As Audrey had promised, she set up an appointment for Hermione with the specialist Mediwizard, Healer Simple. Despite it being her first day back at work since the incident at the Ball, Hermione was forced to take an early lunch to Apparate to St Mungo's for her appointment. In a show of support, Draco had agreed to accompany her, and was already waiting by the time she arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," she announced breathlessly. "My boss dropped a memo on my desk just as I was leaving."

"No problem," said Draco courteously.

The buxom blonde receptionist looked over Hermione's slightly dishevelled appearance and addressed Draco. "Your sister?"

"Wife," Hermione replied, in cool condescending tones.

"I see," the receptionist turned away with a look that said that she clearly did not see at all how Draco had chosen someone like Hermione to marry. Hermione gave a disapproving sniff as she dug her nails into Draco's arm and led him to the hard wooden seats in the waiting area. Draco couldn't help a conceited grin at her blatant display of territorial tendencies.

"You can wipe that smug look off your face now," Hermione hissed as they sat down.

Draco smirked. "You are so entertaining when you're jealous."

Hermione gave him a withering stare. "I am not jealous."

"Of course not," Draco agreed solemnly, still smirking.

"Hermione Malfoy?" the receptionist called out, sneering when Hermione got to her feet. "Healer Simple is ready to see you now."

"What an inspiring name," muttered Draco, as Hermione knocked on the door.

The second they were ushered inside, it was obvious that Healer Simple had risen above his unfortunate nomenclature. The walls were filled with framed diplomas in several different areas of magical medicine, and there was an ornate shelf above his desk stuffed with trophies and award shields. The Healer himself sat on an expensive looking chair of gilded leather, and looked as though he was at least as old as Nicholas Flamel.

"Pleasure to meet you Mr and Mrs Malfoy," he said, as he indicated them to their seats. "Healer Perks insisted that I look at your case of unusual adult accidental magic."

Hermione gave him a polite smile. "Thank you for taking the time."

Healer Simple rested his chin on his interlinked fingers in a gesture so reminiscent of Albus Dumbledore that Hermione blinked in surprise. "The history Healer Perks provided has indicated that you have never had displays of accidental magic prior to last week, even as a child?"

"That is correct," Hermione confirmed.

"Interesting," Healer Simple surveyed her curiously. "Pardon the question, but are you of pureblood descent?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Draco scowled, much to Hermione's surprise.

Healer Simple raised a snow white eyebrow. "I meant no offence to Mrs Malfoy, but I assure you that it is relevant to her case."

"I'm muggle-born," answered Hermione, before Draco could interrupt.

"I surmised as much," Healer Simple pulled out a peacock feather quill and made a small note in the parchment in front of him. "There are several different types of accidental magic, Mrs Malfoy. Broadly, accidental magic is classified as any magic the wizard or witch did not intend on doing. However, there are different levels to 'accident' that have been defined in this area of study. For example, a child unintentionally Summoning a toy is different to a young adult unintentionally breaking a window pane in a fit of adolescent temper. The child had the desire, or the intention, to possess the toy, while the young adult did not intend on breaking the window. Am I correct in saying that as a child all of your accidental magic had intent behind it?"

Hermione nodded. "That's right."

"And you never had unintentional effects of any accidental magic prior to last week?"

"Correct again," Hermione agreed.

Healer Simple surveyed Draco. "Interesting. And Mr Malfoy, pardon the question, but are you of pure-blood descent?"

Draco scowled again. "Yes, though I still fail to understand what that has to do with anything."

"Am I correct in assuming, Mr Malfoy, that as a child and young adult, you have had at least one display of unintentional accidental magic?" Healer Simple questioned, unfazed by Draco's rudeness.

"Yes," Draco frowned.

Healer Simple dipped his quill in a bejewelled inkpot. "Mrs Malfoy, can you describe the events that led up to both counts of your accidental magic?"

Hermione acquiesced, flushing slightly as she described her accidental attack on Draco –who looked thunderous– and her second equally surprising accidental transfiguration.

"So both the accidents occurred when your emotions –anger in particular– were running high," Healer Simple commented contemplatively. "And prior to this, have you found yourself resorting to more –ah– muggle methods, instead of magical ones, during moments of high anger or stress; even as a child or young adult?"

Hermione thought back. "I think you're right, though it's the same when I panic. When I was twelve I had a run in with a Devil's Snare and instead of reaching for my wand I looked for wood to light a fire."

Draco looked to Hermione in surprise. "Seriously?"

"I was twelve!" said Hermione defensively.

"And when you lost your temper?" Healer Simple prodded.

Hermione flushed. "I did err– slap my husband back when we were at school, and I punched my ex-boyfriend repeatedly when I was really angry at him once."

Draco twisted around in his seat. "You punched Weasley?"

"It was during the time were…away with Harry during the war," mumbled Hermione.

"So all of this changed recently," Healer Simple inferred. "Interesting, especially the difference in your response to your husband's actions. Has anything else changed much recently?"

"No… I don't think so," Hermione said slowly.

"Any unusual stress?" Healer Simple prompted.

Hermione wondered whether their killer fell under the category of 'unusual stress', but considering the fact that she had spent most of her life hunted by one homicidal sociopath or another, it could hardly be classified as 'unusual'. Eventually she shook her head. "No, nothing particularly unusual."

"Any marital problems perhaps?" Healer Simple questioned.

Draco leapt from his seat. "Just what sort of problems do you think we would be having?"

Healer Simple quirked an eyebrow as he surveyed Draco, but otherwise looked completely unruffled. "Please settle down Mr Malfoy, I meant no disrespect."

"No marital problems," said Hermione firmly. After all, to have marital problems we would first require an actual marriage.

"It says you've only been married recently?" Healer Simple referred to his notes, as Draco sat back down fuming.

Hermione nodded. "A few months ago, yes."

"What sort of binding did you have for your marriage?" he asked, frowning at the parchments in front of him.

"The average vows, nothing special," Draco replied, mouthing the word 'nutter' to Hermione.

Healer Simple put the scroll of parchment down. "No blood binding?"

Draco and Hermione exchanged a stunned glance. "Why would you ask us that?" Hermione questioned, hiding her surprise.

"Mrs Malfoy, ancient blood magic rituals are not to be trifled with, especially as they were intended to bind one pure-blood to another," Healer Simple leaned forward, looking grave. "If you have had a blood binding or have married under the influence of some sort of ancient blood bound curse then there will be consequences for you, as you are not of pure-blood origin."

Draco sounded strangled. "What sort of consequences?"

"It is hypothesised that pure-bloods and half-bloods have a very different magical genetic makeup to those of muggle origin. Pure-bloods and half-bloods are born with some amount of unadulterated magic, hence the unintentional accidental magic as a child or young adult. Muggle-born witches and wizards however, have the ability to do magic, but not necessarily any unadulterated magic flowing through their veins. All of this depends, of course, on how far along the bloodline –of the muggle-born in question– was the last pure-blood ancestor. The further back along the bloodline, the less amount of unadulterated magic the muggle-born will have, until it is almost negligible."

Hermione nodded. "And after the blood binding?"

"The blood binding would give the muggle-born an increase in the unadulterated power, which doesn't necessarily mean an increase in magical power," Healer Simple continued pensively. "It is hard to give any sort of accurate information, since it is highly uncommon for a pure-blood and a muggle-born to have blood bindings during a marriage. Perhaps you have received a boost in your powers or perhaps you are just losing control of them because your body has not adjusted to the presence of unadulterated magic the way a pure or half-blood's has by your age."

"So is this a good thing or is it a liability?" Draco asked, as he reached out and took Hermione's hand in his.

Healer Simple leaned back in his chair. "It is hard to say Mr Malfoy. I will have to do some research and speak with some colleagues, but I will need to see you both again soon."

"Of course," Hermione nodded, feeling oddly numb.

"I understand that it is a lot to take in Mrs Malfoy," said Healer Simple kindly. "For now, I suggest that you avoid stress as much as possible, and do try keeping your temper under control. You haven't been feeling fatigued or nauseous I hope?"

Hermione paled, and tightened her grip on Draco's hand. "Only for the past couple of weeks."

"That isn't a good sign, the fatigue and nausea are indicative of your body's limitations. You need to be careful not to burn out your magical core," the Healer cautioned. "You must ensure to get at least eight hours of sleep and eat well," Healer Simple made a note on the parchments. "Do try keep your temper in check."

Draco squeezed Hermione's hand in support. "I'll make sure she does that."

Hermione was barely aware of bidding goodbye to Healer Simple or of the walk out of St Mungo's. Draco watched her detached movements with alarmed concern, feeling horribly guilty in the back of his mind. He turned her around to face him as soon as they reached the Apparition point, gently caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Don't worry Granger, everything will be fine," he emphasised firmly.

Hermione looked into his eyes. "You really believe that?"

Draco gave her a small grin. "You're Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of your age, you can handle this."

"Thanks," said Hermione sincerely, feeling the weight in her chest lift. "I should get back to work, I'm meeting Harry for dinner but I should be home in time for dessert."

"I'll save you some," Draco promised with a wink.

Hermione shook her head at him and turned away, knowing that he was watching her as she walked. Just before Apparating, she turned. "By the way, it's Hermione Malfoy now, just in case you hadn't heard."

Draco stood there with an amused grin long after she had Disapparated.

Harry picked Hermione up from her office as soon as the clock struck six. Their return had caused a stir both within the Ministry and the media, forcing them to resort to the Invisibility cloak to make it past the throng of reporters that had camped out in the atrium, intent on photographing the Boy Who Lived and his best friend. Finally, they managed to safely seat themselves at their regular table at the Leaky Cauldron and order food. Much to Hermione's disgust, Harry had brought their cockroach 'hostage' with him since the Healers at St Mungo's had been unable to transfigure him back to his original human form. On Hermione's insistence, Harry placed the cockroach on a far end of their table. While they waited for their food to arrive, Hermione filled Harry in on her visit to the Healer in hushed tones, just in case any of the reporters were lurking at the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry whistled. "That is some intense news. You really think he's right about the unadulterated magic thing?"

"Well it's only ever been hypothesised," Hermione sighed, as she sipped her Butterbeer.

"It does seem accurate," said Harry thoughtfully. "From Snape's memories of my mum, she was the same."

Hermione looked at him in surprise; Harry very rarely talked about his mother. "I guess the theory has some merit," she conceded. "It did make sense, I guess I just don't want to come to terms with this whole debacle."

"Understandably," Harry murmured sympathetically.

"Also, apparently, as a muggle-born I'm more prone to resorting to 'muggle methods' than magical ones when I'm angry," Hermione added, falling silent as Tom brought their plates over with a toothless grin.

Harry chuckled. "We've definitely seen proof of that, wait– didn't you set those bird on Ron in sixth year?"

"Yes but that was more controlled, I had managed to leave the classroom before I set them on him," Hermione recalled. "When I was truly angry at him I punched him, like when he came back during the hunt."

"I guess," Harry shrugged.

They fell silent as they devoured their food, while the cockroach looked on angrily. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed two reporters –who were probably training to be Rita Skeeter's protégés– sneak into the Leaky Cauldron and seat themselves diagonal to their table. Hermione nudged Harry with her foot and nodded discreetly to the reporters, who were currently surveying the cockroach with unconcealed interest. Hermione quickly yanked the jar off the table and set it on her lap.

"What are you–?" Harry looked confused as she moved the cockroach. "Ow!" he yelped, loudly.

The reporters, along with half a dozen patrons instantly looked over.

Harry was looking under the table quizzically. "I think something just ki–"

"It's probably the leg injury you got while we were away," Hermione declared, projecting her voice.

"Err yes, probably," Harry agreed sheepishly, as the Knut dropped.

Hermione discreetly jerked her head towards the reporters again, nearly knocking the jar off her lap in the process. "They were watching us you idiot," she hissed.

"Careful with that," Harry muttered. "We don't want to give the… cockroach… grounds for unwarranted assault."

One of the reporters started scribbling furiously. "I always knew he was a bit strange," she muttered to her companion, clearly having managed to catch Harry's whisper. Her companion looked at Hermione's defiant glare doubtfully, before nodding along.

Harry groaned. Just great. I can see tomorrow's headlines already: Potter Barmy About Insect Rights.

Hermione angled her chair and softly cast a Muffliato. "Any new leads?"

"None whatsoever, nothing on whoever tried to kidnap us and nothing on the people that attacked Pansy's brother," Harry said grimly.

"What about that symbol we saw all over Diagon Alley?" Hermione questioned.

Harry dropped his voice. "We were thinking it might be some sort of vigilante group that is out to get the Death Eaters that were let off."

Hermione frowned. "How does that put me as a target?"

"It obviously doesn't fit anymore, unless two killers cropped up simultaneously," Harry ran his hands through his hair. "Which is why we initially thought they were after Malfoy."

Hermione bit her lip. "Or someone handed me the champagne glass instead of Malfoy."

"Then why put an Aversion charm on your bag?" Harry pointed out.

"Fair enough," Hermione agreed bleakly.

"By the way, Zabini mentioned that Marcus Flint is throwing a party on Saturday," Harry said conversationally. "Are you and Malfoy going?"

Hermione shrugged. "He hasn't mentioned it, why?"

Harry leaned forward. "It might be a good place to keep your eyes peeled for any suspects. If someone wants you dead, it's a good chance they're a pure-blood Slytherin. Besides, Zabini is going and he can make sure you don't get hurt in any way, just in case."

"I'll pitch the idea to Malfoy," Hermione promised, and checked her wristwatch. "I need to be heading off now, I told Malfoy I'd make it home for dessert."

Harry pushed his empty plate away and reached over for the cockroach. "I'll walk you out."

They left some money on the table for Tom, who waved goodbye, and left amidst more muttering from the reporters. Hermione hugged Harry before she Apparated into the Manor. She hurried through the carpeted hallways until she reached the dining room, where Draco, Julius and Narcissa were just finishing their meals. Narcissa excused herself with an apologetic smile as soon as her plate was taken away, while Draco glowered. Ever since Hermione had pointed out that his mother was probably corresponding with his father, he had been keeping track of Narcissa's absences and the subsequent appearance of her owl flying past the Manor. However, he was quickly distracted as soon as the dessert was brought in, because laying on the silver trays were–

"Popsicles!" Hermione exclaimed gleefully.

Draco surveyed his gingerly. "Where did they come from?"

"I asked Mipsy for them Daddy," Julius piped up, as he immediately latched himself to his Popsicle.

Whatever annoyed retort Draco had been about to say died on his lips as he caught sight of Hermione. Her tongue swirled along the tip of the Popsicle, savouring the juicy flavour, before she slid it all into her mouth –her eyes closed in an expression of bliss. Draco gripped the table tightly, leaning forward slightly to hide the salutary approval his anatomy was giving his wife, who was completely unaware of the effect of her actions as she slid the Popsicle out of her mouth languorously. Draco could scarcely believe his eyes as she slowly licked it's length, swirling her tongue delicately to capture the wayward drops at the base.

"Mmm… delicious," Hermione said softly, eyes still closed. "It's so long…" –lick– "…since I had any."

Draco shifted in his seat. Is it just me or did she deliberately make that sound dirty?

She puckered her lips as she slid the entire Popsicle back into her mouth. "Good isn't it?"

"It's great," Draco choked out weakly; only semi-aware that his own Popsicle was currently resting in a puddle of melted drops.

Hermione slid the Popsicle out of her mouth slowly, twirling it around with her fingers. Draco could feel himself getting into a situation, despite the looseness of his robes. He didn't know how much more of the highly arousing display he could take, and as loath as he was to cut it short, he was more and more certain with every passing lick that he would have to withdraw to the bathrooms for a very cold shower. If it were any girl other than Hermione, he would be certain that her…molestation… of the Popsicle was deliberate. Draco pushed his chair back just as Hermione started to skim the length of the Popsicle with her lips, almost as though she was kissing it.

"Excuse me," he managed, before he fled.

Hermione's eyes flew open and she bit the tip of her Popsicle off. "Nicely done, Juls!" she said, as she high-fived her stepson.

"Thank you Mummy!" Julius beamed, as he reached out to claim his father's abandoned Popsicle, his own already devoured. "Why did you want me to ask the elves for Popsicles tonight?"

"Because your daddy gave me a lovely present while we were away," Hermione grinned wickedly. "I was just returning the favour."

Julius grinned through a mouthful of Popsicle. "That is so sweet, Mummy."

Payback most certainly is, Hermione agreed privately, feeling smug. Take that, you tease.

For the first time in her working life, Hermione left work exactly as the clock struck five, despite not having any pressing arrangements –such as planning her wedding– to attend to. Hermione had only one intention for leaving early, and that was beating her husband home from work so that she could make the private Floo call she had managed to hold off making all day. She idly reflected that it might have been easier to have done it while at work, but the odds of Blaise, Harry or Ron dropping in were higher than usual given the circumstances. She walked out of the Ministry briskly, her hood pulled over her curly head, and successfully Apparated to the Manor. Thankfully, neither Narcissa nor Julius were there to greet her, neither of them suspecting that she would have any reason to return home early from work. Within minutes, Hermione was safely ensconced in the master suites, her fist full of glittering powder and Silencing charms appropriately in place.

"Shell Cottage," she called out, her voice slightly shaky, as she stuck her head into the emerald flames.

Luckily, Bill was sitting in the living room, saving her from having to call out for someone. He looked up in surprise to see her nervous head sitting in his fireplace. "Hermione! How are you doing?" Bill asked, with an easy smile. "Mum kept us informed about your disappearance, she and Ginny were so relieved to have you three back."

"I've been well, how are Fleur and Victoire?" Hermione returned the smile, feeling some of her nervousness dissipate.

Bill grinned. "They're good, Victoire is at Andromeda's with Teddy."

"Oh yes, Juls is also going. Narcissa should be dropping him off soon," Hermione remembered.

"It is splendid how well they get along," said Bill pleasantly.

Hermione cleared her throat nervously. "Is Fleur around? I err– had a question about French law."

"I'll call her," said Bill, hiding his surprise. Despite from hailing from the country, Fleur had never shown any dazzling grasp of the intricacies of the laws. "Fleur? I have a favour to ask of you," he called out.

"Beel Weasley, I have told 'oo once already, ze whipped cream is vital for ze crepes and we weel not use it for anyzing else!" Fleur replied, the faintness of her voice indicating that she was in the kitchen.

Bill blushed, and avoided Hermione's eyes, much to her relief. She was already wondering if this untoward piece of information about their sex life was some sort of karmic punishment for her underhanded actions. The grate of the fireplace had suddenly become oddly interesting, much, much, more so than the red faced wizard in front of her.

"That's not what I wanted Fleur," Bill hissed back. "Hermione is here to see you, she has some questions about French law."

Fleur appeared immediately, a dab of flour on one chiselled cheekbone. "'oo should have explained," she said crossly. "Can 'oo go watch ze crepes while I speak with 'ermione?"

Bill rose, grateful for the excuse. "Of course, nice to see you again Hermione."

Fleur tapped her foot impatiently as Bill hastily vacated the living room. She flicked her wand elegantly to draw up his armchair towards the fire and settled in. "So, 'ermione, what ees it 'oo needed to know about ze laws? Or ees it ze French women?" she asked, shrewdly.

"How did you–?" Hermione was startled.

"Come on 'ermione," Fleur tossed her sheet of silver hair. "I read ze papers, eet is no surprise to me what 'oo really want to ask me about eef 'oo show up talking nonsenze about ze French law."

Hermione abandoned all pretence. "So you knew her then? Aurelia?"

"Unfortunately not, eef she was Malfoy's wife she would have been quite 'oung when I was zhere," said Fleur, in a throaty whisper. "But I do know of ze family, ze de Nazelles are ze most ancient pureblood family een France. Zhey are ze most sought after for ze women to marry into. Ze men are all so dashing, and zair daughters are known for zair beauty and zair charm, but I have nevair heard of zis Aurelia."

"The paper did say she was a distant relative," Hermione reminded her, feeling disappointed.

Fleur nodded. "Perhaps my seester Gabrielle might 'ave known Aurelia, I can ask if 'oo want?"

"Thanks, that might work," said Hermione gratefully.

"Don't get 'our 'opes up," Fleur warned, an annoyed expression flitting across her beautiful features. "Ze de Nazelles zink zat zhey are too good for us, zhey do not approve of Papan marrying an 'alf Veela. Eet is unlikely zat Aurelia and Gabrielle were friends."

"They sound like prats," Hermione said indignantly, as Fleur gave her an approving smile.

"What ees it do 'oo zink 'oo weel find?" Fleur questioned, curiously. "Ze best person to ask about zair reelationsheep is Malfoy 'imself."

Hermione sighed. "He doesn't talk about her much."

Fleur cocked her head. "Eezer 'e loved 'er too much or too leetle."

"I don't even know why I care so much," Hermione mumbled, half to herself.

"Eh, don't worry, eet happens to ze best of us," Fleur said kindly, with an elegant flutter of her flour-coated fingers. "But 'e ees with 'oo now, so 'e must love 'oo at least as much."

"Maybe," agreed Hermione vaguely.

They exchanged pleasantries, and Hermione thanked Fleur again before she ducked back out of the fireplace. This was her second dead end of the day. She had already –much to her own disgust– looked up the prominent French families in the Ministry library. To her frustration, she had been unable to find Draco's elusive former wife in any of the family trees; however the paper had said she was a distant relative. It was entirely likely she had just never been written in, as most of the family trees focused on the prominent male heirs of the bloodlines. She had half a mind to write to the Prophet and ask them for more information, but knowing her luck, the news that Hermione Granger was fishing for information on her husband's dead wife would spread like wildfire.

"Granger? What are you doing home?"

Hermione jumped as though she had been scalded. "Oh nothing Malfoy, didn't hear you come in."

Draco set his briefcase down on the floor and leaned against the cupboards. "Just got home. Are you okay? You look flustered."

"Fine, fine," Hermione mumbled, leaping to her feet. "How was work?"

"A total mess. How the company got into such disarray after me losing only three actual working days is a horrifying mystery," Draco winced as he ran his hands through his hair. "I'm so relieved it's Friday."

"We've only been back at work for two days!" Hermione chided half-heartedly.

Draco smirked. "Says the person who wanted to rush back to work first thing Wednesday morning. I had to drag you to Diagon Alley with us."

Hermione made a face. "I happen to like my job."

"Hey, I like my job too," Draco held his hands up in mock defence. "I just don't want to spend every waking minute sorting out incompetent idiots and the messes they create."

One second Hermione was standing by the fireplace, the next she was striding over to Draco, her face like a thundercloud. "Where the hell is your promise ring?" she roughly yanked one hand, and then the other. "And your wedding ring!"

Draco backed away slowly, inspecting his hands. "I don't know Granger, they must have slipped off while that lout was wrestling me–"

"Both of them?" Hermione hissed dangerously, as she stepped towards him.

"Demonstrably," Draco spat out, feeling cornered.

Hermione turned away from him, the atrocious feeling that she had been keeping inside her all day was threatening to surface. She didn't know whether it was the fact that the rings were missing, or if it was just a horrible end to a terrible day of pitifully searching for information on his former wife. Either way, she felt worse than she remembered feeling in a long time, and there was only one thing any sane girl would do in such a situation.

She flung herself onto the bed and burst into tears.

"Granger?" Draco warily approached his wife. "Err– don't cry. I didn't lose the rings on purpose, I promise."

"Go away!" Hermione called out, her face muffled by the pillow.

Draco sat down by her unruly head and tentatively stroked it. "No, I won't just go away. I didn't realise you would be this upset over the rings."

"Of course you didn't," Hermione wailed, pushing away her mortification at breaking down in front of Draco. "You never understand me."

"Steady on, that's a bit harsh," Draco said crossly. He had heard tell from his male friends –Blaise– that females were prone to ridiculous flights of fancy where they launched into diatribes about their hatred of men, while backing up their statements with gross generalisations and completely over-the-top accusations. From what he had observed of Pansy over the years, there appeared to be no distinct cause for these –episodes. He recalled an incident where Pansy had inexplicably burst into floods of tears after taking a bite of a sandwich, and had glared at him after he had suggested joining Blaise and his girlfriend at the time, both of whom had just walked into the Three Broomsticks. Women: completely irrational creatures that randomly cry over silly things like sandwiches.

"Just go away Malfoy," Hermione said again, jerking him out of his thoughts.

Draco stood. "Fine, I'll err– just leave you to it. I won't be home for dinner, I'll see you when I get back."

"Whatever, just go." Hermione turned her head, dislodging his hand from her hair. Draco hesitated for a full minute before he got off the bed and left her to her misery in peace. As Hermione heard their bedroom door close, she broke down again. It just wasn't fair that Draco was taking off to parts unknown while she was sobbing alone in their bedroom (and she firmly quashed down the tiny voice in her head that reminded her that she had asked him to leave –twice.)

Draco wasn't sure exactly how he had ended up here, but desperate times always called for desperate measures. He had exhausted all other possible avenues –Blaise and Pansy– before he had resorted to swallowing his pride and Apparating to the doorstep of the flat Harry and Ron shared. He was immensely relieved that they had ushered him in and had plied him with tea (laced with Firewhiskey) and were only too happy to help.

"You've come to the right place for advice on romance," Ron grinned smugly, as he stretched out on the couch.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Coming from the guy who probably uses 'can I look at Uranus too, Lavender?' as a pick up line."

Ron threw a cushion at his best friend. "Shut up. As if you're much better."

"I have been with Ginny for four years," Harry reminded him with a grin. "And I assure you I've never had to resort to asking to see her anus."

"You better not start now!" said Ron hotly, his ears going red. "That's my little sister."

Draco bit back a sigh. "Any chance you both could actually help instead of bicker? If I wanted to listen to infantile bickering, I would've stayed with Blaise and Pansy."

"Women love cute things," Harry started, drawing on his questionable knowledge of the opposite gender. "Whenever Ginny is upset, I present her with something cuddly for her Pygmy Puff. They just go nuts over anything fluffy, adorable and small."

"I don't think all women work the same way Potter," scowled Draco. This is almost as useless as Blaise's advice to give her a 'right good shagging', and Pansy's oh-so-helpful suggestion to get her something 'meaningful and heartfelt'.

Ron nodded. "Besides I've never seen Hermione near anything remotely cuddly or adorable. Crookshanks isn't even in the same neighbourhood as cute, fluffy and small."

"Fine," said Harry, scathingly. "You help him if you're such an expert on Hermione."

"Get her a book?" Ron suggested, wracking his brain to think of presents. "Or perfume?"

Draco dubiously put down his mug. "She has enough books to open a library of her own, and knowing how touchy she is right now, she will probably think I'm implying she smells or something."

"How about jewellery?" Harry suggested, as he flicked through a Quidditch magazine.

"That's what got us in this mess to begin with," Draco objected, as his scowl deepened. "I lost my wedding and promise ring when that idiot wrestled me in the forest. Besides she has enough jew–"

Ron jumped up. "That's it! Buy yourself a ring and show her that you're wearing it!"

Draco looked at him as though he was a mental incompetent. "So you want me to cheer her up by buying myself something?"

Harry snickered. "This is why you and Hermione broke up, Ron."

"Well, I never lost our wedding ring," Ron defended.

"That's because you never had one you idiot," Draco retorted, as he massaged his temples. Though in your case, I'd be more concerned that you ate it rather than lost it.

Harry looked up from his magazine. "Maybe you could write her a poem, I wrote Ginny one once, and it went down very well."

Ron's ears rivalled his hair. "Shut up."

"Well you had to return the favour after the lovely poem she sent you on Valentine's Day in second year," Draco smirked. "Thankfully, I have no such favours to return."

Harry ignored the jibe. "Get her something useful and practical."

"Dad got mum a book on household charms one Christmas and she said it was dead useful," said Ron excitedly. "And it's a book! Hermione loves books!"

Draco wrinkled his nose. You're meant to be her best friend and all you can offer is 'Hermione loves books'? Even I know that, you genius. "Somehow I don't think Granger will appreciate a book on household charms. Besides it's not very romantic is it?"

Harry grinned. "You certainly are persistent on getting her something romantic. From what I remember, girls like pink, hearts, stars, and things with butterflies on them. I have to pry Ginny away from butterfly shaped jewellery whenever we go shopping."

"Just to be on the safe side, get her a pink heart locket with a butterfly and stars design," Ron suggested seriously. "I got Lav one the other week and she hasn't taken it off yet."

Draco, who had seen the florid pink piece of 'jewellery' in question, shook his head fervently. "No. I don't think she'd want something Lavender has. Pansy almost scratched some bint's eyes out because they were wearing the same bracelet."

Harry shook his head in awe. "Women."

Ron vacated his spot to rummage through the kitchen. "Why don't you get her some food?"

"She does like that French soup thing," Harry contemplated.

Draco drew on his extensive knowledge of French food, and came up blank. "Can you bit a bit more specific Potter?"

"Err–" Harry floundered, looking blank.

"It sounds a bit like a sneeze," supplied Ron helpfully, as he prepared a sandwich.

"Forget it," Draco threw his hands up in frustration and rolled his eyes. "Can you think of anything else?"

"Lav has this elephant that she slept with since she was a baby. Back when we were dating at Hogwarts, I helped her find it when she lost it in the common room," Ron said thoughtfully. "Maybe you can hide something of Hermione's and help her locate it?"

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Harry snorted.

However, Draco had jumped to his feet and was bolting out the door. "Thanks for the advice boys! I got it!"

They heard the door slam followed by the sharp crack of him Apparating. Harry and Ron exchanged a bemused look before turning back to their Quidditch magazines. Harry hoped that neither of them would be called in to investigate a murder at Malfoy Manor in a few hours time. It would really be a shame to have to cart their best friend off to Azkaban just before the weekend.

A/n: Thank you all so much for the amazing number of reviews I got on my last chapter! I'm glad so many people out there share my pet peeves.

I especially want to thank all my repeat reviewers. You guys make me grin like an idiot. As a writer, it's just so rewarding to hear from the people that regularly read your work. There will be a lot more Dramione moments in the next chapter (I know you're all keen to see that!)

Thank you also to all the people that added me to their alerts and favourites. If you liked my work, please leave me a review. As always, I'd love to hear about bits or lines you all particularly liked. It's always good to receive such feedback.

Also, some of you were curious about how the wards at the Malfoy Manor worked. The way I have set them up, members of the Malfoy family can Apparate directly into the Apparition chamber (which has a fireplace that is linked up to all the other fireplaces in the Manor) while people such as Blaise, Pansy, Harry etc have to Apparate to the front gates, walk through so that the wards can detect them, and then Apparate to the Apparition chamber (or they can walk along the grounds to the front door :P). Once in the Apparition chamber, they can access any of the fireplaces in the Manor. Draco's close friends (such as Blaise and Pansy) can fly to the Manor at any time. Hope that clears any confusion up.