Thanks to everyone who's added the story as a favorite/alert! Again...still beta-less, so forgive the errors. I'll correct them as I reread :)

Draco watched her every now and as she slept, glancing over the top of the book at her sleeping form. She'd gone from curled up in a ball to flat on her stomach, onto her side, and now she laid flat on her back with an arm hanging off the couch while her other arm was perched across her forehead. He wasn't sure what kind of dream she was having, but Merlin help the man who ever had to share a bed with her. The poor schmuck would be black and blue before morning. If flying on a Muggle airplane made someone fall into this type of state, he never wanted to try it. Then again, Harry did mention it was a 12 hour flight. He asked why she didn't just find an international floo, portkey, or just apparate for that matter. Harry said she enjoyed flying on airplanes. Ironic, in Draco's opinion, how she could feel completely comfortable aboard a mental can in the sky with tons of flammable jet fuel beneath them yet not mount a broom. It was baffling.

She was shifting in her sleep again. He glanced at his watch. Hermione had been sleeping for nearly four hours. Setting his book down on the table, Draco collected his plate with the crumbs from his sandwich and his coffee mug and quietly made his way out of the room back towards the kitchen. He set the dishes in the sink and stared out the window towards his narrow back yard. He hung a tire swing out back a few weeks ago to the lone tree that towered over a corner of the yard, and Draco couldn't wait for James to see it. That kid could swing for days on end if you let him. Draco never had such a contraption, or really any kind of toys or things to do outside growing up. Malfoys didn't play in the dirt, according to his father. If he had a knut for every time he heard his father say the phrase "Malfoys didn't…," he'd have an entirely separate fortune.

He sighed. Hermione would be waking soon, and he still had no idea what to say to her. Knowing her, she probably had a thousand questions ready, most of them conjured in between thrashings on the couch. When he and Harry came to terms - it was merely an understanding between men. It wasn't twenty questions with five follow ups and curious looks. The two bumped into one another in the Ministry shortly a year after the war. Harry was leaving an internship meeting for his Auror training, and Draco had walked out of a meeting with Kingsley. Curt nods were exchanged, and it was Harry who spoke first, asking him what he was up to. Draco told him he enrolled in a Muggle university, taking pre-law courses.

"You want to be a muggle lawyer?" Harry said, his shock not at all suppressed.

"Merlin no," Draco replied. "I want to be a wizard lawyer. I would have done an internship with the ministry, but when I thought about it, I decided I really wanted some kind of formal course work. Kingsley suggested the idea."

Harry nodded. "I see."

"I'm trying to uh, change, you see. I thought a Muggle university might…help."

"Draco Malfoy surrounded by Muggles. That's a sight I'd pay to see."

Draco cracked a small grin. "Yes, well, I manage."

"Right," Harry replied. "I was just going to grab some lunch. You can join if you'd like."

"Asking me on a date, Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Glad to see you're still somewhat of a git, Malfoy."

The two of them sat during lunch, eating their sandwiches as the unlikely pair found themselves the topic of gossip. Harry listened to Draco while he talked about school and how his mother was doing. Draco remembered the look of shock on his face when Draco told him about getting his driver's license, and how he laughed when found out he had to take the exam twice. He had to oblivate the examiner and a few other Muggles the first time, after he accidentally went forwards instead of backwards as they pulled out of the parking lot. His car mutilated all sorts of shrubbery in front of the building. Draco initially thought he only needed about a week's work of practice on an old country road, but it turned out that he needed a bit more than that. After practicing all summer, he took the test again, passing it with flying colors.

Harry told him about Auror training, and how he and Ron started the program together before Ron left to help George at the joke shop. That only lasted about a few months, however, because once he and Hermione broke off their relationship, he decided to use his fifteen minutes of Golden Trio fame and trapeze around Europe, allowing the women to fawn all over him as he recounted the tales from his days with Harry while at Hogwarts and during the search for the Horcruxes. He told him how Hermione couldn't save Ron from his sorrow over Fred's death, or succumbing to the fame whore he eventually became to be. She wasn't able to save her parents, who were killed by Death Eaters the day they were to leave for Australia. Hermione instead chose to embark on a journey to save a library in America. Harry suspected it was her own way of self avoidance in dealing with what she went through during the war, and Draco couldn't help but agree. Then again, Harry wasn't in the dining room the day his aunt had a knife forced against her throat. Harry may have heard the screams from the dungeon, but Draco had no choice but to watch. He had nightmares about that day the most. It's why he had to do something to atone for the chaos he helped cause, no matter how little his role was in the grand scheme of things. Had he been Hermione, he may have spent an entire lifetime saving anything and everything except herself if it numbed the pain. Draco had no idea how strong she was until that day, watching her tortured in a way that only his lunatic aunt could conjure, and she still said nothing. Anyone else would have cracked.

He would have cracked.

Hermione sat up in a start. Clutching the blanket like a lifeline, she shook her head as she regained her bearings. She wasn't in New York anymore. She was in London. Draco Malfoy picked her up from the airport - Draco Malfoy. She saw the pictures above the mantle again. Draco laughing as James threw his hands in the air while they flew down the hill on a sled. It wasn't a dream. She buried her palms into her eyes to the point of blurred vision before she blinked back into focus.

She looked down at the blanket covering her, seeing a familiar stitch and feeling a familiar yarn. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear this was a blanket made by Mrs. Weasley herself. But that was impossible. She looked back to the photos on the mantle. It was impossible, right?

Her back cracked like a stack of collapsing dominos as she stood to stretch her arms above her head. It was one of the better naps she'd had, despite the circumstances. Then again, sheer exhaustion always helps her to fall asleep. Sheer exhaustion was often the only thing keeping her nightmares at bay. At least they weren't as often. She often looked back on the first two years after the war and had no idea how she wasn't mistaken for a zombie.

"Where is he?" she wondered aloud. Quickly folding the blanket back up into a nice square, she placed it on the couch before she meandered through the house. It really was a lovely house - not that she was ready to admit it aloud. Hermione wasn't really aware that anyone within the Malfoy bloodline had the ability to tolerate colors outside of a dreary day palate, but the sitting room, the living room, the dining room - all of it was beautiful and inviting. Maybe Malfoy can help me decorate my my new pla - what the hell? What are you thinking? She mentally scolded herself. The jet lag was compromising her train of thought.

She found her way to the kitchen and stopped as she reached the doorway. She saw Draco staring out the window. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was harmless. Maybe he was harmless. How could she really know? Did she want to know? But something had to have been different if he and Harry were friends, she argued with herself.. Harry didn't just go around befriending Death Eaters. Neither would Ginny. And they certainly wouldn't let him near James if he was the same git that used to torment them in school. But why wouldn't Harry tell her they were friends? They saw each other twice a year while she was away. He couldn't have slipped in a "oh, by the way - my new best friend may or may not been the same one to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts - you know - the same Death Eaters that killed Albus Dumbledore."

The same Death Eaters that may or may not have killed her parents.

She wasn't sure what was worse – discovering that her parents were killed by Death Eaters after the war or never finding out which ones committed the heinous crime.

Hermione couldn't help but stare at Draco. He appeared to be lost in thought. She supposed it couldn't have been easy, being the son of Lucius Malfoy. Harry was probably right about that. The mere thought of being surrounded by dark magic gave her chills. She did, however, notice in the midst of her staring that Draco was wearing a short sleeved t-shirt, and his dark mark was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is it?" she heard herself ask. She clapped a hand over her mouth as he snapped his head in her direction.

"You're awake," Draco replied.

All she could do was nod, a hand still over her mouth.

"What are you looking for?"

"What?"

"You asked 'where is it?' I'm assuming you've lost something," he said.

She quickly shook her head. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

Draco crossed his arms against his chest. She could tell he was confused. "The Granger I know rarely says anything she wants anyone to forget."

"I thought we were dropping the last names," Hermione countered.

"Right. Well then, Hermione, what were you looking for."

"Nothing," she said quickly.

"You were obviously looking for something."

"It's nothing, Draco, so drop it!"

"Bloody hell, Granger, just say it for Merlin's sake!" Draco bellowed in frustration.

"Fine!" Hermione shouted back. "I wanted to know where in the hell your bloody dark mark went!" She saw his face blanche, and she immediately regretted her harsh words. "I'm sorry," she blurted. "I was standing here, staring at you and - "

"Wait. You were staring at me?" Draco said, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"That's not what I meant," she said defensively.

"You just said you were staring at me, Granger."

"I thought you were calling me Hermione, Draco."

"Old habits die hard - and don't change the subject - which was you, staring at me."

"I really wasn't," Hermione vehemently stated. "Anyway, I just happened to notice that your…dark mark…was missing. I was under the impression that those were of the more permanent nature."

She watched as a wave of Draco's hand revealed the dark mark, only to make it disappear again. "It's a concealment charm," he said. "I've looked into having it removed in both the wizarding and Muggle world. Muggles can't remove dark magic, and the best the wizarding world has to offer is a charm. Bloody pathetic if you ask me."

"Bloody pathetic indeed," Hermione said, her voice softening.

Draco dragged a hand through his hair. Hermione would be remised to say she didn't enjoy the less than perfect coif compared to his old style. He looked more relaxed, more approachable even, this way. "How was your nap?"

"Good," she said, crossing her arms against her chest. "I'm starving through. When did you say dinner was?"

He glanced at the wall clock. It was half past four. "Around six. Or well, that's when the Potters will be here at least. I can make you a snack if you'd like."

"You make me a snack or a have house elf make me a snack?" she said, a bit more snarky than she intended.

"Do you see a house elf here, Granger?" Draco countered with an edge to his voice.

Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really don't know what's wrong with me. I swear I have manners."

Draco shrugged. "We've been foul to each other since we were ten. It's a reflex."

"You're being too kind," Hermione said. "I really am sorry."

"How does a peanut butter and jelly sandwich sound?" Draco asked.

"Delicious."

Harry once said to Draco that the thing one had to remember about Hermione Granger was that her bark was worse than her bite. Underneath the desire to prove to everyone that despite being a Muggle, she was just as good - if not better than other wizards - she had a kind heart. She may threaten a hex or two, but Harry swore he'd never seen her follow through, unless you count a dozen canaries darting towards the head of Ron Weasley after his mouth was assaulted by Lavender Brown after the quidditch match during sixth year…or the time she hit him with a stinging hex before they were caught by the snatchers. But Harry quickly amended the statement to say that the stinging hex was for his own good.

Draco been under the wrath of Hermione's bark before, and he was perfectly ok admitting he'd rather be hit in the nose again than to hear her words. She knew how to lace them together just right to provide the perfect sting, staining the subconscious for years. It was during his second year that Hermione told him that at least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in - they got in on pure talent. When Slytherin beat Gryffindor during fifth year, Draco narrowly grasping the snitch before Harry - all he could think was how's that for talent, Granger?" Petty, yes, but after every Slytherin loss to Gryffindor, her words permeated through his brain.

Draco whipped up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and garnished the plate with some potato chips before sliding it towards her as she sat across from him on a stool at the kitchen island. Fetching the bottle of water he placed back in the fridge for her after she fell asleep, he cleaned up his mess and began pulling out the lasagna he prepared yesterday to bake for dinner this evening.

"Lasagna?" Hermione said with a mouth full of sandwich.

He nodded. "You like lasagna, right?"

"I love lasagna!" Hermione gushed. "Gosh, I can't even remember the last time I had it. It must have been…years…ago."

Her voice trailing off into nothing wasn't unnoticed. He saw her face go from delight to sorrow in a flash. "Are you ok?" he cautiously asked.

She nodded quickly, playing with the paper wrapper around the bottle as a distraction. "My mum…she used to make me lasagna on my birthday." He could see her willing away tears and felt his chest tighten just a bit. "See, she was a horrible baker. Couldn't bake a cake to save her life, my mum," Hermione said with an awkward laugh. "The only thing she could bake with any kind of success that was stiff enough for birthday candles was lasagna. So instead of birthday cake, we had birthday lasagna. It's quite awful, now that I think about it."

"I think it's brilliant," Draco admitted. "I've never had a birthday cake, or birthday lasagna for that matter."

Hermione gawked at him. "Not even as a child?"

"Nope," Draco replied. "I can't say the birthday parties were much of a party either. It was more of a formal gathering, where grownups ate crumpets and drank tea while the children sat and behaved like civilized human beings."

"Civilized human beings?"

"That's father's way of saying children are best to be seen but not heard," Draco said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "But enough of that rubbish," he quickly stated, replacing the saran wrap over the dish with tin foil before sliding it into the oven. "I'm sure you have about a million questions in that head of yours. I told you I'd answer whatever you wanted to know - so now's your chance."

She honestly wasn't sure where to begin. The rage she felt when she first saw him at the airport was barely existent at this point. Hermione wasn't even sure what she thought at this point. What she did know was that Draco Malfoy made an excellent peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and was slowly losing the urge to argue with everything he said. She decided to stray near neutral topics, such as what he did for a living. She certainly wasn't expecting to hear that he was a wizard lawyer, but could hear his heart was in the right place as he spoke about his work, and how the majority of it was done without any monetary gain. He looked as if he actually enjoyed life when he spoke about his job and his nutty secretary, LuAnne.

"She always has ten quills jammed in her rats nest of a hairdo," he said through a laugh. "And can never figure out where they all go! She spends all afternoon looking for something to write with!"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. He almost looked child like with his enthusiasm. As he pulled out vegetables to make a salad, she walked over and washed her hands at the sink before joining him to help. She listened to him talk about his time at university, and all things he found positively fascinating about Muggle life in general. He handed her a knife and a cutting board and she began to slice up a cucumber. Halfway through, Hermiones' grip slipped, and she felt the knife pierce the skin on her forefinger.

"Son of a bitch!" she yelped, yanking her hand to her mouth.

"Are you ok?"

She held her finger back to get a good look at the gash. It was a good one, and as she pressed the flesh back together, she winced. "I just need to get my wand."

Draco pulled his out of his pocket. "Here. Let me."

Hermione hesitated. "I can take care of it," she said quickly.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand before she could pull back. Examining the wound, he grabbed some paper towels to soak up some of the blood before tapping the end of his wand to her finger and muttered a healing spell. Her skin slowly merged back together, and the blood seeped back into the wound. "Was that so hard?" he asked softly.

"You really are different," she whispered. The blood he deemed dirty throughout their childhood, the blood he felt to be unworthy of things such as magic, was the same blood he touched with his hand. It was the same blood he even touched with his wand.

"I'm trying to be," he answered her, his voice sincere.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, frozen in place. She wanted to believe him.

He desperately wanted her to understand him.

It wasn't until they heard a door slam and the cries of an overly excited three year old barreling down the hallway that they snapped out of it.

"Aunt Hermione!" a small, miniature version of Harry screeched as he held a blanket in one hand and a stuffed cat in the other. "You're finally here!"

She grinned, kneeling down to face her favorite godson as he launched himself into her arms. "I've missed you, buddy!"

"I've missed you more!" James exclaimed, planting a kiss on her cheek. Ginny appeared in the kitchen moments later, a hand on her pregnant belly. "Mummy! I found Aunt Hermione!"

Ginny laughed as she placed a bag most likely filled with desert on the counter. "Is that who that is? Because I don't think she looks like Aunt Hermione."

"Mummy you're being silly," James said with complete exasperation. "Uncle Draco, tell Mummy she's being silly."

Draco smirked at Ginny. "You're being silly, Ginny."

"Who's being silly?" Harry Potter appeared in the kitchen, and looked at Hermione. "Going for the disheveled look, eh?"

She was confused for a minute, until remembering that she was still in her lounge clothes, and hadn't even showered since she left New York. "Merlin!" she exclaimed. "This is just embarrassing!"

"What's embarrassing?" James asked.

"Your Aunt Hermione is a slob, that's what," she said, putting him down. She didn't notice James walking over to Draco, who picked him back up, set him on the kitchen island, and fed him a tomato slice. "Malf - eh, Draco - are my bags still in your car?"

He shook his head no, handing James a cucumber slice. "They're in the guest bedroom. Second floor, third room on the right if you go up these stairs right here. There's a bathroom attached - towels, everything - if you want to shower, or you know, whatever."

"Thanks," she said.

"Aunt Hermione - I don't think you look like a slob," James said seriously, sneaking another cucumber. "You look beautiful."

"James Sirius don't you dare spoil your dinner," Ginny warned.

Hermione walked over to James and kissed his forehead. "Thank you, James." She looked over to Harry, and motioned for him to follow her up the stairs.

"Now?" Harry asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

"Daddy's in trouble! Daddy's in trouble!" James sang with glee.

Hermione looked confused. "Why is Daddy in trouble?"

"Cause he tricked you into seeing Uncle Draco!" James announced, waving his hands about with excitement. But I don't know why he had to trick you. Uncle Draco is super fun and he has toys for me to play with here. He also got me ice cream the other day with lots of sprinkles," James stated. "And we go to the park and the zoo too!"

"How is it that this child hears everything!" Harry hissed at Ginny.

"He is the spawn of the chosen one," Ginny replied with an evil grin. "In my defense, Hermione, I didn't know about his scheming until about an hour ago."

She could feel herself becoming furious, but she didn't want to lose her temper in front of James. "Well…that's not exactly what I was going to talk to about but now that I know, we'll just add it to the list. Potter. Upstairs. Now."

Draco could hardly contain the smirk on his face. Potter looked frightened, and according to his wife, he should be. Ginny told him how she nearly tore Harry's head off when he came home, delighted his scheming worked, but decided that Hermione would get more enjoyment out of making him squirm than she.

"She looks good," Ginny said with a wink.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me."

"'Mione. She looks good, don't you think?"

Draco picked up the cutting board and scraped the remaining tomatoes into the salad bowl. "I guess so. It's not like I was really paying attention."

Ginny laughed. "You're a terrible liar."

Draco refused to acknowledge the conversation. He thought Granger looked good long before he picked her up from the airport. He just never had the guts to admit it to himself. "James," he said, blatantly ignoring Ginny. "Do you want some juice?"

"Yes, please," James said, crashing his dragons together while making exaggerated hissing gurgling noises meant to represent destruction. Draco snagged a juice box from his fridge, popped the straw in it, and set in the table next to him. "Thanks!"

"Draco," Ginny said, taking a seat on a barstool.

"Ginny," Draco replied.

"Your head looks like it is a million miles away."

He laughed. "It's just been a surreal kind of day, Gin." Surreal was an understatement. He experienced more feelings and emotions in the past few hours with his former nemesis than he'd experienced in his entire life. Draco wasn't even aware one could feel that much in one day. He was nervous and scared, intimidated, relieved and concerned, and most of all confused, some of which happened simultaneously. It was a lot to absorb for someone who was taught to feel nothing. They had a few moments of civility together today – a few moments of uncompromised compassion – but they disappeared as quickly as they came. "I don't know if she can ever forgive me," he admitted quietly to Ginny.

Ginny reached across the island and grabbed Draco's hand. "You're different now."

"Different now doesn't change the past," Draco replied.

"Maybe. But look how it's already changing your future," Ginny stated, giving his hand a squeeze before letting it go.

Hermione quickly found the room Draco set her belongings in and threw a wandless silencing charm around the room as she shut the door. She stared at Harry with her hands on her hips, trying to decide on what to tear into him about first. The fear on his face was almost enjoyable, and she hid it well.

"Harry James Potter how could you be so…so…how could you do that to me today!" she shrieked.

Harry held his hands up in defense. "I thought it might break the ice a bit. Malfoy is a pretty permanent fixture in our lives, and you are too."

"So you decided to throw two wolves together in a room and see if we'd both survive?" she asked hotly.

"He's different, 'Mione. He's changed so much and he deserves to be given a second chance!"

She crossed her arms against her chest and glared. "There are about ten other ways you could have put Malfoy and I in a room together. You realize this could have gone a completely different way? We could have killed each other for Merlin's sake! What if I'd seen him before I called you!"

"Never would have happened, Miss Over Organized and Over Prepared," Harry teased. "I'm sure you were calling me the moment you could get to your phone."

Hermione threw her hands up in the air with disgust, refusing to acknowledge that he was right. "That's not the point, Harry!"

Harry could hardly contain his laughter. Taking a chance, he walked towards his best friend and hugged her tightly. He felt her bury her face into his chest. "You're so overdramatic sometimes, Hermione."

"You're a pain in the ass sometimes," she replied as he laughed again. She looked up at him and sighed. "I'm not saying he hasn't changed. It is pretty evident a change has happened. But being manipulative isn't what you do, Harry Potter! It isn't what we do. Are you listening to me, Harry Potter?"

Harry pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. "I'm listening to you. I promise I'll never do it again. I just...I figured it was like ripping off a plaster. Better to do it quickly than slowly."

"Yes, well, I'm still furious at you," Hermione said.

"I'm sure it won't be the last time," Harry replied with a wink. Letting her go, he braced his hands against her shoulders. "I'm glad you're back, 'Mione. I've missed you."

She gave him a small smile. "I missed you too."

Harry grinned. "Shower. We'll be downstairs waiting."

Hermione would have stayed under the hot water forever, but her grumbling stomach said otherwise. Flying across the Atlantic always took it out her with the time change, but there was something about the hum of an airplane that she found relaxing. Flying gave her time to think, as there wasn't much else to do. As she rummaged through one of her suitcases for a pair of jeans and a top, she grabbed what she planned to wear along with her makeup and retreated back to the bathroom. She loved her short hair – chopping off her long locks felt liberating – and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt as if she was someone other than the brainy bookworm everyone knew her to be. It also didn't require a whole lot of maintenance – just a dollop of texturizing hair balm. A touch of makeup and a new outfit later, Hermione felt somewhat refreshed, and made her way downstairs. She found Harry and Draco sitting at the table, crashing dragons together with James while Ginny pulled the lasagna from the oven. Hermione felt like she was in some sort of alternate universe.

"Just in time!" Ginny announced. "Boys – why don't you clear the table of the dragons and get out some plates and silverware."

The men did what they were told, and in minutes, dinner was served. Hermione could feel the lasagna melt in her mouth as she held back a groan. It was beyond delicious. She didn't say much at dinner unless directly spoken to. Instead, she sat back and observed as Harry and Draco talked about the upcoming Cannons season, and Draco's wizard lawyer training at the Ministry. Ginny reminded Draco to give her the name of his decorator so she could call her about updating the nursery before the arrival of their second son in the winter, and he promised to find her number before they left.

Harry asked Hermione what she planned on doing now that she was back. All she could do was shrug her shoulders. "We'll see," she replied. It was one area of her life that Hermione hadn't given much thought to. She was steadfast in her decision to come back to London. America was lovely but she missed her home. What she wasn't confident about was everything else involved with moving back to London – finding an apartment, finding a job, and dealing with parts of her life she conveniently smashed into boxes and stored in the hidden hallways of her mind.

Hermione snapped out of her daze when she heard Harry tell Ginny he was going to head back early to get some sort of room ready for Hermione after dessert.

"I can really just rent a hotel," Hermione said. "I don't want anyone to be put out."

"You won't be putting us out," Ginny said. "We're just behind on getting the nursery done because someone works too much to help finish it and the other bedroom is full of junk. It's nothing that can't be taken care of with a spell or two."

Hermione shook her head. "That's insane – honestly. I can find hotel to stay at until I find a flat to lease."

"We're not going to let you waste money like that," Harry scoffed.

"It's not like I'm running out any time soon," Hermione stated. Between the money she inherited from her parents, the sale of their established dental practice, she was set for life if she chose to do nothing more than spend her days reading and traveling. On top of that, she had an ungodly amount of money in Gringotts, awarded to her by the Ministry of Magic for her heroic efforts in during the war. A yearlong stay in a presidential suite would hardly to scratch the surface of her monetary worth – another issue that bothered Hermione at times. No one needed that much money. But she had it.

"You can stay here." The adults turned their head towards Draco, who was chewing his lasagna. "Your things are upstairs anyway," he said in the same casual tone that one would use to make a grocery list. Milk? Check. Bread? Yep. You're things are upstairs anyway – sounds like a plan.

Hermione pursed her lips together for a moment before speaking. "Ok."

"Ok?" Draco questioned.

"Unless it's suddenly a problem," Hermione countered.

"No – no, no problem," Draco said. "I wasn't expecting you to say yes without a fight."

She arched her eyebrows. "Are you insinuating that I fight about everything?"

"Of course not," he patronized.

Harry snickered and Ginny suppressed a laugh, which didn't go unnoticed by Hermione. "It's just until I find a flat." She stared directly at Draco as she spoke.

"Just until you find a flat," Draco repeated, returning the stare.

Harry cleared his throat. "Well, now that it's settled, who wants pie?"

After showering James with kisses and promises to do all sorts of fun things in the next few weeks, Hermione found herself in a pair of sweat pants and a pink tank top, full from dinner and ready for sleep again. Looking around the guest room, she loved how the walls were painted a warm yellow, with various pastel accents on the bed and tapestries. Hermione found the colors calming and relaxing.

It was barely 9:00 before Hermione pulled the covers back over the bed and crawled in, blissfully sinking into the plush pillows. In her hand was a fashion magazine she picked up in the airport in New York. She planned to read until she fell asleep when she heard a knock at the door.

"Yes, Draco?"

Draco popped his head inside, opening the door just a bit. "Just making sure you have everything you needed."

"I do."

He nodded. "Of course. Well…I'll be upstairs in the study for a bit before turning in if you need anything."

She smiled. He looked like he wanted to say something else. "Thank you…for letting me stay."

He returned the smile. "Don't mention it." She watched as he nervously shuffled his feet a bit. "Who knows, maybe we'll wind up being best friends like Potter and me when it's all said and done."

Hermione flipped her magazine open, a smile tugging at her lips. "Let's not get too crazy, now."

Draco laughed. "Right. Good night Hermione."

"Good night, Draco."