow, and he wondered if she could hear his heart as it galloped in his chest, trying to break free of its confines.

She had meant to just kiss him, swiftly, and then glance back to Ron to gauge his reaction. It wasn't meant to affect her in this way; she wasn't supposed to want to kiss him again, immediately, regardless of who might be watching. Stamping on the idea of apparating them both back to her apartment, Hermione forced herself to look up into Draco's face.

His eyes were liquid onyx, pupils blown wide and raking over her face as if trying to decipher the meaning behind her impulse action.

"Granger," he murmured, bringing her attention to his lips. She swallowed thickly, intending to step back and explain herself.

He held on to her, his fingers digging possessively into her sides. A delicious shiver ran up her back and she melted into him again, both of her hands hooking around the back of his neck this time.

She felt him smirk against her lips as he captured them with his own. This time he was in control, and he wasted no time in swiping his tongue over the seam of her lips, silently asking permission. Hermione did not pause to consider the fact that they were in public and granted him access immediately; he tasted like faded spearmint.

Fireworks exploded behind her eyelids as she sank further into him, relishing the feeling of his right hand as he brought it up to the back of her neck and wove his fingers into her curls. Her uncontrollable moan was met with a soft chuckle from the blond, who pulled back, but kept his hand tangled in her hair.

His eyes were melted pools of silver, swirling with a sea of emotions that Hermione struggled to sort out, her brain feeling rather foggy. She brought her arms down and allowed them to rest lazily against his chest. His heartbeat pulsed through her fingertips, undeniable proof that he was still recovering from the kiss, just as she was.

When he had regained his breath somewhat, Draco broke the silence. "Was that just a show for Weasley?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide; she had forgotten all about seeing Ron. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, but the red-haired menace was gone. Her shoulders slumped gratefully as she turned back to Draco.

"I – " She licked her lips; the taste of him lingered. For a split second she considered kissing him again, but then she caught the way his eyes had hardened again; his defences were going back up. "I overheard you and Blaise arguing the other night."

Draco's hand fell from her hair and Hermione winced as he took several strands with it. He stepped back. "You were there?"

Hermione nodded. "In the sitting room. Blaise had invited me to dinner, to tell you about the vial…"

Draco made a frustrated noise through his nostrils and glanced away, his lips in a thin line. "What did you hear, exactly?" He demanded, his burning gaze snapping back to her.

"That you have feelings for me." She whispered.

Draco inhaled sharply. "Granger," he began, running a hand through his hair. "This might have been a mistake, I didn't realise – "

"Is it true?" Hermione held his gaze, her expression blank.

Draco swallowed against the lump of fear that had taken up residence in his throat. This was not how he had imagined this scenario playing out, and that was saying something considering the hours he had spent conjuring this very moment in his daydreams.

Though, he supposed, if she was going to hex him, at least they were in public.

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled in a long, slow breath. "Yes," he enunciated.

"Really?"

"Is it so hard to believe?"

"Um," she licked her lips and glanced furtively away from him. He decided he did not like it when she looked away. "Sort of…"

"Why?"

She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Because it's you," she gestured towards him, "and because it's me." She let her hand drop back to her side. "But I don't think you understand – "

"Of course I understand," he cut her off, his tone bitter and laced with disappointment. "I know you're not interested in me; I tried to tell Blaise but he – "

"Shut up!" Hermione shouted, effectively silencing the blond. She stepped forward, closing the gap between them, her hands landing on his shoulders. For one fleeting second, Draco thought she was going to kiss him again. But then he was rocking back and forth in sharp bursts, and he realised she was shaking him; his teeth began to rattle in his head and his eyes slid out of focus.

"You are the most annoying, ignorant, stupid wizard I have ever had the misfortune of meeting!" She growled in time with her shaking. "Always moping and licking your imaginary wounds, it's a wonder I ever fell for you in the first place!" Draco's breath hitched and Hermione suddenly stopped manhandling him. "You should have just told me," she said in a small voice as her hands began to slide down his arms.

"Sounds like I wasn't the only one sitting on a confession, Granger," he replied as his gaze dropped to her lips; now it was her turn for her breath to catch in her throat.

"I do have something I'd like to tell you," she breathed.

Draco lowered his face to hers and brought his arms up until his hands found her waist once more. "Oh?"

She cleared her throat. "I have been wanting to confess," she whispered, "that I have wanted to shake you like that for a really long time." She grinned as a growl rumbled in Draco's chest.

He chose not to reply, and instead closed the gap between them, pressing his lips back to hers. It was not the tentative and uncertain kiss that they had shared first, nor the passionate frenzy of their second attempt. This was slow and sweet, and full of promises.

All too soon, Draco pulled away, unsure of how much longer he would be able to maintain decorum while in public. The witch had a heady affect on his mind and he was unwilling to trust his ability to hold back should she continue to make those delectable sounds against his mouth.

"How about lunch?" He murmured as he rested his forehead against hers.

Hermione nodded. "Sounds good."

Hermione arrived at work the next day in high spirits. She had woken to an owl from Draco that morning, asking her to dinner that night. Their date to Diagon Alley had not resulted in further discussion about their kiss, though he had brushed his lips against hers when he had brought her home later that afternoon.

She hummed as she pushed open her office door, but ceased the sound immediately upon entering it. Someone was sitting in one of the visitor's chairs; a red-headed, blue-eyed someone.

"Hermione," Ginny greeted her.

"Ginny!" Hermione hesitated in the doorway, her eyebrows shooting towards her hair line. "What are you doing here?"

"Shut the door," Ginny nodded past Hermione where some of her employees were beginning to congregate.

She did as she was told, locking the door and casting a muffliato spell for good measure.

"What's this about?" She asked flatly as she made her way to her desk.

The red-haired witch watched her movements with piercing blue eyes, not unlike her brother's.

"Ron told us," Ginny stated in her no-nonsense way. "About Malfoy."

"What about him?"

Ginny sighed. "Whatever is going on between you and Harry right now is your business; but he is my husband, and you are my friend…were my friend." Ginny's tone softened over the last three words and Hermione felt guilt settle unwelcome in her gut.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I didn't mean for you to get dragged in to our spat."

Ginny shrugged. "I'm not here on Harry's behalf, Hermione. I'm here because my brother arrived on our doorstep yesterday, blabbering on about seeing you and Malfoy in Diagon Alley." She shot Hermione a furtive glance. "He said that you were kissing."

Before Hermione could open her mouth to respond, she felt her cheeks heat.

"Aha!" Ginny pointed a finger at her chest, but her expression, while triumphant, was more intrigued than irate. "It's true! I can't believe it…well, actually, I can – but Ron was actually telling the truth! Harry thought he'd been hexed…"

Hermione allowed herself a small giggle at the thought of Harry clucking around Ron, performing anti-jinxes and frantically trying to reverse whatever had him speaking such utter nonsense. It was vindictive and petty, but it felt like she had finally achieved a small win in the battle against her two ex-best friends.

"So Malfoy?" Ginny raised an eyebrow and Hermione felt her stomach flip over.

"Yes," she said curtly. "I was kissing him."

"Are you dating him?"

"What is this, the Spanish inquisition?" She huffed and Ginny narrowed her eyes.

The red head stood, placing her palms flat on Hermione's desk and leaning forward. "Harry told me about the vial. He told me that you broke in to the Ministry archives to find whatever Lucius Malfoy hid before he was carted off to life imprisonment. He also admitted he was a total prat to you, but that's beside the point. I'm worried about you, and I won't leave here until I am convinced that you aren't just another pawn."

"I'm not a pawn," Hermione spat. "Draco and I have been through quite a lot in the past few months – during which, may I remind you, no one else has been there for me!"

Ginny had the decency to allow a flash of guilt cross her features. "I'm not judging," she countered.

"Could have fooled me."

"I am allowed to question the motives of the bigoted prat who made your time at Hogwarts difficult."

"Malfoy?" Hermione scoffed, her eyebrows raised. "Malfoy didn't make Hogwarts awful; Voldemort did!" Ginny didn't flinch, but Hermione detected the clench in her jaw as the name was uttered. "If you insist on pointing fingers, try Tom Riddle; he's the reason we landed on the side we did. I don't know how many times I have to say that Draco had as much choice as Harry did, it was just that he was born into a family who was on the opposing side. He was a child and he did not deserve what he got!"

"And Narcissa?"

"She was protecting her son," Hermione hissed. "And your husband wouldn't be here to pass judgment on those he deems unworthy of help if it wasn't for her. I owe a lot to Narcissa Malfoy; so do you."

Ginny exhaled forcefully through her nose. She pushed herself from her position against Hermione's desk and stood straight.

"I don't have time to argue with you over whether or not I'm doing the right thing by taking on the Malfoy case," Hermione sighed. "Is there something I can actually do for you?"

"No," Ginny shook her head, her gaze boring into Hermione's. "For what it's worth, I think I'm beginning to agree with you."

Hermione blinked; had she heard that correctly? Her heart leapt at the thought of having a friend on her side, but she quickly squashed the notion. She had been burnt before believing she had support from those who meant the most to her, only to have the rug pulled unceremoniously from beneath her.

"Look," Ginny licked her lips, "I never liked the bloke, but if you like him, then I trust you. I don't promise to become his best friend or drink from a goblet he offers me, but…I support your decision, if your decision is to date him."

"We're not dating," Hermione stated. "It's too soon for labels, and with Narcissa's case…" she trailed off and eyed Ginny, who nodded in understanding.

"I know how important that is to you," she said. "And I know Harry is doing everything in his power to hold it up. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yes, actually," Hermione allowed a small smile to grace her features. "Please tell Harry that I need the vial before the fifteenth; Narcissa's trial is first up and I need to view it before then."

"I'll do my best."

"Thank you."

Their tones were not what one would consider strictly friendly, but they were not openly hostile, either. Ginny had offered to help, and Hermione trusted her. It was a big thing for the red head to come here and speak to Hermione, given everything that had transpired between the Golden Trio.

As Ginny left, Hermione slumped in her chair; she had been so looking forward to dinner tonight, and now she just felt like crawling in to bed and sleeping until the entire debacle of Narcissa's trial was over.

Thanks to everyone who has wished me and littlered1992 good health! I'm pleased to report that we are over our flu, for the most part! :D