A/N: Another shorter chapter today! Sorry for being a day late. BUT Nano starts this weekend so I'll be writing up a storm. Expect another update Monday :) Please review if you enjoyed.

October 24th, 1999 - Sunday Early Morning

Unlike the Saturday the day before, Hermione leaps out of bed fully awake at 7AM. She spends the next two hours cleaning her house with small charms Molly Weasley had taught her, reorganizing her ever-growing bookshelf, and penning a letter to Ron and Harry to invite them out to the Leaky Cauldron after work the following day.

She doesn't own an owl, but it's no hardship to throw on her robes and apparate to the doorstep of Grimmauld place. It's dark in the windows, and no one answers her knock, so Hermione calls for Ginny's owl from the front step.

Julien is a massive barn owl that Harry had purchased for Ginny's birthday following the war. She's lovely and partial to Hermione, so she lands easily on her arm and nudges her majestic head into Hermione's wild curls.

"Hello Julien," Hermione greets, petting her softly, "I am hoping you could take this letter to Ron at the Burrow for me. I imagine Harry is with him, anyway."

Julien nips her fingers affectionately, allowing Hermione to tie the letter to her massive talons. She's off without a moment to spare, and Hermione returns home easily.

Another owl greets her on her front step, familiar orange eyes gleaming.

Hermione sighs, "brilliant. Come on in, then."

The owl follows her gracefully, finding its perch on the windowsill where it had sat only the day prior. It has an envelope tucked against its legs, and Hermione unwinds it easily, Malfoy's writing becoming a familiar scrawl to her.

' To Granger,

I realized I didn't reply to you yesterday when you asked if you should owl. I apparated before I could answer, and Theodore Nott has informed me that was rude. You are, of course, allowed to owl me.

Theo — I had mentioned he is a friend — is doing well. I visited him last night after I saw you. He's shocked we didn't murder each other instantly, by the way. I told him you probably weren't the type to commit murder without a six-step plan in place before you began. I somehow doubt Potter would have survived all these years if you didn't over plan.

Anyway, Theo said he met with Luna Lovegood yesterday morning, and though he told me how she apparently wore these mad pink glasses to allow her to see… what was it she said… Nargles? Daft bint, honestly, but — and don't get yourself worked up — Theo has told me they'll get along. I knew you'd be pleased to hear it.

What are you doing Tuesday evening? If you are free, we could meet for dinner to further… plan. You may choose the place, though it would be easier to go to Muggle London if that's acceptable to you. Word of our impending nuptials will send the Prophet into a tailspin, and I'd like to avoid that media frenzy for now.

Regards,

Mr. Draco Malfoy'

Hermione grins at his words and schools her face into an expression far less obnoxious. She had never imagined growing up that Draco Malfoy would be funny. Their classmates had certainly thought he was; however, usually, his brand of humour had been cruelly aimed at her, so she's never had the chance to enjoy it.

It's also easy to see he's comfortable owling her — she wonders if that's just how Malfoy is, or if he finds it easier to be civil if he doesn't have to look at her face. Hermione can hardly blame him, as she almost feels the same way.

She summons a quill and parchment and plops down at her small kitchen table to return his missive. She stares for a moment at the silver bracelet she hadn't removed — it's just as lovely today as it was the night before, and Hermione can almost feel the weight of it on her wrist despite its delicacy.

'To Malfoy,

I'm so pleased to hear that Theo and Luna will get along. I hope they can at least be friends, as it will hopefully make the Ministry's mandate less… awful.

I would enjoy going to dinner on Tuesday. Muggle London is fine with me, though I haven't been there often as of late and am not sure what restaurants they offer. I like Italian food - do you have a recommendation?

Let's avoid the Prophet for as long as possible — forever if we can. Don't suppose you can think of any headline or scandal that will make our marriage look less exciting? I swear Rita Skeeter would write an article claiming I had three other husbands and somehow still snared you with my wiles.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

P.S: What is your Owl's name? He is very well behaved. '

She seals the letter with a ribbon and brings it over to Malfoy's owl, who peeks at her from under his wing. He uncurls slowly and allows her to attach her parchment to his leg, before taking off in flight when she opens her kitchen window.

She wonders how far he must travel — if Malfoy still lives in Malfoy Manor.

Hermione feels dizzy and abruptly realizes she's been standing at her kitchen sink clutching the edge as hard as she could for over ten minutes. Her fingers are white and her legs are shaking.

It seems so close now — the memory of the Manor. Fear blankets her, the vision of the ominous chandelier swinging above her, the sting of a cursed blade in her arm carving out her worst fears. She can recall the mad laughter and screaming of her own hoarse voice; the fire of the cruciatus curse in her veins.

The dread that had been missing when she had read Draco Malfoy's name on the black parchment storms through her now. Harry had been right only two nights prior — she'll die before she spends another moment a prisoner in Malfoy Manor.

Hermione forces herself to breathe slowly; watching out her window and letting her fingers slowly release from her countertop. Malfoy's owl is no longer even a speck in the distance, and she forces herself to move on rubbery legs.

Staying busy is always preferable, so the rest of Hermione's day is spent researching and reading books, which is a fairly typical Sunday for her. She receives a letter from Ron and Harry through Julien, where they confirm that they will meet her at the Leaky Caldron the following evening at 6 PM after work.

It isn't until twilight is falling that Draco's owl returns. He curls on her windowsill, hooting gently at her, and Hermione takes the chance to run her fingers gently over his head. Despite his ferocious looks, he nudges her hand and allows her to pet him.

'To Miss Granger,

My owl's name is Taffy. He is as gentle as a lamb, though he was purchased to look intimidating. I'm… fond of him. Do you not have an owl for yourself?

Rita Skeeter is a plague amongst wizardkind. Even if she accused you of being a philandering witch with wiles, I wouldn't believe a word — I'm convinced Weasel has twice the brain that she does, which is saying something… never tell him I said that… I wouldn't want him to think I've complimented him.

How does it sound if you were to meet me outside of the same coffee shop from yesterday, Java Corner, on Tuesday at 5:30? There is a little Italian restaurant just a short block away. We could walk together.

Did you finish the book you bought yesterday? I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it. I've been reading the newest Rolf Scamander book — beasts and creatures never were a particular passion of mine, but he writes well. I'll loan it to you if you haven't already read it.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy'

Hermione realizes belatedly that Taffy the owl has disappeared from her windowsill without a response from her. She's spent so long curled in her chair, staring at Malfoy's words that she forgot to keep the owl around. She'll have to borrow a ministry owl at work again tomorrow to pen Malfoy a response — she can hardly wait to inform him that yes, she had finished the book she had purchased yesterday, and it was dreadful! Though the writing was acceptable, Hermione had been positively affronted at the author's portrayal of Centaur society — and Malfoy had said it was interesting! How she yearned to see his face when she informed him it was absolute garbage.

Perhaps she would hold off on that conversation until Tuesday evening when she saw him in person. Though, she truly would like to borrow the Rolf Scamander book he had mentioned, so she thought she'd better send a response all the same.

Hermione summons extra parchment — she will respond to Draco in the morning, but right now she's interested in writing Luna a letter. It's been far too long since they had all gotten together or spoken, and after hearing Malfoy recount Luna and Theodore Nott's meeting, Hermione is worried and, admittedly, curious.

'Dearest Luna,

I'm sorry it has been so long since I have written you. I read your article in the Quibbler last week about Nigglypuffs — it was very well written. I must discuss them further with you the next time we see each other, as I'm still a bit lost as to where to find them. I hope that perhaps next weekend we could get together — I'll try to get Ron, Harry, and Ginny in on it so we can make it a party.

I have heard that you and Theodore Nott got paired together in the WPG act. If you are wondering who spilled the beans to me, please don't worry — it's not a common rumour. Please don't tell anyone yet, but I've been paired with Draco Malfoy. He and Theodore are apparently close friends, and so Malfoy informed me of your impending nuptials. I will offer congratulations — though I confess, if you are at all like me, you are furious that we must bow to this law no matter who the man is.

Luna — I must be very blunt. I hope that you are doing well. I hope that Theodore Nott is an honourable and lovely man; however, if for any reason at all you have need of me, or you want somewhere safe to stay, you know how to get in touch.

Your friend,

Hermione Granger'

She rolls the parchment and ties a ribbon on it, setting it alongside her work bag for the following morning. Hermione prepares herself for bed, checking all the wards around her house and casting extra fortification wherever needed. She takes a moment before entering her bed to pull the familiar gold coin from her nightstand. It's worn in all familiar places, and Hermione squeezes it tightly, remembering her words to Luna. The charmed Galleon sits in the bedside tables of many old DA Members, and though Hermione is grateful it hasn't grown warm with secret messages in over a year, she's ready to respond or use it if need be.

She slides under her sheets, exhausted. Despite her tired and heavy eyes, she picks up the book she had been studying regarding Wizarding Population Statistics and reads from where she left off, letting the words and numbers consume her.