A/N: So what does everyone think about Ron and Lav? Do you think he's using her? How about Hermione's new commitment to Draco and Grimmauld Place? Read and Review!

This chapter is pretty important – a lot of crucial stuff happens! Enjoy!

Shoutout to TwistedOwl and foshizzledizzle13 for their wonderful, numerous reviews!

Chapter 10:

Hermione spent the entire week unpacking. With Draco's help she had assembled both her wardrobe and her bookcase. Oh how she loved her bookcase. She had spent two days filling her new bookshelves with her old books, some – like The Tale of Beedle the Bard – bringing back fond memories of times with Ron and Harry. She saw other books like The Little Women and Pride and Prejudice, which had been some of the first books her Mother had given her. Even though she had not brought that many books – just the most important ones – she took time to look at each one, remember the times she had read them.

The books given to her by her parents took her much longer to sort. It had been over a year since she had had to obliviate her parents. Sometimes she wondered how they were doing; if they were safe; if they were happy. She had laid awake at night, asking herself these questions. She dreamt of visiting them, just watching them through their window. Going about their daily lives, without her. She grappled with the emotions she would feel. Would she be relieved to see them alive? Or would she be distraught to see their lives without her in it? She sat on the floor thinking about these things for what seemed hours. Homesickness overwhelmed her as she slowly flipped through the pages and memories.

However, tending to her wardrobe took much longer. Hermione wanted to be a grown up since the war had ended. So she had retired her old jumpers, flair jeans, and sneakers – although they had made appearances since her stay at Grimmauld – for chic dresses, skinny jeans, and pumps. Even though she was no longer in the public eye, she had been, and her look needed to reflect her sophistication. She missed her shopping days with Ginny, and hoped, that since she was living at Grimmauld until further notice, that Harry would let them escape to Muggle London for a few shopping trips.

She sighed looking around her room, a week of tedious work had passed, but 12 Grimmauld Place was starting to feel more like home. She hoped that it felt the same for Malfoy. She had tried hard to include him in her small move, and to have dinner with him each night – even asking him what he wanted to eat some days. She glanced at her calendar hung above her desk at the other end of the room: August 15th. She had secretly been planning a birthday dinner for her blonde housemate, figuring that it would be his last for a while. She planned to cook an extravagant meal accompanied with the best wine she could find. They would talk until late like they always did. Hermione had even gotten him a small present: a small, chestnut-coloured journal – no larger than a palm – that when opened, magically released a beautifully wooden crafted fountain pen. Hermione had bought it for Ron, but in light of recent events, thought it would be a perfect gift for Draco, she had even written him a small note on the first page,

"Draco,

Thoughts are the key to sanity.

Happy Birthday!

~ Hermione"

She had figured he would take it Azkaban and it would give him a small piece of the outside world; something he could always keep with him. She set the small journal back on her desk, and looked at her clock; it was late. She would need a good rest for the following day.

oooooooooo

Draco awoke late the day of his birthday. The sun shone into his room – straight into his sleeping eyes – warming it slightly. By the positioning of the sun high above the building he figured it was early afternoon. He continued to peer out the window from his bed and sighed, it was his last free birthday. He swung his legs off the bed and noticed a small note on his nightstand,

"Happy Birthday! Tonight at dinner, wear the clothes you used to wear."

He furrowed his brow, confused by Hermione's note. What did she mean by the clothes he used to wear? He thought back to what he had worn at Hogwarts – only the best. He remembered his exotic threads fondly. The only Muggle thing his parents had ever let him buy was clothing. His closet at the Malfoy Manor was full of Armani suits, Gucci belts, and custom-made shoes. He sighed as he looked across his room to the small wardrobe, he had not been able to bring his beautiful clothes with him; they were lost in the Manor forever. His eyes lowered to his bed once more, but he paused, looking back up at the wardrobe. Granger was a clever one, he thought. He strode across the room and practically ripped the thin door off the tall piece of furniture, and just as he had thought, in the middle of his raggedy sweats and old jumpers, was one of his old suits.

"Glad to see you've still got it? Kitchen at 7pm."

He smiled. His birthday was off to a great start.

ooooooooooo

Hermione cooked all morning: making sauces and marinades, cleaning the dishes, making everything perfect. After the table was set and all that was left to do was to cook the pasta and grill the meat, Hermione ascended to her room. She repeated all the steps that she had done for her 'Girl's Night' with Ginny several days earlier. She washed her hair and dried it, letting her honey locks fall in wavy, loose curls. She applied makeup once more, leaving it simple and elegant. Finally, she opened her closet and looked at the outfit she had picked for herself. The top she had chosen: a short sleeved light blue silk shirt with an abstract pattern of dark blue polka dots. If she squinted just right it looked like ocean waves were flowing across her body. She paired the unique shirt with dark wash skinny jeans that flattered her toned legs. She looked herself in the small mirror on her dresser, placing pristine pearl earrings into her ears. She stepped into her nude pumps and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Perfect.

Hermione snapped back to reality as she glanced at the clock: 6:30! Malfoy would be down soon! She hustled downstairs and made sure that everything was perfect. In those 25 minutes, Hermione managed to cook the pasta, grill the two steaks she had chosen and marinated, and put everything on the table. She ran upstairs again around 6:55…she wanted to make an entrance.

ooooooooooo

Draco sauntered down the stairs at 7:01 expecting Hermione to be frazzled and unkempt from all the racket he had been hearing in the kitchen, but she was nowhere to be found. He looked around the kitchen – he had never seen it so clean. The table actually had a table clothe on it and tons of steaming food. There was pasta with a red sauce sitting beside it. There were two steaks, freshly cooked, also sizzling on the table. Draco's mouth started to water.

Just then he heard a shuffling upstairs and turned to look at the entrance to the kitchen. Hermione walked in and his jaw dropped. She looked just like the model that had sat on his bed that one night several days ago; that beautiful girl that had drunkenly danced around his room. Her hair was shiny and curled neatly at her collarbone. She wore the perfect skinny jeans that clung to every inch of her toned and muscular legs. The food has made his mouth water, but Hermione was making him drool.

"Well don't you look handsome tonight birthday boy!" she said seductively. He felt himself grow hot and turned on. No, he thought, he had to make it past dinner. He did think that he looked good though; the best he had looked in a while. He wore one of his classic Italian suits: black with a classy white shirt tucked into the hem of his slacks. He had left the top two buttons undone to bring a more casual look to the dinner. Then he had thrown on his sport coat, also black, over. His hair was perfectly coifed the way it had been in school. He really did miss looking good. "Well, sit down! The food is starting to get cold!" Hermione said bringing Draco out of his thoughts.

They enjoyed a nice long meal; Draco feasted on the food she had prepared: the meat, and the pasta, and the cheese, and the wine, and the cake. He was in heaven! She laughed as he declared that this was his best meal since the Manor. They talked for a long time, just feeding off of each other's company. He looked at the clock as it chimed 10. They had just finished desert. Draco patted his stomach and watched as Hermione hid a yawn. He stood up from the table, taking their plates to sink.

"Tonight was brilliant! I really can't thank you enough Granger." He said as they walked up the stairs together.

"Don't thank me just yet," she said pausing at her door, "I have something for you." He watched her as she stepped into her room, leaving the door open, and went to her desk. He looked into her room. Even though he had been inside of it before, it looked different somehow. It wasn't completely clean or disastrously messy – it was inhabited. Her bed was slightly undone, with the sheets ruffled on the right side. Her wardrobe was open and her dresser slightly disorderly – the content of her jewellery box strewn across it. He looked at her rummaging through he desk. It was covered in papers, old parchments, and open books. She returned, facing him then taking his hand. She opened his palm, dropping a small book into his hand. The book was a beautiful chestnut colour, just a tint darker than her hair. He opened it to see a beautiful fountain pen magically appear and land in his hand. He squinted his eyes to read the small text she had written for him, but she stopped him, "Don't read that yet."

He looked at her unlike he had ever looked at her before; he looked into her eyes, "This is wonderful, Hermione," she blushed as he said her first name, "This has truly been one of my best birthdays." She looked up at him once more allowing him to see the fervour and passion behind her eyes. He outstretched his hand and touched her face, her soft and pale cheek. Her hand also rose to her face, covering his, their eyes never leaving each other's. Draco slowly lowered his face to hers, and their lips connected.

The kiss was soft and short. He had forced himself to bring his lips away from hers and look at her once more. His hand was still on her cheek, and her small hand still covered his. He felt her thin fingers leave his and glide up his arm, reaching for his cheek, but he stepped back, bring his hand back to his side, "Good night, Hermione. Thank you again." He said as he turned and slid into his room.

He sat on his bed for a long time, not even undressing, just thinking about what had just happened: the kiss he had just shared with Hermione Granger. Everything about her made him tingle, and when he had mustered the courage to kiss her in the hallway, he had nearly collapsed. The electricity between their two bodies had jolted him into reality: it couldn't work. Potter had told him not a week ago that the trial date was to be announced soon – he would surely be going away for life.

He silently undressed and slid into bed, eyes blankly staring at the ceiling. Now was not the time to start a relationship.

ooooooooooo

Hermione watched as Malfoy walked silently back into his room, his door quietly closing with a click. She fell back against the wall, using it for support, and slid down to the floor. What had just happened? Draco Malfoy had just kissed her. And most frightening of all, she had enjoyed it. His lips had been soft and gentle against hers not rough and sloppy like Ron's had been. He was tender and light, something she had never experienced before. She wanted more. She re-watched herself reach her arm for his body, for his cheek, to taste his lips once more, but he had stopped her. He had ended it as quickly as he had started it. He had been reserved, restrained even, as though he was holding himself together. She had melted, becoming hungry for more. She wanted to march back into his room and kiss him again, hold him until the morning. But she thought of his life, what she had done to make his birthday special. She had to have Harry talk to Kingsley just so she could get one of his old suits. He was a criminal, one who would soon be locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his life.

Hermione thought of his eyes as they had pierced through hers. She had seen him; he had let her in. He was so scared, so sad, but also genuinely happy. She slid off her shoes and stood up. She understood now. He was being typical Draco Malfoy – rational. This would not – could not – work.

She nodded to herself and shuffled back into her room, letting her door close as quietly as Malfoy's had.

ooooooooo

The feeling is like being numb. Nothing affects you. You're just there. You try and feel their pain because you want to take it from them but you can't. You want to try to save them, make them feel better, make them smile, laugh, talk, but it doesn't work – they're as numb as you are. When they first come back, they don't know how to react to you. They aren't use to the noise, the movement, the being. They just sit. They get irritated easily. They talk to themselves. It scares you because you love them. They're were helpless, and now you are.

Everyone knew who the prisoners of war were, especially the ones held in Malfoy Manor. That was because Harry Potter and his gang had helped them escape. Yet another set of people who owed their lives to the Golden Trio. Olivander had died shortly after the war had ended; he was too overwhelmed with the aftermath, the press, the fame. Everyone had remained a recluse. After what happened to Olivander, no one doubted the poison that the media planted. They couldn't handle the buzz, not after the daily visits from the Lestranges and others.

Luna Lovegood sat at her chair in her quirky house. She knew her father had missed her, but he was overbearing. She had been so free at Hogwarts, then went into a year of imprisonment. She had to find a medium in between. Her father was trying, he really was. At first, he would never leave her side. Thank goodness for the Ministry position and the success of the Quibbler. She could now sit and think to herself, sometimes getting a visit from Dean or Neville. Ginny stopped by quite frequently as well. She liked their company. She liked how gentle they were. But she even noticed the changes. She was quieter, more subdued, and not the initiator of conversation that she used to be. She had seen awful, awful things. But she had also witnessed the beauty of friendship. She had heard Hermione screams, and seen Harry and Ron throwing themselves at the bars. They had carried them out of the cell. Dobby had given his life for the mere concept of helping his friends. She let a tear slide down her check. Things had been hard adjusting, but she was making headway. The entire war had brought a new level of bravery that Luna had never known before. She let her eyes readjust and stare at the clock on the opposite wall. She only had an hour left to herself before her father joined her at home. She would need to cherish it.