Draco could not have imagined a more surreal end to his day. At his side, stepping carefully to avoid the numerous puddles that pooled in the cracked concrete, was the missing Hermione Granger. Her gaze was fixed to the ground, brows furrowed as if she were silently contemplating a particularly troublesome complication. She nibbled her lip as she walked; a picture of a girl with a problem.

The rain around them was deafening, and she leaned in close to partake in the protection his umbrella offered. He had to carry one; it's not like he could cast a water repelling charm, not without his wand anyway. That was his life now: no wand and having to share transportation with dirty muggles. Still beat a permanent residence in Azkaban, though, a fact for which he was partly indebted to the woman walking next to him.

The object of his thoughts sneezed suddenly, shivered and rubbed her hands together. There was a nip of chill in the air, brought on by the rain, and Granger was dressed in just a simple sweater. Her peculiar request for an umbrella had shocked him for moment; he figured it must mean she didn't have her wand either. But where was it? There was a story there, and he'd prefer to hear it without her dying of a cold.

"Wait."

She stopped, turning towards him with a puzzled expression. She had crossed her arms, hugging them close to her own body; a futile effort of retaining warmth.

"Here." Shrugging off his cloak proved to be a little awkward, since he was still holding the umbrella.

"Put this on."

"I…" It seemed she was about to argue, and he wasn't going to permit that.

"Don't argue, Granger. You'll catch a cold. Put it on, I swear it's not cursed."

She startled a little when he called her by her name; more information for him to ponder. Then, after a momentary hesitation, she extended her arm, accepting his offer.

"Thank you." She quickly draped the cloak over her shoulders, huddling into its warm depths.

It was too large for her, and it covered her like wet feathers frame a miserable sparrow. He took a moment to really inspect her. She didn't look well. Bags under her eyes, sallow skin, and a mop of windswept hair that could really use some pampering. Of course, it had seemed like she never really cared for her appearance, prioritizing academic achievements over what she saw as superficial attributes. But this was… unhealthy. Something was very, very wrong.

And just as he arrived at this conclusion, she smiled. It was small and brief, just barely lifting the corners of her lips, but it was there and it was directed at him. It changed her so much. It was like a distant light in a stormy sea promising warmth and a safe harbor. It was the first smile she had ever given him, and it was open and grateful and… pretty?

The boy in Hogwarts would have been appalled and disgusted, but the man that stood here today suddenly felt his chest fill with a previously unencountered warm feeling, and unwillingly met her smile with one of his own.

It was shocking how much his feelings vacillated this evening.

Seeing her on that train was initially a shock, and it had quickly turned to anger. Her disappearance had been a source of so many problems for him and what was left of his friends (as if they needed more). Many people still had debts to settle after the war, and they were quick to point fingers; the Ministry, emboldened with such public support, had begun conducting raids with a fervor, seizing assets, and placing additional restrictions on those who had been even slightly associated with the losing side of the war… And there she was, perched in her seat, staunchly ignoring him! HIs temper had flared, and he had followed her out, prepared to ridicule, threaten, and even shame her. But then she started to cry. The girl that had withstood torture on his home's floor and helped defeat Voldemort, was crying and rubbing the arm that undoubtedly retained his aunt's memorable "gift". His anger instantly vanished, swept away in a tide of guilt and regret.

"Come." She tugged at his elbow. "We're close, it's just up that way," she said, pointing ahead to where a block of flats sprawled next to some gray warehouses. A single tree, its leaves touched by the invariable desolation and decay of autumn, stood nearby like a lonely sentinel guarding some long-forgotten post.

Her building was just like the others; they were copies, built for expediency, not comfort. A woman of indeterminate age leaned on the wall near the entrance, smoking a cigarette. She gave them a piercing look as they approached, then chuckled.

"How much she chargin', honey? I'll show you a better time, if you want."

Her voice was throaty and a little hoarse. Some men may have found it appealing; Draco felt an urge to vomit. Lack of subtlety aside, to be propositioned by a muggle prostitute, could he fall any lower?

"I'll pass."

Unfazed, the woman just shrugged and went back to contemplating the world through a haze of smoke. She winked at Granger when they passed her by, and Draco noticed a rosy tinge appeared on his companion's cheeks, amusing him to no end. The girl had fought and triumphed over one of the most evil wizards of all time, yet was embarrassed by a sexual insinuation.

They trudged past the woman and took the stairs to the second floor.

"Here it is."

The keys didn't fit at first, and then it was a whole battle to turn them. Hermione, huffing a little from annoyance and embarrassment, finally came out victorious. Draco pretended to not notice.

He followed her into the flat, shutting the door behind him. Hermione's residence - calling it a home would be a blatant lie - was spartan. The walls were empty; not a single photo or picture could be seen. He spied a bookshelf filled with reading material and a small divan sporting linens and a pillow. Nothing else.

"Um.. tea?" Hermione's hesitant question distracted him from his observations. He noticed she was rubbing her arm again.

"Sure," he answered.

The kitchen was tiny, just a small table that held a cheap vase with a few wilted flowers. A single chair - the plastic kind you see outside cafes - accompanied the depressing arrangement. He processed these things, adding them to the paucity of information he had collected over the course of the evening. No, that wasn't true. He had gained a lot of information, just none of it made sense. All these details about her were like little pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, but with no direction on how to stick them together.

Well, he had escorted her home; hopefully, she would provide him with some answers. She owed him at least that much, because not reporting her location to the authorities instantly had been a mistake. A big one, possibly.

"Alright then Granger, why don't you start?"