Draco, feeling decidedly more bored than he had been ten minutes prior, made the quick decision to Apparate to Granger's pigpen for a rousing banter. It was not because he was feeling decidedly more alone than he had been ten minutes prior.

Raising his hand to knock, he'd only just stepped up to the door when she called from inside, "Come on in!" It was irritating how cheerful she sounded to be inviting him, an ex-Death Eater into her home.

Granger had seemingly transfigured her bed into a sofa and moved it into what she called a sitting area, he couldn't imagine living somewhere where he had to constantly rearrange and transfigure furniture because he couldn't afford to buy a couch.

When he didn't move from his spot in front of the door, she finally looked up from her book, a stray curl falling across her forehead. "Is something wrong?"

"This entire situation is wrong, Granger," he grumbled and stalked across to the counter island.

She sighed, and he saw the corner of her mouth tug up into a poorly hidden smile, "We've had this conversation far too many times to be having it again Malfoy," she didn't bother looking over at him, instead she closed the book she was holding and picked up another one from the coffee table she currently had her feet propped up on.

She was right, of course she was bloody right, she was sodding know-it-all Granger, Draco wasn't sure what else he had expected.

For a few moments he drummed his fingers against the tiled counter staring at the humming Muggle ice box, but then he could feel Granger's eyes on him and he turned to look at her over his shoulder.

"What?" he asked, his tone just as sarcastic as usual, and he could tell she was ever-so-irritated because her lip between had disappeared between her teeth as if that would keep her from speaking. It never bloody had before.

Shrugging noncommittally, she turned her attention back to her book and released another soft sigh that drew his eyes to her mouth.

Now that she wasn't paying him any attention he was free to let his mind wander, something he hadn't really wanted to happen. When his mind wandered, so did his eyes.

Closing his eyes for a few moments he reminded himself of the things that were fine for him to look at. Looking at her eyes, her hair, her hands, and nose were perfectly acceptable.

Upon reopening his eyes, he realised those were in no way acceptable. It was in his best interest now to gouge his bloody eyes out, because he was starting to notice things.

Draco had immediately noticed that her hair wasn't bushy at all today, but instead pulled up into a poor excuse for a bun that sat high on the back of her head, he also realised it was wet – sopping actually — now that he placed her under further inspection.

Had she just taken a shower? Bloody hell. He watched with rapt attention as a droplet of water dripped down from her hair, past her ear, across her jaw and neck and settled in the crook of her collarbone and neck.

Fucking Granger and her fucking smooth neck. Wait. Why... WHY is her neck becoming something… What... the fuck.

Bloody fucking hell.

That settled one thing, hair was out. As was everything else as he realised what she was wearing. First was the thin white tank top that couldn't have made it any more obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra, then there were those bloody shorts that she'd worn before…

Sodding Granger.

The fact she still hadn't realised he was openly watching her was almost too much, there was nothing stopping him from fully taking in her slender legs that were propped up on the table, or the way her expression changed as she read, or the way she was absent-mindedly tracing her collarbone.

This was too much, too fucking much, and with that thought he swung around on the stool and began counting the turquoise tiles atop the island counter. It wasn't too long before he heard rustling coming from the kitchen area, he lifted his head and saw a bowl of strawberries floating toward Granger, and a small bowl of sugar followed soon after.

With a grumble he returned his attention to the counter and began counting the cracks in the tiles.

"Did you like The Importance of Being Earnest?" she asked, her brown eyes shining with excitement.

"It was alright," he replied flatly.

"Only alright?"

"It was funny."

"Yeah, Wilde's use of subtle satire to mock the conventions of the higher class during that time is quite funny," she was obviously trying to nudge him into a conversation, but Draco was simply not having it today.

"Hm," he grunted.

Silence.

Blissful, short-lived silence.

"Would you like a book?" she asked from around a strawberry she had clearly just popped into her mouth.

"No."

"Grumpy, you are," she mumbled before returning to ignoring him, or being blissfully unaware of him, or being whatever the hell it was she was being at the moment.

Over the past week Draco had come to visit Granger nearly every day, mostly for food and entertainment, but also for company. He had decided that admitting to why he was doing things instead of trying to ignore them would help him become a slightly better person. It would certainly keep him from getting into unnecessary arguments with her.

During this past week he had learned that she made her own shampoos and conditioners and body lotions. He had yet to ask how it was that she did this, because he wasn't sure he wanted her to know he was interested.

Today his nose was being assaulted by the smell of vanilla with a citrus-y undertone. Lemon? He wasn't sure how he felt about that one.

He'd also learned that Granger liked her Muggle music loud. Loud.

She liked fruit, as well, and would often walk away mid-conversation to go grab a banana, apple, or whatever else she had hiding in her cupboards and Muggle ice box. Oh yes, he'd also learned that was a refrigerator, which seemed to Draco to be a name with too many syllables.

As irritating as she was being, what with her probably soft skin from what he assumed to be copious amounts of lotion and her pretty collarbone, Granger was right.

Draco was rather grumpy.

He was quickly running out of what Muggle money he had thought to convert at Gringotts before he left six months ago, and he hadn't seen any witch or wizard apart from his mother and Granger in that long. He would consider committing a crime to get his hands on some Firewhisky.

Choosing to sit and mope for a little while longer, Draco closed his eyes and thought about all of things that were bothering him at that very moment.

Granger.

Number one cause of his grumpiness. Hermione Granger and her body lotion and hair and collarbone. Smarmy twat, anyway.

What he really needed was a drink, and that was coming in for a close second.

…

...

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when Malfoy scraped the barstool, once again, against the floor. Once she'd retrieved her heart from her throat she shot him a pointed glare before returning her attention to The Bell Jar.

"Hey, Grumps, you better shape up or else you're gonna end up like Esther," she waved the paperback at Malfoy as he deadpanned her and strode toward her bookcase. She'd meant it jokingly, but if he'd pursued the topic, she'd have willingly discussed her own dalliance with depression and some not so peppy thoughts. In truth, she'd only just started to recover from the War. England was a sore sight after… everything.

"I'm not going to be lured by your shoddy book recommendations."

"First of all, my book recommendations are not shoddy!" Hermione fired back before popping another strawberry into her mouth. "Second of all, that wasn't a recommendation."

"If you want me to understand what you're saying, I'd recommend that you stop shoving food in your mouth before you talk."

"Smarmy git," she grumbled, although there was no bitterness behind it, only playful intention, which Hermione found equal parts okay and the absolute farthest thing from okay.

Having a sudden burst of realisation, Hermione piped up, "Hey! You said you liked The Importance of Being Earnest!"

"I said I thought it was funny, Granger. Not only do you not speak properly, you also don't hear properly, it's a wonder you've survived so long, Darwin's Revolution surely should have caught up to you by now." She could hear the humour in his voice, and she giggled at his mistaken Muggle wisdom.

"I believe what you're looking for is Darwin's Theory of Evolution."

"Semantics."

"That's not semantics."

"Also semantics," he chuckled as he ran his fingers across the spines of her perfectly alphabetized books. She'd never noticed how longer his fingers were. She watched as he pulled down one a book, scanned its covers and then placed it back on the shelf before grabbing another and doing the same with various other books.

"Semantics can't be called semantics."

"Granger, when discussing semantics, meaning, implication, and connotation must be taken into consideration," he twirled his hand with a flourish, his back still facing her, and he was once again the cause of her laughter. That and his absurd posh accent. "Therefore, it can only be agreed upon that I am right, and you are wrong – This sounds promising… Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, well see, it's already told me what it's going to be about, no confusing twists or red herrings here."

"Oh, Malfoy, out of all the books up there, I wouldn't suggest you choose that one," she implored with a wide smile. Out of all the people she had ever met, Draco Malfoy was the last she'd expected to have a sense of humour. Perhaps even surpassing her expectation of Snape.

He whirled around to face her, "But Granger, I thought we already agreed that you're in no shape to be making recommendations."

"That was a suggestion."

"Semantics."

"Malfoy!"

"Granger!" He plopped down at the other end of the couch. Hermione realised this was may have been the first time he'd ever willingly sat down beside her.

Hermione just sighed and smothered her smile with more sugar and strawberries.

Their argument earlier that week had done wonders, not only for Hermione's stress level, but also for her overall everyday mood.

What was the point of clinging onto the past if it was only dragging her down? That was the entire reason she came here. Mostly.

The silence between them was comfortable now, she didn't feel constantly edged into a corner and forced to argue. Their arguments had become banters, and, for the most part, they didn't lead to anyone storming out. When they did, he would return from wherever he had stomped off to, much to Hermione's amusement.

She'd made it quite far in the book before she noticed that Malfoy had started fidgeting and sighing quite incessantly.

"Something wrong?" she asked sweetly.

"This book doesn't make any bloody sense, Granger," he grumbled, tossing it onto the coffee table. Hermione shot him the look. "Sorry," he added as an afterthought.

"Can I make a recommendation, then?"

He grunted.

"Hamlet."

"Ham…Let?"

"Alright, well don't say it like that," she burst into laughter.

"You think you're so funny," he rolled his eyes at her.

"I didn't do anything!" she squealed.

"Mhm."

"Don't mhm me."

"I'm not going to read Piglet, or whatever other book you think I ought to read."

Hermione found herself in the throes of another fit of laughter.

Once she'd recovered she cleared her throat and asked, "And what is it that you're going to do instead?"

"I think that we ought to go find some witches and wizards," he announced proudly as he abruptly stood, stretching his arms over his head. Hermione watched his back and the way it moved under his grey button-up.

"And why should I do that?"

"Well, do you have any money?" he looked at her from over his shoulder, his hair falling across his eyes. That boy was in dire need of a haircut.

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry," Hermione recited flawlessly as she followed suit, standing and stretching beside him.

"What are you on about now?" he asked.

"If you'd listen to my recommendations you'd understand."

"You're the most bothersome witch I've ever met."

"Touché."

…

…

"Now, your idea sounds great, don't get me wrong," Granger was hunched over as she tied her shoelaces, so her voice was slightly muffled by her hair. "But do you even know where the entrance is?" She had taken her hair down from her bun and cast a drying spell, which seemed to adequately tame her mane. He considered offering to buy her a haircut, but decided against doing so.

"Well, no… I don't, but I figured you might know, you know, since you've got that big ol' brain up there," her mouth immediately shot open, but Draco spoke before she could, "Yes, Granger, I know intelligence has nothing to do with size. I do listen on occasion."

"Yeah, when it benefits you," she cooed with a smirk, something he'd noticed she'd started doing every now and then.

He also smirked, "See Princess, you're catching on."

"Ugh." She groaned, "You're infuriating." He knew much she didn't like that nickname.

"I think you mean infuriatingly clever and witty."

"Shut up, Malfoy," she laughed.

Before he could start mulling over the fact that he rather liked the way Granger's laugh sounded, he grumbled a quick, "Be right back," before Disapparating, and he could have sworn he'd her squeak out a startled, "Christ!" Through the discomfort of Apparating he could feel the smile tugging at his lips.

Landing much more gracefully than the last time he'd come to the Manor, Draco simply straightened out his clothing and rolled his shoulders as he made his way toward the house. He hoped that his mother hadn't tampered the house, because he wasn't particularly looking forward to finding out the hard way.

The snow crunched beneath his feet and he shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping to fend off the bitter cold.

He knocked twice before pushing open the heavy door, he'd become so accustomed to having house elves around that he'd forgotten how heavy the doors were.

"Mum?!" he yelled as soon as he was over the threshold and was certain he wasn't going to be blown to bits.

The Manor had always seemed too large for his family when they'd all been living here, elves included. Now it seemed practically vacant with only his mother living in it.

"Mum!"

There was a faint, "Draco?" from somewhere in the house and then a sharp crack as his excitable mother nearly Apparated on top of him.

"Merlin, Mum, did you actually pass or were they just handing out free licenses back when you were in school?"

"Oh, hush, you're so dramatic." She waved her hand dismissively.

"Me?!" he squawked, "I'm the dramatic one?"

She flapped her hand at him again, "Enough of that, tell me why you've come to visit your old mother."

"You're not old. Don't even start," Draco couldn't help but scoff at his mother's foolishness. "Anyway, I just came by to ask if you know how to get into Wizarding Australia."

"Oh, darling!" his mother clapped and teetered from foot to foot, "Are you taking that Granger girl out for a date?"

"Christ, Mum, please."

In response she simply arched an eyebrow.

"I mean – Merlin, Mum, please."

"I think she may be a good influence on you, Darling," she walked off through the first doorway on the right, "Come on, then."

Draco huffed with exasperation at his mother's nosiness and scuffled along after her.

"Here," she tossed a rolled up newspaper to Draco.

"The Daily Prophet?" he passed it from hand to hand while he wandered around the downstairs library.

He glanced over at his mother who was stalking around the bookshelves like she was on some sort of animalistic hunt for prey. "Thought Hermione might want to read it."

"Hermione." He repeated.

"Well, yes, that's her name."

"Hm."

Before returning his attention to the newspaper he saw his mother smiling to herself as she stretched up on her toes to grab a book.

"'Ronald Weasley Asks Ex-Fiancé to Come Home in an Exclusive Interview with Rita Skeeter,'" Draco read aloud. "And, Mother, what's your motive?"

Returning with a pretty hefty looking hardcover book, his mother just shrugged, "No motive, I just thought she ought to know what she's missing."

"Missing? I'd thought she was doing just fine without the Weasel bothering her," he shrunk the newspaper and book and placed them inside the breast pocket of his shirt.

"Concerned for her well-being now, Darling?"

"No."

His mother tutted and said, "You seem quite… off. Has she got you all out of sorts, Darling?" She tapped a manicured nail against her chin, a sly grin spreading across her porcelain features.

"No. Goodbye, Mother," he closed his eyes and prepared to Apparate back to Granger's shack.

He sighed when he felt his mother's delicate fingers grasp his upper arm.

"Darling, I love you, but you truly are a stubborn prick," she gave him a light peck on the cheek.

"Love you too, Mum."

Crack.

…

…

"Christ, Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked when he suddenly appeared just beside where she was sitting on the steps of the porch. "Did you steal your license?"

"Come on now, Princess, that's no way to treat someone who comes bearing gifts," he returned the newspaper to its usual size and tossed it to Hermione.

"What's this?" she asked as she unrolled it and shook out the wrinkles.

Malfoy just shrugged and sat down beside her. They were sitting quite close now, almost touching at the shoulders. She watched as he pulled a book from his pocket and resized it. Being the bookworm everyone knew her to be, she began leaning toward him in hopes of seeing the cover. She smiled when Malfoy turned the book slightly so she could see.

"It's an old travel guide," she said. "Where'd you get that?"

"My Mum," he flipped through the book. "Why?"

Hermione followed suit and scanned the cover page of the newspaper, "Just wonder—What the fuck… Did you see this?" she jabbed her finger at the headline.

"Huh?" Malfoy glanced up, "Oh yeah, Mum said she thought you might like to read it."

Choosing to not respond, Hermione sighed and rested her elbows on her knees then let out one more sigh as she turned to the page the interview started on.

It was a whole lot of things that she couldn't picture Ron saying.

"Emotional range of a fucking teaspoon," she grumbled.

"What?" Malfoy asked, looking up from the book for a moment. Hermione tried to not read too much into his facial expressions since they didn't seem to vary much, but it almost looked like he was nervous that she was talking about him.

"Ronald," she sighed his name with agitation. "He's doing this for show."

"You don't think he's actually worried?" his voice conveyed a very miniscule amount of interest.

Twisting her neck so she could relieve the tension there, she considered his question for a few moments.

"I'm sure he's concerned, I mean, if they haven't figured out that I wasn't kidnapped… Well, I did sort of hint that I was leaving… Anyway, he's not the emotional type, so I doubt he would broadcast his feelings like that. Especially not to Skeeter – He knows how I feel about her. I'm… I don't care enough to put too much thought into why." That was a lie, she did care, and Malfoy knew it.

"I hadn't realised the Weasel was such a celebrity these days."

Hermione just gave a derisive snort as she rolled the newspaper back up.

She contented herself with watching the ocean for a little while as Malfoy continued to read.

As much as she tried to force the thought out of her head, she couldn't help but wonder what he thought of her. She would never ask, obviously, but it was certainly something that ran across her mind every now and then.

Here she was, heroine of the Second Wizarding War, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, run away to Australia. Just not quite bright enough to know how to keep a man happy. She ran away.

Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Princess was a coward.

She grimaced.

Well, she may not know what Draco thought about her, but Hermione certainly knew what she thought of herself.

"How much longer before you'll be ready?" she asked.

He looked a bit miffed that she'd interrupted him. "About ten minutes."

"Alright." Hermione stood and hurried into her house, immediately rummaging around for paper and a pen.

…

…

Ronald,

I'm not dead, I haven't fallen down a well, I haven't come down with a case of the Vanishing Sickness. I've gone away for a while, and I'm not sure when I'll be back.

I'm taking a well-earned vacation.

Don't try to trace this letter, I'll have charms placed on it so you can't.

Don't worry yourself over finding me, since you seem so concerned that you just had to plead for my return in the Prophet.

I left before we could have a proper conversation about what happened. Sorry about that. I'm sure you're not too torn up about it though.

Am I bitter? Possibly, I mean, what woman wouldn't be bitter when they catch their fiancé with the Keeper of the rival Quidditch Team? To be fair, I couldn't give a hippogriff's arse about what team she plays for, because she doesn't seem to care much either.

Oh, don't worry, that was a joke, I've not gone off the deep end again, I'm just trying to showcase my wonderful sense of humour.

Don't go thinking I left only because of that whole incident, I mean, of course seeing her with her perfect little arse bouncing away… Of course that had a bit to do with it, but we both know I need a bit of time away from England.

Remember when we used to talk about going on vacations? France, Italy, America, Brazil… I'd always made such in-depth plans, even though I knew they probably weren't going to happen. What with you trying out for the Chudley Cannons, and me applying for Uni… We dreamt about it though!

Anyway, I'm well.

I hope you're doing alright, I would never wish ill things for you… I'm just a bit cross

with you for now.

Now, please don't go around blabbering to newspapers as if you're still madly in love with me, if you ever were, because we both know that you're not. It's not doing either of us any good.

Alright, I've got to go, hopefully I'll get a letter detailing all of your adventures sooner than later.

Best wishes,

Hermione

...

...

I got this chapter up pretty fast! I mean, compared to how long it usually takes me... The ball is sort of rolling now, I have a plot in mind (compared to how I usually write - which is not well, haha). Anyway, here are a few explanations that I think would be useful about now:

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry."

This is from Hamlet, and Polonius is, as usual, giving his pretty shitty advice to his son, Laertes. He's basically saying that loaning money is dangerous, and that it can sometimes ruin friendships. He's also saying that it's impolite.

The reference to The Bell Jar is that Esther Greenwood eventually spirals into "insanity" from possible depression or some other mental illness, so here Hermione is warning Draco to beware of such feelings. Not that he has any idea what he's talking about.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is a play that's Hamlet from the point of view of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, it's meant to be funny, but you really have to read Hamlet first to understand it. There's a movie version of it with Gary Oldman in it, so everyone should go watch that!

Once again, I hope you guys like this chapter! Please review with your thoughts, it makes me sooo happy and really (truly) pushes me to write more, haha

- Lindsey