Draco rolled over and the straw under his ear made a crinkling sound. The Muggle girl had been kind enough to bring him bedding to keep him warm during his night in the hay loft. It was practical, but it was a far cry from the opulent bedding to which he was accustomed.

Sleeping in a barn had also been a bit noisier than he would have imagined. Mice and other critters scampered about; the old milking cow snorted and stamped her hooves. Off in the distance, dogs barked and owls hooted, crickets chirped and frogs croaked. Night life in the country was unexpectedly lively.

Despite his discomfort, he found that he didn't mind. For years, he had been sequestered behind palace walls and it had been suffocating. He understood that he had obligations to his people to fulfill, but he wanted to know more about the world: more than his tutor and his father could teach him.

The breaking point came when his father started discussing marriage and providing an heir.

"If you married the Princess of Spain, it would be a most advantageous political alliance," his father had told him, as though marrying a girl were equivalent to taking an opponent's pawn during a game of chess.

"I don't speak Spanish, Father," he replied dully.

"Well, then there are many fine young English witches who would make suitable mates. Lord Parkinson has a lovely daughter just about your age."

Draco resisted the urge to groan. "Father, I don't know if I could take Pansy Parkinson nagging me about fashionable dress for the rest of my life."

"Draco, one does not marry a girl for her skills as a conversationalist. Especially not a man in your position. You choose a wife of good stock."

"Good stock? Merlin, Father, am I looking for a wife or a horse? Shall I check the teeth of the next woman I meet?"

Irritated at his son's sarcasm, the king dismissed him and promised that they'd talk further when Draco was in better spirits.

The prince had no intention on having the conversation again, regardless of his mood. Grabbing his cloak and wand, he impulsively left the castle without so much as a note informing his father where he'd gone.

He only knew of two places in the Muggle world. One was Spinner's End, where he knew his tutor lived; but he wanted to avoid running into his old teacher, so he chose the other place: Godric's Hollow.

He had heard Professor Snape mention it in passing once, whilst discussing another pupil. Knowing that the student had most likely moved on to Hogwarts by now, Draco had thought it unlikely that he would run into Snape there.

Now, he was sleeping in a dank old barn on a bed of straw, far away from all the comforts of home, with only a cow and some mice to keep him company.

It wasn't all bad, though. The Muggle girl was very amusing, to say the least. He chuckled again at the look on her face when she'd realized she was covered in soot.

When she had brought him dinner earlier, her face had been shiny from having been scrubbed clean. He'd found that she had quite a pretty countenance underneath all that dirt. Almost shockingly so. Perhaps it had been the kindness of the candlelight, but her skin was without flaw and nearly glowed. It had made the dewy softness of her eyes stand out even more.

Yes, Godric's Hollow had been a good choice, indeed. These were his last thoughts before finally drifting off to sleep.


Draco's blissful slumber was not to last. It felt as though he had just dozed off when he was roused by the smell of eggs and an insistent poking in the ribs.

"Bandit! Get up!" It was the Muggle girl. She was whispering harshly, as if she wasn't sure whether she wanted to wake him or not. He groaned and rolled over. Again, he found himself longing for his bed as there was no part of his body that didn't ache.

Undeterred, the girl shook his shoulder roughly. He cracked one eye open and saw that it was not yet daylight. Why was she pestering him in the middle of the night? He shifted away from her slightly and pulled the blanket over his head.

He thought he heard her muttering to herself, but he was already falling back asleep. He didn't hear her leave the hayloft or return a moment later. The next sensation of which he was aware was the swift pulling back of the blanket and the feeling of ice-cold water drenching his face.

He sat up sharply, sputtering water and gasping for air.

"How dare you?!" he bellowed loudly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, your highness!" His heart skipped a beat at hearing his title, but he quickly realized that she was using it sarcastically. "This is not a home where wayward bandits get a free bed and meal."

She half-tossed towards him a tin plate with bacon, eggs, and toast. "Now, eat up, clean up, and meet me downstairs so I can show you how you will earn your keep whilst you are here."

Then she hurried down the ladder, leaving him to stew at his rude awakening.

Fifteen minutes later, he joined her on the ground level of the barn, hair still damp and glare in place. He was used to ladies fawning over him and had never been treated so callously. Furthermore, he was certainly not accustomed to girls looking at him with an air of smug superiority. Especially a Muggle servant girl. If she knew who he really was, she'd be singing a different tune.

He volleyed her earlier sarcasm back at her and bowed deeply. "Now that I am awake at this preposterous hour, what would my ladyship like for me to do?"

"Do not mock me." She wrinkled her nose in disdain. "I may not have wealth or have been born into nobility, but I am very much a lady. I will be treated as such."

He was somewhat chastened at the realization that she was simply treating him the way that he had wanted to be treated: like a regular man. She had given him temporary refuge when he'd had no place to go, and he was thanking her by being insulting.

Nonetheless, the use of the water had been excessive.

As if reading his thoughts, she apologized. "I'm sorry for the harsh manner in which I awoke you, but you made me quite angry."

"My sincerest apologies, m'lady. I shall try not to tempt your ire in the future. Besides, I was in need of a bath."

She stifled a giggle behind her hand.

"Oh, you think it funny, do you?" His voice was now playful and not so irate. "Well, perhaps I shall sneak into your bedchamber and wake you in a shocking manner."

He hadn't meant for it to sound scandalous, but the flush on her face told him that the thought of a man creeping into a maiden's sleeping quarters had embarrassed her.

He considered amending his statement but chose not to, deciding that it could help him play up his bandit persona. If she thought him a rogue, then so be it.

"What shall I call you?" she asked.

He knew that she was somewhat aware of the magical world, but he wasn't sure how much. He took a chance and gave her his family name.

"Malfoy."

She frowned in thought. "Malfoy? You mean like 'mal foi?' That's French for 'bad faith.'" Raising her nose in the air, she said, "How appropriate."

He lifted a brow. He wasn't sure what surprised him more: the blatant insult or the fact that this seemingly simple country girl was educated enough to know French. He decided to address the former and save the other information for future use.

"Pray tell me your surname, so I can assess your character."

She started at his question and remained silent. He smiled at her, knowing that her loss for words meant that he might not have lost the argument just yet.

"Well?"

"Gr-Granger." She pursed her pink lips and crossed her arms over her chest, awaited his inevitable taunt.

"Granger, you say? That means 'farmer,' does it not? It seems I'm not the only one with an appropriate name." Oh, how he loved this play of words.

Her eyes flashed at him in annoyance. "At least a farmer is a noble profession, unlike a bandit, who steals from those who toil for their livelihood."

"Perhaps it is less noble, but one must admit that being a bandit is a much easier and perhaps more cunning road to travel. After all, I gain wares without the hard work."

"Cunning?" She laughed outright. "Says the wizard who was caught in a pantry by a mere Muggle girl." Her laughter died out as she turned serious. "I think the word you were looking for is 'dastardly.' You may gain things easily, but you can take no pride in it. It isn't until you put your own blood, sweat, and tears into something that you can truly appreciate it."

Draco was astounded. Not only by her words, but by the girl herself. He had never known such passion and had never seen in it another human being. She was stubborn and earnest and frustrating to no end, yet watching her was exhilarating. Something deep down inside of him crackled with every word they exchanged and it made him feel more alive than he ever had.

"Well, Granger, I challenge you. Show me the value and joy of labor."

She smiled at him beatifically. "Right this way."


"MOO!" The cow kicked over the milk bucket and nearly knocked him from his stool.

"Malfoy!"

When he had challenged her to teach him about hard work, he honestly hadn't thought he'd have to get so intimate with a cow. He was fairly certain that the cow felt put out by this arrangement as well.

"You must be careful," Granger admonished, perched on a low stool next to him. "Bessie is a lady cow, and ladies prefer a gentler touch." She patted the bovine on her side and tried to ease her anxiety.

He looked at her skeptically. "A lady cow?"

"Yes! Now, try again."

He eyed the udders uncomfortably before reaching forward and tugging again. Bessie let out a horrifying noise somewhere between a moo and a groan. This time, she succeeded in knocking Malfoy off his seat.

"Bloody cow!"

Hermione's mouth dropped, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"There's no need to swear," she scolded as she helped him upright again. "I told you to be gentle and you disregarded my warning. How would you like it if a stranger came along and tugged on you?!"

The picture she had painted unexpectedly made him think indecent thoughts. He found himself arching his brow and leaning in a little closer as he said quietly, "Depends upon the stranger."

She squinted at him in confusion as she replayed the conversation in her head. He knew the second that the words became clear, for her forehead suddenly smoothed out and her face went red.

"Oh," she said, exhaling. Then she said it a second time, her eyes wide and her voice louder. "OH!"

He laughed heartily at her discomfort, which only made her flush deeper.

"You wicked man! Twisting my words to make them sound tawdry!" Fighting the urge to smack him, she crossed her arms and pouted, waiting for his mirth to die down.

As he slowly regained his breath, he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. "Yes, I do believe that there is great joy to be found in milking cows."

She tried to fight it, but she could not help smiling in spite of herself. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head before returning to lecture mode.

"Perhaps I should show you how it's done, rather than tell you." She righted the bucket and settled onto the stool that he had previously occupied. He crouched down beside her and watched as she tenderly wrapped her fingers around the cow's udder and squeezed gently until milk shot into the bucket. When done correctly, it really was quite amazing. At first, he was transfixed by the rhythm of her hands. Then, he followed the line of her arm up to her face.

He studied her profile intently. She had dark brown hair which was pulled back in a braid, but tiny curls sprung out everywhere. Draco wondered what it would look like in its full glory. Her brows were soft and feminine in shape and her lashes long. Her cheeks were rosy with good health and her lips were pink and plump, though not overly so. Her nose was straight as an arrow and lightly dusted with freckles.

Never before had he seen such a perfect nose.

He was so wrapped up in his observation that he failed to notice that she was finishing up her demonstration of milking cows.

"…and now we have a full bucket of…" She turned towards him and stopped short when she saw how close his face was to hers. Frozen, all she could do was finish lamely, "…milk."

Her breath tickled his face and he was overcome by a strong desire to take her in his arms and smother her with kisses, but that was absurd. Why would he want to kiss a Muggle servant girl? She was comely and she made for enjoyable company, but he could hear his father's words about duty in the back of his head. This adventure was nothing more than a temporary respite; he would need to return home one day and face his destiny. This girl was a passing fancy and could be nothing more.

Her big, brown eyes were round with both expectation and trepidation. With great reluctance, he stood up and took a step back, ending the moment. He thought he saw her eyes flash with the briefest hint of disappointment, but it was possible that he had imagined it. He gave her a thin, almost apologetic smile.

"We do, indeed, have milk. Well done, Miss Granger. What shall you teach me next?"

Hermione wasn't sure what she had been wishing for when she'd turned to find the bandit so close to her. She had no business expecting anything, really. It was outrageous to even entertain such ideas. Yet she had, and now she felt irrationally angry and wanted to punish him.

"How about mucking the stalls?"


"Ugh." Draco groaned. For hours, he had shoveled horse manure, mended fences, and chopped wood. He was filthy; his skin was sticky with dirt and sweat, and he smelled foul. His hands, unaccustomed to manual labor, were red with angry blisters.

The sun was slipping low on the horizon as he took the last of the logs over to the woodshed before trudging back towards the barn. He was greeted by the surprising sight of Granger standing next to a tin tub full of clean, warm water. Her face was pink and he was uncertain whether it was from embarrassment or the exertion of carrying buckets of water to fill the tub.

"I, er, thought you might like a bath." She gestured next to the tub to a stack of neatly folded clothes. "I brought you some freshly laundered clothing. Oh! I also cleaned your handkerchief."

He didn't know why, but the sincerity with which she presented this kindness made his heart ache a little. He had no smart reply for her, so he muttered a thank you. Nodding in response, she told him that she'd be back with his dinner shortly then made her escape.

Once she was gone, he quickly disrobed and sank into the cooling water. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes while contemplating all that he had done that day. He really hadn't expected to, but he was starting to understand what Miss Granger had meant about appreciating hard work. His body ached, but there was satisfaction in his pain. Draco had worked harder than he ever had before and, though the tasks had been menial, he still felt accomplishment in what he had done.

His thoughts turned to the rustic beauty who had challenged him with these tasks. She had pushed him hard, but no harder than she pushed herself. Even this bath he was enjoying was a result of her labor. How many buckets of water had she warmed and carried out so that he could be clean before slipping into bed? Even now, she was still working, preparing a meal.

In that moment, Draco made a promise to himself that he would find a way to repay her benevolence. In the meantime, he would continue not to use magic, so that they would at least be on equal footing.

Hermione was silently berating herself in the kitchen as she cooked the lamb. She could tell from looking at his hands that he was not used to working so hard. She had felt as if he had rejected her, but now all she felt was guilt for punishing him for her own silly fancies. Yes, he had been the first man who had ever looked at her as though she were pretty, but that didn't mean that she had the right to abuse the power he had given her by agreeing to work for his supper. It was her shame that had led her to draw him a bath for she knew how dirt could cling to one's skin after a long day of toiling; she had thought that he might appreciate the luxury of cleaning up.

She wordlessly delivered a dinner plate to her stepmother, who, as usual, barely acknowledged her. Hermione scurried back to the kitchen to make two more servings, one for herself and one for her bandit in hiding. Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed a small vial of healing oil and dropped it in the pocket of her apron.

Hermione slipped out of the house soundlessly and made her way towards the barn. She reached the door and inhaled sharply at the scene before her. Malfoy was standing next to the tub with his back to her. He had pulled on a clean pair of trousers, but his torso was bare, the candlelight playing off the slopes of his shoulders. His hair was wet, and droplets of water skimmed down the perfect, pale skin of his back.

Stepping back into the shadows, she allowed her burning face to cool. She knew there were differences between men and women. After all, she and Harry had sneaked a peek at one another when they were five. This, however, wasn't a childhood curiosity. This was seeing a fully grown, half naked man and it made her belly tingle in the most curious way.

With a final calming breath, Hermione entered the barn again, this time to find Malfoy fully dressed. She gave him a small smile and he smiled back as she handed him his plate of food. They sat together on the small milking stools, plates on their knees, and ate in companionable silence. He tried to cling to some semblance of good manners, but his exhausted body craved sustenance and he devoured his meal.

Afterwards, his belly full and his body clean, he leaned against the barn wall and slipped into a light doze. He woke abruptly at the feeling of her hands upon his. Draco stared as she drizzled oil over his palms and gently massaged it into his tender skin. He could easily have mended his wounds with magic, but he decided that he liked the intimacy of the Muggle way of healing. Her hands were so much smaller than his, yet they did so much more.

Being born with a title, he had lived a life in which he was granted great respect for no other reason than his name. Yet he rarely met people on whom he wanted to bestow his respect in return.

The girl before him had nothing, but she respected everything and everyone, from an old milking cow to a wayward bandit. She bewildered him, and in a way, he was envious of how she found meaning in things that would be overlooked by others. She saw greatness in simplicity. She saw, in a bandit, a man that no one even tried to see in a prince.

This simple country girl was the most astonishing person he had ever met.

Once she'd finished with his hands, she wrapped them in cloth torn from the bottom of her apron. She stood to leave, and he called out to her.

"Granger?"

Hermione turned, eyebrows lifted in question.

"Where did you get these clothes?"

A shadow of sadness passed over her eyes before she smiled at him warmly.

"They were my father's," she answered quietly, before walking away.

Yes, she was astonishing.

She also had his respect.


The days passed by and turned into weeks and, before long, September slipped into October. The last of the autumn leaves clung desperately to their limbs, only to be beat down to the earth by the wind and rain.

Hermione stepped gingerly through the darkness leading to the barn, balancing a plate in one hand and trying to hold her shawl over her head with the other. The ground was slick with wet leaves and mud, making even the short distance a bit more precarious.

She had nearly reached the door when she made the false step that she had been avoiding. Shrieking, she tumbled face-first into the mud. The cold rain pelted her back, and she sighed in defeat. The barn door squeaked open, and the warm glow of candlelight spilled out into the darkness.

"Granger?!" Malfoy sounded almost worried. "Are you hurt?"

She lifted her mud-covered face and glared.

"The only thing that's hurt is my pride," she stated flatly.

He tried to hold it in. Really, he did. But it built in his gut and worked its way up until his lips began to quirk with mirth.

"Don't you dare laugh!"

His face gave an involuntary twinge. Sucking his lips into his mouth, he pressed them together hard to keep them from moving as he helped her up. On the ground lay his dinner, her dress covered in the greasy remnants of what had once been roast chicken.

"Your dinner is ruined," she wailed.

He could no longer contain it. He sputtered and began cackling like a hen who had just laid an egg.

"It's not funny!"

He could barely make out her dirt-streaked face through the tears of merriment in his eyes. His glee was infectious, and she soon found herself chuckling, too. Moments later, their sides were aching and their faces flushed.

Malfoy took hold of her arm and pulled her into the barn. "Come in, m'lady, before you catch your death."

He led her in towards better light. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he began to dry her face.

"Why is it," he asked, "that I always seem to be cleaning you up?"

She shivered, but she wasn't sure whether it was from the cold or from his proximity. Noticing the tremor that ran through her, he pulled her shawl from her shoulders.

"You need to get out of that wet dress before you really become ill."

Once again, she trembled, but it was most certainly not from the chill in the air.

He smirked at her obvious discomfort. "Fear not, Granger. Your virtue is in no danger from me. Go behind Bessie's stall. Don't remove your shift and cover yourself with this." Grabbing his cloak , he handed it to her.

Hermione took the cloak in her cold fingers and dashed behind the partition to hide herself from his view. Peeking around the corner to make sure that he stayed a safe distance, she quickly divested herself of her apron and wool dress, leaving her in her thin linen shift. She hastily flung the warm cloak around her shoulders. It was a long cloak on him, but on her, it dragged across the floor. Gathering the excess material in her hands, she made her way out of the stall.

Lifting an eyebrow, he grinned. "Fetching."

Rolling her eyes in response, she draped her wet clothes over the side of the empty tin tub. She reached out to return his handkerchief, but he shook his head. Wrapping his fingers around hers, he curled them in until she was gripping the square of cloth.

"No. You keep it. You seem to need it more often than I do." He looked at her in inquiry. "Come sit. You're entirely too quiet for my liking. If there's anything I've learned over these past weeks, it's that when you're quiet, it means you're thinking too much."

They settled into a familiar corner where they often shared their meals. Instead of sitting upon their usual milk stools, however, they took rest on a small pile of hay. He reached up and gathered the collar of his cloak tightly around her neck.

"Warm enough?"

"Yes, thank you." She smiled. "Are you?" she asked, noticing the damp chill of the barn.

"Why, Miss Granger! Be careful what you say. One may think you've come to care for me." His voice was teasing and she was grateful for the shadows of the candlelight that hid her blush.

"It is rather cold in here, though, and it shall only get colder. Perhaps you should move to one of the old servants' quarters in the house."

"Wouldn't your mistress object?"

"It's not uncommon for us to take on extra help. You have been working for your supper all this time. Besides, she hasn't noticed you yet. She never goes into the servants' quarters."

"Your mistress is not very observant about her household," he noted.

She smiled wryly. "She prefers to remain unaware of the more unpleasant things in life."

There was something in her voice that bothered Draco. "What else does she consider 'unpleasant?'"

Hermione looked at him sharply and shook her head. "I've already said too much. Let us talk of happy things," she said before smoothly changing the subject. "My mistress will be going away for Samhain celebrations. I think we should do something naughty!"

His eyebrows shot upward. "I do believe that I am worried for my virtue."

She scoffed at him. "There you go again! You always turn my words into something unseemly!"

"It cannot be helped, I'm afraid. Your reactions to my impropriety are far too enjoyable."

She pursed her lips in a pretty moue of frustration, which only delighted him more. This was becoming a frequent game of theirs. Draco knew that she would remain silent until he cajoled her into speaking again. He enjoyed it for a moment longer before finally conceding.

"Well, Miss Granger, are you not going to share what wicked shenanigans a kind-hearted soul like yourself would want to do?"

She turned her nose into the air. "I'm not sure that I should, if you're only going to mock me for them."

"Oh, come now. You know that I was only teasing." Giving her his best pleading look, he watched as the ice in her eyes melted away and she gave in.

Granger's face lit up with excitement as she told him her plan. "I was thinking that, with the mistress away, we could have a celebration of our own. I can make us dinner and we can sit in the dining room like a proper lady and gentleman."

If she was willing to break the rules for this, then it must be something that she really wanted. A small stab of sadness poked at his heart. This thing that she desired was something that he had on a daily basis. He had never realized before that perhaps he had taken being treated a certain way for granted.

Pushing those feelings aside, he played along. "Can we forget about chores for the day?"

"Yes! Well, except for milking Bessie. She gets awfully fractious when she hasn't been milked," she said seriously.

He smiled at her conscientiousness. Even when taking the day off, she was still concerned with her responsibilities. "Would this scheme please you, Granger?"

She nodded. "Yes. It would make me most happy."

"Then happy you shall be."


Draco woke to a bit of straw poking him in the ear. Had he rolled off his pallet? His stomach ached with hunger, and the night before came rushing back to him. He hadn't eaten supper. Granger had fallen on it.

Granger.

They had talked well into the night. He had spent most of the evening riling her up, as he enjoyed watching her spring to life when her convictions were challenged. She seemed to have an opinion about everything.

They had somehow gotten onto the topic of Muggle-born witches and wizards. For some reason, that particular conversation stuck out in his mind.

"Have you ever met a witch or wizard born to Muggles?" Her voice had been almost… hopeful.

Shaking his head, he replied, "No. I have only heard tell of them. My father says they're nothing but a bunch of Mudbloods tainting the wizarding world."

At that, her eyes had flashed in anger. He also thought that he might have seen a hint of hurt, but that made no sense to him.

"Why would your father say something like that? One cannot help the situation into which one has been born! What if you had been born without magic?"

He pondered for a moment before answering. "Had I been born without magic, then I would be considered a squib. It would have been most unfortunate."

"Can a squib choose to be without magic?"

"No, of course not! They come into the world without it." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew that he had proven her point.

She threw his words back at him. "Then perhaps Muggles who are born with magic happen to come into the world with it. They do not choose it."

Draco did not argue with her logic, but he was curious as to why she reacted so passionately to the subject. "Why does this infuriate you so?"

Sighing, her demeanor softened. "I do not think it fair to discriminate against anyone for being something that they did not choose to be. How would you like it if someone disliked you for having blond hair?"

"That, m'lady, is impossible."

"How so?"

"Well, because my blond hair makes me quite handsome. Thus, it would be impossible to dislike," he said, attempting to lighten the mood, which had become too somber. When she chuckled, he sighed internally in relief.

They moved from topic to topic, sharing many smiles and many arguments. In the back of his mind, Draco vaguely remembered his old tutor telling him of a student he taught of Muggle descent who was extremely bright. He dimly wondered what had happened to that student. He had most likely gone on to Hogwarts. Had he been discriminated against because of his heritage?

My, how Granger exhausted his mind! How did she have room in her head for so many thoughts?

They had conversed about everything under the sun until she had started to drift off. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Barely able to keep his eyes open himself, he had settled her onto the hay with care and-

Eyes flying open, he found himself nose-to-nose with her. Her face was so close that Draco could feel the puffs of breath escaping her lips. The candles had long since died out, but early morning light slipped between the cracks in the wood that made up the barn wall and he could just make out the freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose.

Granger was still wearing his cloak, but it had shifted during the night and slipped from her shoulder, baring it to the elements. The little skin that he could see was milky and smooth. The thin shift she wore did little to conceal her form, which he could plainly see was rather feminine. Draco felt his mouth go dry. He would never have guessed that, under her shapeless dresses, she had hidden a very womanly figure. She was small, but curvy. His eyes followed the smooth line of her throat down to a shadowy hint of cleavage. Her breasts were full and round, her waist curved in to a tempting slope, and her hips rounded back out appealingly.

An unexpected simmer of desire began to awaken in his groin. Draco was not an innocent. Being a prominent member of a royal family had offered him a great many rewards, including propositions from the fairer sex. His natural charm, combined with his position of power, had led scores of women to practically throw themselves at him.

As a wizard prince, he had his pick of women, from the lowest trollop to the most noble of maidens.

Yet he found himself strongly attracted to this Muggle servant girl. Yes, if he wanted, he could use his charisma to lure her into a sordid situation. But he could not. He had come to genuinely like her; the idea of perverting their friendship for a night of lust that would leave her a ruined woman made him feel ill.

Draco could not have her, no matter how much he wanted her.

She began to stir, and Draco closed his eyes and feigned sleep. He heard Granger let out a startled gasp before moving around frantically. She left his side in haste, and he heard the rustle of cloth as she dressed.

Before leaving the barn, she draped his cloak, still warm from her body, over him. The tender gesture made his chest ache. After she had gone, he opened his eyes and his mind began battling with his heart.


Hermione's face was still pink as she rushed into her room and changed her clothes. Though it had been perfectly innocent, she had lain next to a man who was not her husband wearing nothing but a shift. It was indecent!

Pushing the confusing thoughts into the back of her mind, she concentrated on her chores. She skipped some of her usual early tasks in favor of preparing breakfast. Her stepmother was going to skin her alive!

Hermione prepared a meal of eggs, sausage, and toast and placed it on a fine china plate. Placing the meal on a tray with the silver tea service, she carried it carefully to the dining room. As she feared, Rodmilla was already seated at the table with a stern look on her face.

"Good morning, Stepmother," she greeted, her eyes lowered.

Rodmilla's only response was a cold silence.

Hermione went about setting breakfast before the older woman, serving tea just as she had been taught all those years ago. Once she was finished, she curtseyed and turned to leave her stepmother to her meal. She had almost made it to the door and was ready to sigh in relief when she heard her name called behind her.

"Hermione." Rodmilla's tone was just as severe as her expression. "I do not like to be kept waiting. Why were you late with breakfast?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she replied, "I overslept, Stepmother. I apologize."

The older woman's lips thinned in disgust. "Overslept? You are no longer a child, Hermione. I will not tolerate your impudence." She slipped her wand out of her pocket. "Now that you are grown, I feel that you should understand that there are consequences to your disobedience."

For the first time in her life, Hermione felt a fear of magic. Her stepmother had hexed her in the past, but never with anything severe. The look in the woman's eyes now, however, revealed a cruelty that scared her.

"Crucio," she whispered calmly. Hermione screamed in agony. It felt as if she were being pricked with thousands of tiny, sharp needles. Her stepmother only held the curse for a few seconds before breaking it. Hermione fell to the floor crying, her forehead covered in beads of perspiration.

"Next time you disregard me, Mudblood, your punishment will be worse. You are dismissed." Rodmilla then returned to her meal, ignoring Hermione as she rose to her feet and stumbled from the room.

The chores that day seemed to take twice as long. There was no part of her body that did not hurt. The pain of the curse had caused every muscle to tense simultaneously, leaving her feeling stiff and her head aching.

She had never imagined that her stepmother would use an Unforgivable Curse. If Rodmilla was caught, she could be sent to prison. However, Hermione knew that would never happen. How could one get caught outside of the wizarding world?

Frightened by what had happened, she hid from Malfoy for fear that she might burst into tears in front of him. Perhaps he would see her avoidance as embarrassment for falling asleep next to him. However, she did not want him to go without another meal, so she waited until he was otherwise occupied before sneaking food out to the barn for him.

As the day neared its end, Hermione decided to treat herself to a warm bath. The process of carrying bucket after bucket of water to a tub was exhausting, but as she sunk into the water, she sighed in contentment and knew that it had been worth it.

It had been a tumultuous day, and she was grateful for the time to relax and be alone with her thoughts. She admitted to herself that she had come to fancy her bandit. Yes, he occasionally frustrated her beyond all reason, but he also made her laugh and think. She really didn't mind their argumentative banter, either. If anything, it made her feel alive. She had suppressed the fire within her for so long, it felt good to let it burn freely again.

He was the first person since her father to encourage her to talk and actually listen to her.

As much as she liked Malfoy, though, she had to be practical. Hermione knew that he would one day have to leave. Briefly, she considered running away with him, but he seemed to hold himself back in regards to her and she wasn't confident that he'd allow her to go with him.

So, with silent tears, she accepted that it was her lot in life to be stuck living the rest of her days serving her ungrateful stepmother.

With a sigh, Hermione stood up from her bath and toweled herself off. She'd empty the water tomorrow. She pulled on her nightgown and her thick, wool stockings. Winter was coming, and her room was drafty. Settling into her bed, she pulled the patchwork quilt up to her neck.

Hermione was just starting to drift off to sleep when she heard a light rapping at her window. Thinking it was an owl from Harry, she jumped up and opened it only to see Malfoy staring back at her.

"What's wrong?" He had never come to the house at night before.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before muttering, "Are you well?"

"What?" She was tired and confused and emotionally overwrought.

"I have not seen you all day. I came to see if you are well." His face was pale with worry.

"Oh." She felt stupid. Hermione had not imagined that he might fret over her absence. "Yes, I am well. Tired, but nothing more."

Malfoy took in her eyes, glossy from tears, and her pink face. "Are you upset with me?"

"No!" she cried, shaking her head emphatically. "The day was just a busy one. I will see you tomorrow. I promise." Smiling, she tried to shoo him away.

"If you are not angry with me, then something else is the matter. You are not acting like yourself, Granger." He could be just as stubborn as she, and her behavior was making him nervous. "You have been crying!"

Suddenly infuriated by his inquiries, she burst into tears. "You have not known me long enough to know how I act! I will see you tomorrow!" With that, she shut the window and closed the drapes. Throwing herself on her bed, she cried herself into a dreamless sleep with Crookshanks cuddled next to her for comfort.

Malfoy was baffled by what had just happened. He had been horrified when she'd started crying like that. Never had he dealt with a girl in tears before. Clearly, he had handled it poorly.

Left with no other options, he shuffled back to the barn and went to bed.


There was a great tension between them over the next few days, but they eventually fell back into their comfortable routine of working and bickering. Neither mentioned the night he had come to her window. He observed, however, that she no longer lingered for conversation at the day's end, and she now took her supper inside the house.

Two days prior to Samhain, Draco noticed a carriage departing the property. Granger had not mentioned her plans to celebrate since the night that they had fallen asleep together in the barn.

"Granger, I saw that your mistress has taken her leave. Shall we begin reveling in her absence?" He gave her a teasing grin, hoping to coax some mischievousness out of her.

He hadn't expected her to shake her head, her face suddenly pale. "No. I do not think that is a good idea anymore."

Bewildered by the recent change in her, he asked, "Why not? Did you not say that it would make you happy?"

"Well, yes." She seemed hesitant.

"Do you no longer feel that way?"

"I… yes, I do. However-"

He cut her off, leaving no room for argument. "Then happy you shall be!"

The indecision battled in her eyes before she finally bit her lip and nodded at him. Sensing what was bothering her, he said, "Your mistress will not return until at least two days after Samhain. We will clean up everything before then. She will never know, Granger. You will not be in any trouble."

Logically, Hermione knew that he was right, but the knowledge of the severity of punishment that potentially awaited her still lingered in the back of her mind.

In the days leading up to their evening of festivities, they worked twice as hard to make sure that everything was accomplished before their day off. Silverware was polished and furniture dusted. Floors were swept and eggs gathered. Malfoy made sure that there was enough wood to last for several days.

Nothing would stand in their way on their special day.

The morning of Samhain, Hermione took care of the cow because she was still better at milking than her bandit. After she'd returned to the house, milk bucket in hand, she began working on all the preparations for supper. Malfoy had thankfully slain and cleaned the turkey the day before. It would take several hours to roast, so she laid out the rest of the fixings that needed to be cooked.

Hermione still had some time to spare, and she wondered if she could-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a rustling from her quarters. Stepping into the room, she saw Malfoy standing next to a tub of warm water.

"I thought m'lady would perhaps like to bathe before this evening's supper."

She looked at him with the sweetest look of gratitude and his heart swelled.

Hermione turned and looked at the bedroom door, then back at him.

"How did you get the water in here without going through the kitchen? I would have seen you."

"Uh…" He was suddenly uncharacteristically shy. "I brought it through the window."

She laughed heartily. "You've been climbing in and out of the window?!"

Shifting embarrassedly, he didn't answer. He felt a little silly, but he had wanted to surprise her.

"Did you not use magic?" The accusation was a playful one. She raised her brows and quirked her mouth, as if she was trying to hold back a grin.

He shook his head. "You did not use magic to draw a bath for me, so I thought it only fair to return the favor in the same manner. This repays the favor equally."

Hermione's mouth bloomed into a full smile. She was genuinely touched.

"Thank you, Malfoy. It is wonderful." In truth, it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her in a very long while. The thought made her eyes a little dewy.

"Better get to it before the water cools." Still a little uncomfortable, he gave a small nod of his head and made a hasty exit.

Stripping off her clothes, she sunk into the bath, exhaling at its exquisite warmth. The water was fragrant, and only then did she notice that he had somehow found dried lavender as it was peppered into the water.

It was truly the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.

Hermione had plenty of time, so she indulged in her bath until the water turned tepid. She decided that tonight was special. After such a luxury, even she felt special. Tonight, she would not be a common servant girl. Tonight, she would be a lady.

Opening her trunk, she rummaged through her clothes to find something appropriate for the evening. At the bottom lay a beautiful dress. When her father had remarried, the first thing Rodmilla had done was to throw away all the things that had belonged to her husband's previous wife. Hermione had managed to hide this one thing and keep it for herself.

It was a simply cut, pale blue gown with bits of delicate lace on the collar and cuffs. It wasn't fancy by any means, but it was the nicest thing she owned.

Sliding it on, she was grateful to find that her mother had been her size. The bodice hugged her waist as if it had been made just for her. She did not have a looking-glass, so she hoped that it looked as good as it felt.

Forgoing her usual braid, she left her riotous curls hanging down her back. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her room.

The kitchen was empty. She went to check on the turkey, but it was gone, as were all the vegetables that she had laid out earlier. Confused, she made her way into the dining room and found Malfoy standing there. The food was already on the table, and two settings were in place.

"M'lady," he greeted her.

"You finished cooking the supper?"

"I have been watching you do it for the last several weeks. I think I managed quite well, all things considered."

"Why?"

"Granger, stop questioning me and come sit." He held out a chair for her.

Timidly, she walked over and sat down as he pushed in her chair.

"Everything looks wonderful," she said. It really did look perfect.

"Don't be impressed just yet." Malfoy took his own seat across from her. "The taste of my cooking may not live up to your expectations."

She chuckled at that and the tension broke. The meal was lovely, with the exception of the potatoes, which were just a bit undercooked. They shared wine and laughter and thoughtful conversation for hours when Draco suddenly had an idea.

"This is not yet a proper Samhain celebration!" His excessive exuberance made it clear that he had imbibed too much.

Granger laughed. "Why not?"

"We have not danced!"

"Oh!" She looked at him uncertainly. "I do not know-"

"You do not know how to dance? Come! I will teach you!" Jumping up, he reached out for her hand, but she simply looked at him.

"I know a little, but-"

Tired of her excuses, Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the chair. They were both a little tipsy, and their mutual lack of coordination sent them crashing into each other. In order to keep her from falling backward, he wrapped his hands firmly around her waist.

"Easy there!" His eyes were hooded and teasing as he stood there, holding her and staring. Hermione looked up at him, but did not step away from his embrace.

"What are you thinking?" The atmosphere had become intimate, so she kept her voice low for fear of destroying it.

"I'm thinking that I like your hair like that. I like you dressed like this." His breath hitched. "I think that you're the most magnificent creature I have ever encountered."

Hermione's cheeks were already rosy from the wine, but being so close to a handsome man telling her that he found her attractive made her blush even more furiously.

Malfoy swooped in and kissed her, gripping her even tighter than before. Squeaking at the intensity of it, she grasped at his arms, her heart pounding.

The moment took her breath away. She knew that she should push him away. It was unseemly, really. They were alone without an escort and they were not engaged. Yet the soft caresses of his lips were intoxicating and she did not want the moment to end.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and looked at her, leaving them both gasping for air.

"I think…" He stopped and swallowed hard. "I think that we have now properly celebrated Samhain."

Hermione gave a dazed nod in response. They slowly disentangled from one another, sliding apart until all that was touching was their hands. He brought them up to his face so he could kiss her knuckles.

"Good night, m'lady." Malfoy stared at her longingly with his granite-colored eyes.

"Good night," she whispered, as he took his leave.

As soon as she heard him exit the house and head towards the barn, she dashed to her room and shut the door.

This night! This beautiful, glorious, perfect night! Giddily, she twirled around, her skirt swishing around her ankles. Collapsing on her dingy straw bed, Hermione brought her hands to her swollen lips.

Her cat sniffed her before curling up next to her on the bed.

"Oh, Crooks! I don't know how I'll be able to go back to ordinary life after this night!" Cuddling her furry companion, she smiled contentedly.

Little did she know that her bandit was thinking the same thing, though unhappily. After tonight, Draco knew he had to return home and leave her behind. He had never meant for to go this far, for her to become too close.

She went to sleep that night with her heart full, while his was breaking.