I have been re-reading this story when I have the time and I'm finding some spelling and grammar mistakes along the way. I really should consider getting a beta. Anyway, after I write my thesis I'll probably correct them and upload the chapters again.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.


Year 2003, June
The Weasley's Home

So, she couldn't sleep… again. It wasn't something new and it wasn't an unknown reality for her. She had struggled with insomnia before; long, sleepless nights of rolling around in the covers or simply sitting on the couch, looking at nowhere. When the nightmares weren't that bad she tried to indulge herself in a good, old book but normally the dreams would just be too much to handle and she couldn't concentrate on anything after that. So she would just wait it out, hoping she would doze off again or hoping morning would come soon. She was used to dealing with it and, normally, it wouldn't fret her much but due to the recent events, this time it was upsetting her.

She needed sleep. She hadn't been sleeping well for weeks and even though Ron had tried his best to tire her out tonight, her body and mind just wouldn't shut down. Her brain simply refused to cooperate with her. With all the recent events – the wedding, Malfoy, Death Eaters, everything – she had been working herself into overdrive. And if she didn't get her system to at least suspend or hibernate, she feared she might actually shut down for good.

Great. Computer references. Merlin, her brain hated her.

Hermione took a peak at her husband's form on the bed next to her. Ron was sleeping deeply, as usual. How did he manage that? Surely all this "Death Eaters are back!" crap must be getting to him, some way or another, right? It couldn't be just her. It just couldn't. They must all be feeling like this, right? Feeling hopeless, scared, confused… Feeling as if everything was about to swallow them whole. Feeling as if none of it ever ended; as if it had just been a slight pause on the darkness. They all must be thinking about this… right? They had to.

Groaning in frustration, Hermione hastily got up. It was still pretty dark outside and she didn't even bother to look at the alarm clock on her nightstand. She knew she still had some hours before the sun could even begin to think about showing its face. She soundlessly made her way into the living room, which was adjoined to the kitchen. The moonlight shone brightly into the big window. Hermione loved that window. It occupied most of the living room's far wall. It was tall and wooden and she enjoyed reading on the armchair next to it, with the sun snoozing on her feet. It was one of the things that made them – well, mostly her – rent this house in the first place.

When Hermione had imagined her life with Ron, back in the days when they were dating, she tried to picture they type of home they would live in. She knew that it would be a while before they could actually buy a house or, if they dared, to even build one, so renting became the number option. She had always wanted a space full of books, where the smell of worn out covers and pages would mingle with old wood and sandalwood; a place she could come to and relax and feel cosy and comfortable. So when she saw that living room window, she couldn't help but picture it surrounded by two fully stocked bookshelves and an old brown, leather armchair where she could sit comfortably, while getting lost in her reading. And even though the house wasn't big enough for her dream library, Hermione was content with having her own reading space. That window was hers, all hers.

Sighing, she decided to treat herself to a glass of cold water. It was an unusually hot night tonight. She was only wearing one of Ron's big, old Quidditch t-shirts – don't ask – and the need to just throw herself into a large, cool pool overwhelmed her. At least underwater she couldn't hear anything or anyone. Maybe she could just shut down her brain as well, for it was making such a huge racket, she was starting to regret even having one.

As her throat feasted itself on the clear liquid, Hermione couldn't help but wonder how many of her friends, classmates and colleagues, couldn't do the same anymore. How many of them had perished fighting for this world; how many had disappeared or vanished. How many had been murdered or how many had lost someone close to them… And even after all the death, the desperation, the hurt… They were at it again? Hadn't it had been enough? People deserved having a glass of water without the danger of being dead the day after. The Wizarding World deserved the peace. What could possibly be more important than that? How could power and greed be so destructive? She was just asking for a fucking glass of water!

The glass came a little too hard towards the counter. Look at you, Hermione. You don't even have any concrete proof yet and you are already freaking out! You don't even know what's out there and you already want out of it. What has happened to you? You used to be brave. You used to be a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! You used to laugh in the face of danger! … Well, probably not laugh but you faced danger head on. All those years with Harry and Ron, all those battles, the war. It should have made you stronger. It should have made you –

There was a knock on the front door. A loud knock.

Hermione turned around to the sound of the noise. Someone was knocking at her door. Someone? Something?

It knocked again, louder.

Harry? Someone? Did something happen? No. Harry would Floo or he would call her. They were basically the only two known wizards in the Ministry to even own a telephone. Was it someone from the Ministry?

A knock again followed by the very distinct and sound of –

"Granger!"

– Malfoy's voice.

Her ears couldn't believe it. What the hell was he doing here?

Hermione rushed into action, making her way quickly towards her door. Had something happened? Was he in danger? Was there an attack?

She hurriedly unlocked it and opened it. There, in her doorway, stood the tall, kind of menacing figure of Draco Malfoy. He was wearing a black cloak around his shoulders, which failed to contrast with his already black attire. His hair was everywhere and he had a sombre expression on his face.

"Malfoy, what happened? What are you doing here?"

"Maybe you could let me in first, Granger. I'm not exactly hiding under an invisibility cloak." He replied.

"Right, sure." She said, feeling slightly dumb. She let him pass through the door, closing it afterwards.

Malfoy made his way to her living room. He looked around taking in some immediate details: the couch in front of him, the fireplace behind him with a small flat-screen TV on top of it, the armchair and the bookshelves on his right. Small, but cosy. He acknowledged how the room actually screamed Hermione, with all the tiny details that made her Granger, with the books and the TV. The only thing that was missing was her idiot husband and the perfect "house with a picket fence" picture would be complete.

"Where's the Weasel?" Draco couldn't help himself. Too many years of it, too many feelings of jealousy.

"Please Malfoy, don't call him that." Hermione warned, joining him the living room. "He's asleep. If you haven't noticed, it is not exactly 3 o'clock in the afternoon."

Before answering, Draco took the liberty of looking at her as much as the lack of light would provide. She had her arms crossed, in that mannerly like fashion of trying to patiently wait for something but failing. Her hair was tied up in a bun, with some loose curls framing her face. Her feet were bare, her legs too and she was only wearing some big, oversized t-shirt that hid all the curves from her body – the body he never forgot, but couldn't remember how it felt anymore.

Draco snickered. Weasley's shirt, no doubt.

"I didn't know you'd grow into Quidditch, Granger. You always saw it as frivolous, violent, over-rated sport. Who knew you'd finally give it a chance." He remarked.

Hermione thanked herself for not bothering to turn on the lights. If Malfoy could see her face now, he would clearly perceive that she was blushing. The nerve of him! He knew exactly she didn't care for Quidditch. And yes! She did find it a very violent, over-rated, frivolous activity – she refused to call it a sport. But Ron occasionally liked to see her wearing some of his shirts and pretend he was this renowned Keeper and she was a core fan and they would –

Hermione immediately stopped her train of thought. Merlin! Why was she even justifying herself? It was only normal for a wife to, sometimes, wear her husband's shirt!

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Yes. Ignoring him was always the best. "Did something happen?"

"Liking Quidditch and showing lack of manners? My, my! You truly are a Weasley now." He smirked.

"If you came into my home just to insult me, Malfoy, I suggest you leave before I really do show you where you can shove my manners."

"So, being called a Weasley is insulting to you?"

Hermione groaned in frustration. Merlin, how could he twist everything up?

"I mean it, Malfoy. One more and you are out." She warned, giving him the most disapproving look she could come up with.

"Ok, ok. I'm done." He laughed softly, nodding his head. "But, seriously, is that what you do for foreplay, because – "

The look she gave him must have been border lining on menacing, because he quickly shut it.

"Fine. But since we are on the topic… could I have something to drink?" He asked.

"Malfoy – "

"I'm going to explain, Granger. I just need a drink."

Hermione groaned again, unlinking her arms and walking towards the kitchen. Seriously, sometimes she wondered how could she possibly have involved herself with a prat like Malfoy. He was rude, arrogant, manipulative, childish, annoying, common-sense lacking, apparently un-educated… He was a prat. A very handsome, ignorant prat.

She looked through the kitchen cupboards to see if she could find something. A drink? What drink? Alcohol? She wasn't that much of a drinker and Ron wasn't exactly stacking the house up with liquor.

"What do you mean a drink? If you are talking about butterbeer or firewhisky you are out of luck." She told him, while opening the cupboards.

"I'm not in the need for alcohol, Granger. I think we both know what happens when I drink too much firewhisky."

Hermione just blushed harder, her back still turned to him. He had not just said that! Her brain couldn't help but reminisce that night at the library, images of drunk Malfoy popping before her eyes. Drunk Malfoy touching her and kissing her and licking his fingers and staining his –

Stop! Merlin, fucking stop Hermione.

She gathered herself and opened the fridge.

"Well, I got orange juice… We are currently out of tea."

"What kind of English citizen runs out of tea?" Malfoy asked incredulously.

Why yes, Malfoy, thank-you for making me feel bad about not having some hot, nice tea to give to you this late at night.

He let out a tired sigh. "Juice is fine."

Hermione grabbed a glass from the cupboard, opened the juice packet and poured him some. She made her way to him and gave him the drink, which he accepted with a small 'thanks'. He took a sip before asking he if could sit. Why yes, go ahead Malfoy. Have some juice, sit! We will just pretend you didn't barge into my house late at night and have yet to give me some form of explanation.

As he walked towards the armchair near the window – her spot, that was her spot! – she noticed he limped slightly. But before she could even ask, he sat himself and captured her gaze with his own.

"Sorry, my leg was killing me."

"What happened, Malfoy?" She asked taking a seat on the sofa next to him, her tone turning worried.

"Is this all it takes to mellow you down? Some shameless, freeloading demonstration of me in pain?"

And there was that smirk again.

Merlin, I loathe you, Malfoy.

"I'm not mellowed down, Malfoy!" Hermione argued, her lack of patience going into minus territory. "Seriously, if you don't just say it –"

"Calm down. When did you become this humourless housewife?" He took another sip of his juice, trying to hide his sneer.

Malfoy couldn't deny it. He just loved messing with her. Working up Granger had become one of his favourite hobbies, since he knew he had that ability. He felt some sort of sick pride knowing he still managed to push her buttons. He imagined how her face would be this delicious shade of red, how her nostrils would practically flare up with anger, how her pupils would dilate as her eyes bore holes onto his skull.

Awww, angry Hermione Granger was so much fun.

"I think about the time you became such a bothersome investigator. Now spill."

He chuckled lightly, before finishing his juice. He drank it to the last drop. Truth was, Draco had yet to figure out what he was doing here, exactly. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. After his last near death-experience in Little Hangleton, Draco felt this strange pull to see someone familiar… Someone he knew mattered.

Oh, fuck it. He wanted to see her, ok? He wanted to make sure she was ok, that she was safe. He wanted to see her breathing, healthy… He wanted to see it with his own two eyes.

He knew he was being ridiculous. This was Hermione Granger. She wouldn't be defeated that easily. And as much as he hated to admit it, she wasn't exactly alone either. She had her… husband.

He cringed just thinking it.

Husband.

Bloody hell.

She had the Weasel and Potty and an entire Ministry to protect her. Also, in all the years he was gone she had managed to do just fine, hadn't she? She certainly hadn't come banging on his door for help. She had moved on with her life. She left all that destruction and pain behind her. She left that life behind her. And now she was this amazing, famous, world renowned witch, living the dream and he was the one to tell her that there would be some dark times ahead. He was the one to pull her into a nightmare again.

He snorted. Aint life grand?

He should have gone to the Ministry first. Astoria made him promise he would march in there first thing in the morning and tell them what he saw; tell them what happened and lecture them on safety measures and precautions. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to tell those fucking wankers off, but he just had to make a detour to see Granger, didn't he? He just had to drown himself in the mud.

That particular thought made him wince. Sometimes, his brain still made these stupid, idiotic comparisons. He guessed it was from the years of crap Lucius had practically drilled into his head. As much as he had changed, as much as he had put all that load of shit behind him, some of these thoughts still popped up. And they hurt. They reminded him that he was probably nothing more than a fucking bastard and that was what he would always be. Fucking investigator indeed.

"I was attacked."

Hermione's eyes quickly filled up with concern, a curtain of worry rolling over her features.

"What? What happened? Attacked by whom? Are you hurt?" She questioned, rapidly giving him a once over from the couch.

"Blaise Zabini." Malfoy said fatly, trying to hide any indication of discomfort. Blaise was still a touchy subject, even for him.

"Where? What happened, Malfoy? Just spill it out!" Her voice started to sound almost desperate. Malfoy was actually a little awestruck by this. Seriously, Granger? You care for me that much? Or is that just your Gryffindor compassion trait kicking in? The need to see if everything was alright, the need to save everyone.

"In Little Hangleton. I was there doing some – " He seemed to think about it before continuing " – investigator work and I saw him. Well, at first I didn't know it was him. He was there with two others. They were all hooded, so I don't know who they were. Long story short I made a rookie mistake and he found out I was spying and managed to hex me on the leg and – "

"What kind of hex? How did you know it was Blaise?" She interrupted.

"I don't know what hex it was. Just that fucking hurt. A lot." He explained "I knew it was Blaise because I recognized his voice. I overheard him talking to another and he sounded pretty pissed off that he didn't succeed in killing me off."

"Did he know it was you?"

"I don't know, but I don't think so. I don't think he saw me clearly. I ran pretty fast."

"What were you doing in Little Hangleton? I thought that place was secured by us." She was desperately trying to put all the pieces together.

"By us you mean those wankers at the Ministry?" He mocked "Yeah, sure. Real secure. Five years was all it took for them to forget all about the fucking war, wasn't it? I could tell for a fact it wasn't the first time Blaise was there and that place isn't fucking 'secure', as you put it."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She frowned.

"It means what it means, Granger. Blaise is up to something. Something is going to go down… and soon."

A look of dread crossed her features. Something was happening? When? What did that mean? And how come the Ministry was acting as if it were blind? Didn't they have people on his? Wasn't it the proper response to put someone on it, at all times? Little Hangleton wasn't exactly an unknown location. It was the fucking birth place for Voldemort, for fucks sake. How come Blaise could just wonder about it without being detected? Merlin, she was beginning to side with Malfoy on this: the Ministry was truly incompetent. It was only natural for Malfoy to accuse them of forgetting what happened. How could they forget? How could anyone forget? She couldn't. She didn't. She couldn't fucking sleep because of it!

"Have you…" Hermione tried to sooth the dryness that had formed in her throat "Have you told the Ministry yet? When was this?"

"A few hours ago, just after sunset." He replied, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands still holding the now empty glass. "I haven't told them yet. I'm going to that tomorrow morning. I seriously doubt they will do something about it and if they try, it will probably be some useless bullshit."

Hermione didn't say anything further, simply nodding and locking her eyes on the rug beneath her. It was real now, she couldn't pretend anymore. She couldn't pretend that it wasn't happening. She couldn't hide herself in a book, she couldn't hide herself in some old Quidditch shirt and she certainly couldn't hide herself in a three in the morning glass of water. It was real, just as real as Malfoy's limpy leg.

Malfoy was also lost in his thoughts, his gaze fixated on the glass in his hands. He needed to think about what he was going to say tomorrow and he needed to come up with the proper course of action. But something else was bothering him. Granger had said that she thought that place was secure and that could only mean two things: one, the Ministry was useless and evidently not doing its' job right or two, it went deeper than that. Maybe the Ministry was merely stating that that place was secure. Maybe it wasn't secured after all because someone didn't want it to be.

The second option scared Draco. It did. If there was anyone he would trust as the Minister of Magic, it was Shacklebolt and Potter, even if he would never admit to the latter. So, either Kingsley was completely oblivious to what was truly happening or he fucking knew it all. And if that was the case… Well, they were fucked and right back to where they started, all those years ago.

Fuck. He knew he shouldn't have gone to them. He shouldn't have! He probably fucked it all up, just by showing his fucking face, even if it had been to a handful of people. Not all of the Ministry knew of Draco's return or even what the fuck he was doing back. That is why he strictly asked Kingsley that the lesser people knew about this, the better. And now Shacklebolt could be working against him. Fuck.

"We can't tell them." He said suddenly.

"What?" Hermione lifted her gaze to face him.

"They can't know. I'm not going to tell them anything and neither are you."

She gasped "Are you insane? Of course we have to tell them! If there is people out there, capable of putting other people in danger, we have to deal with it."

"I'm not so sure the Ministry wants to deal with it, Granger. You said it yourself, you thought that fucker's hometown was secure and it turned out it isn't. Something doesn't add up."

"What? That's ridiculous, Malfoy!" She looked outraged "I can admit that, on occasion, we may struggle and that we aren't exactly known for always making the right decisions, but what you are saying is preposterous! I mean, this isn't a Pius Thicknesse case!"

"And how do you know that? What makes you so fucking sure, Granger?"

"Because I know, alright? Kinsley is my friend! And things are different now. Harry and Ron and Neville and I, we all know, alright? We work there every single day. This is a different Ministry than that from when you left, Malfoy."

Hermione didn't know who she was trying to reason with the most: Malfoy or herself. The thought of the Ministry having anything to do with any Death Eater activity was absurd. Times had changed. The Ministry had finally learned with the error of its' ways. They could handle another wizard war; they had to. Malfoy was wrong. He had to be. He was simply assuming a very improbable scenario, which he had the right to, but to act on it was ludicrous.

"Different? Now that you and the Musketeers work there, is that it?" Fuck, Granger, I'm sorry for dragging you into this, but I need to make you see that something isn't right. Please, just fucking work with me here.

He continued "What makes you so fucking sure, Granger? It has happened before. It could must certainly happen again. I'm not saying that my suspicions check out, I know it is a lot of speculating and –"

"Right! Speculations! And I'm telling you, right now, that I trust this Ministry. I built it, Malfoy. I know it. So keep speculating all you want but I'm warning them right now!"

Hermione got up from the couch, almost in an over dramatic fashion.

"Warn who? Weasel King and Potty?" He called after her, settling the glass on the coffee table.

"And Kingsley. If Blaise is preparing some kind of attack, we need to be prepared." She clarified, already moving to her floo stash on top of the fireplace.

"Granger, stop. You aren't thinking rationally. We don't know what Blaise is doing concretely." Malfoy stood by her side now.

"All the more to prepare for every possible outcome. You can't stop them alone and I can't either. We need help. So let's – hey, let go!"

Hermione's arm was currently being held fiercely by Malfoy's hand, the floo powder she had fisted in her fingers, escaping slightly onto the floor. He was looking down at her petite form, keeping her from moving.

"Granger, I said stop." He scowled, his eyes giving her warning signs.

"Let go of me, Malfoy." She met his gaze, defying him. She always defied him.

He was getting frustrated with this. She was acting on impulse, on fear. He knew she was afraid, afraid of everything that was happening. He knew this was Hermione trying to deal with the problem, before even having the cause, just so she wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. He knew that and he had to make her understand.

"Hermione" Her breath itched when he said her name "think about this for one second, one fucking second. You are about to go into Shacklebolt's home, dressed in nothing more but a fucking Quidditch shirt, in the middle of the night, to tell him that I got attacked by Blaise. Then he'll ask the whens and the hows and the whys and you'll have bloody speculations about gatherings in Little Hangleton, a town which you thought was secure. A town which you though the Ministry had covered and apparently it didn't and we don't know why that is and you want to pour all out there, even before we have any proof about it. How the fuck does that possibly help anything? So, fucking stop and get it together."

Just fucking stop, Granger. Stop worrying so much, that is my problem, not yours. I won't let anything happen. Just trust me. Fuck, I wish I could have said this instead.

Hermione looked up at Malfoy, his words sinking into her. The mere possibility of someone in the Ministry being involved in this… Merlin. How would they even… And do I look out of it Malfoy? Is that why you are looking at me like that? Like you have any kind of compassion to what I'm feeling? Do I look that desperate, that scared? Yes, I think I might. I was about to go to Kinsley's, wearing nothing but my husband's shirt, to warn him… about what? Meetings? We know that already. We know about the gatherings. What about Blaise? We now have confirmation he is involved. Yes, true, but that was also Malfoy's suspicion from the beginning. I would just be proving it.

She sighed. You are right Malfoy. If someone in the Ministry is working with the Death Eaters, we gave them too much info already.

"You are right…" She conceded quietly.

Malfoy's frown softened and he let go of her arm, the floo powder mostly on the floor now. Hermione was suddenly very self-conscious about her previous actions, even feeling a little foolish.

"So, what now?"

"Now we wait. Blaise isn't a fool. He caught someone spying, he'll automatically assume it's someone out to get them. If he'll trace it back to the Ministry or you guys, I don't know, but I'd be careful."

"So that's it? We just wait it out?" She argued, her gaze hot on Malfoy.

"I already told you, whatever it is, it is happening soon. Take extra precautions."

"Won't Blaise think it is you?"

"No." He answered quickly, adverting her gaze.

Hermione wasn't fooled. She knew when Malfoy was uncomfortable about a certain topic.

"He doesn't know you are back?"

"He doesn't know anything and I want to keep it that way. At the max, he might suspect, but I don't think he does."

The way he said it meant that was the end of the discussion. She nodded her head, not sure if she was capable of digging into Malfoy's full story just yet. Hell, she wasn't sure the wanted to. Malfoy coming back had been enough, she couldn't deal with the rest. But there was something bothering her about all this. Something she hadn't the courage to ask when she saw him standing there at her doorway.

"Malfoy, why are you telling me all of this? Why come to me?" She asked, her gaze falling on the empty glass he had left on the coffee table.

He didn't respond. Why the difficult questions, Granger? Don't you know already?

When a minute passed and she still didn't have an answer, Hermione decided it was best just to let the subject drop. She squared her shoulders and tried to focus on the more pressing matter. They were back. They were really back. Death Eaters were back in business and this meant playing house was over. She let her gaze fall into the armchair, the armchair Malfoy had been sitting earlier – her armchair – and noted that the time to read and enjoy the sun was gone. They could possibly be threading on another war here and she couldn't take any chances. She wouldn't.

"We have to tell Harry and Ron."

Malfoy groaned at that. Oh right, fucking Saint Potter and Carrot sidekick. The Golden Trio was back in action, with him as the fourth wheeler. He didn't argue with her though. He would never say it out loud or even admit it, but he preferred to be working with them. The Ministry? Not so much.

"I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

There. He said it. He said it but he was still coward enough not to meet her gaze when her big eyes landed on him, her mouth parted in surprise. What, Granger? Isn't it pretty fucking obvious, already? Why else would I risk coming here? Do you think I enjoy seeing you here, in that prick's shirt, watching you live your pretty fucking life? Your fucking perfect life, a life that doesn't include the former Prince of Slytherin. I may be a complete bastard, I may fucking hate myself sometimes, but I haven't turned masochistic… yet. And you still don't get it, don't you? You still can't see how I still very much care if you die; how it would destroy me. So at the mere possibility of you being in danger, I came. I came here, to your shitty home just to make sure you were ok, that you were still breathing. How can you not get that? But don't worry! If it bothers you so much that I came here, next time I'll send you a fucking note.

Draco groaned inwardly at his own ironic thought. A note. Fuck.

Hermione didn't know what to say, nor did she want to. Malfoy's words were doing things to her head, to her heart. So, he still cared about her. Good. Fine. It meant that she was still important to him, one way or another. It also meant that the note could have had more meaning than he actually led on. And what did that mean exactly? So what if Malfoy still had feelings for her? So what if he still worried about her? And so what if he had sent that stupid note? The same note that made her falter, that made her question if she truly wanted any of it. Well it wouldn't anymore. It couldn't.

She was with Ron. She was Ron's wife. She was happy with Ron. And Malfoy? She didn't even know Malfoy anymore! The Malfoy she knew was left at Hogwarts. She didn't know the Malfoy standing in front of her now. And Malfoy didn't know her as well. He was still thinking about that girl, the girl she fought so hard to leave behind. The girl that saw too much, felt too much… she wasn't that girl anymore. She didn't want to be that girl anymore. And why was she even thinking about this? She didn't have feelings for Malfoy! Yes, he was important to her. Yes, he would be forever in her memory, in her heart but that was it. Ron, Ron was the one she loved now. He was her husband; he was her everything. Not Malfoy, not anymore.

"I think you should go, Malfoy." She said, her arms circling her frame, trying to distance herself from him.

His shoulders slumped a little. What did he expect? A kiss? Right, keep fucking dreaming. At least a sign, a small sign that she still cared as well, that she hadn't forgotten. But what more of a sign could he get? All he had to do was check her fucking ring finger and there it was. What the fuck could be more obvious than that?

"You'll them, then?" He asked, getting back to business, his feet moving towards her front door.

"Yes, I'll tell them. We can meet up after." She answered, following him.

Malfoy stopped in front of her door and turned to her.

"You have to be careful, Granger. We still don't know what we are dealing with. And try not to use the Floo network. It could easily be traced."

"Is that why you came the usual, muggle way?"

"No. I'm just used to it by now." He joked slightly.

"I see." She gave him a small smile, grateful for the humour. "Thank-you, Malfoy."

He returned her smile. Merlin, she was so beautiful when she smiled. Even in the dark corridor he could trace all her delicate features. They way her cheeks would round up and the way her bottom lip would get stuck beneath her teeth. He remembered how she didn't smile much during that last year at Hogwarts and when she did, his heart would always swell up, especially if he was the one to make her smile. He always longed to see her do it.

Without thinking, Draco's hand went to cup her face, his thumb caressing her round cheek. Hermione's eyes widen in alarm and her smile vanished.

No, no. Don't Malfoy.

His hand was cold against her face and she was reminded of how cold Malfoy's hands really were. He rarely managed to heat them up. When he didn't remove it, even though she had stopped smiling, Hermione's heart begun to thump loudly in her ribcage. Malfoy was starting hard at her, his gaze burning and penetrating, his finger going up and down her cheek.

Hermione found herself leaning into his touch.

No, no. Stop it.

"Granger…"

No Malfoy, no using your husky voice. You know what that voice does to me. Just don't.

They continued to stare at each other, his hand still on her face, as she leant slightly into his touch. The silence was thick, the air became hotter and she knew it had nothing to do with it being a hot night. She needed to put a stop to this. She desperately needed to –

"Hermione?"

Ron's voice coming from the bedroom was all the incentive she needed. Hermione hastily gave a step back, Malfoy's hand falling down in the process.

"I'm going, Ron! Just came to get some water." She answered, turning to the small hallway.

A click from the front door made her look back.

Malfoy had left.

She stared at the door, unsure of anything that happened, questioning if it had been all a dream. Death Eaters were back, Blaise was in it, the Ministry wasn't as clean as she thought it to be, Malfoy still felt something towards her… Was it all a dream?

They way her cheek was tingling made her believe otherwise.


Thank-you so much for reading and a shout-out to PouleauPotter for taking the time to review every single chapter and for giving me much needed incentive to update and continue this story!

I hope everyone of you is having a beautiful morning/afternoon/night!