The flat was silent as Pansy emerged from the green flames of the fireplace. She hadn't been here for almost a week. It had seemed like an eternity.

She was slightly tipsy from the two glasses of Muggle alcohol Granger had offered her, so she had preferred to travel by floo after returning to Britain by portkey.

She hadn't thought twice before calling the address of the flat she'd shared with her husband since the end of the war.

What she hadn't taken into account was the fact that by midnight Blaise was probably asleep. The living room was pitch-black, there was no noise and her husband's slippers, which he always left lying around the fireplace before going to sleep, weren't there.

She bit her lower lip, unsure of what to do. Should she go and wake him up? Should she go to bed with him? Go back to Scotland?

She didn't have to think about it for long as the door to their room suddenly opened. Blaise appeared in the doorway, half asleep and with a durag on his head.

"Pans'?" he said in a hoarse voice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she replied, setting her purse on the floor.

"It's all right," he replied with some hope.

Silence returned to the flat and Pansy lowered her head in discomfort. The effects of the alcohol, which had given her the courage to come here, were gone.

"You–You want something to drink?" Blaise suddenly asked cheerfully. "I had made myself some herbal tea to go to sleep, there must be some left in the teapot!"

He walked to the open kitchen while talking, obviously ready to do anything to satisfy her. He was fidgeting around, looking particularly anxious.

Pansy smiled, the darkness hiding the blushes on her cheeks. She had missed her husband.

"Actually, I was just hoping to sleep with you," she admitted, which interrupted his movements.

He froze and looked up at her. Although there was no light in the room, Pansy saw the joy in his eyes. He didn't argue, didn't ask any questions and just walked towards her, then grabbed her face between his palms.

"I'm so sorry, Pans'," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

She put her arms around his waist and snuggled against him, her face pressed against his chest.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow, okay? I'm exhausted, I need to sleep."

She felt him nod, before he lifted her into his arms and carried her to their bed. He helped her take off her clothes one by one, until she was down to her knickers. He handed her one of his T-shirts, which she put on before snuggling up to him in their bed.

She had missed his breath on her cheek, she had missed the warmth of his skin, she had missed his gentle words to help her sleep. She had missed everything. She loved him more than anything in the world, so much so that her heart suffered when they were apart. A double-edged love.

That was how she fell asleep: clasped in her husband's arms, silent tears on her cheeks. They absolutely had to have a talk.

oOo

Hermione,

I'm not here with good news. Blaise has been summoned by Sean Anderson, a neutral member of the Wizengamot, who has told him that his legal period of special permissions for portkeys is ending. Which means we won't be able to come as much, given the time limits on applications…

Quite honestly, I'm devastated. With Draco not being able to use magical transport, so no floos, and us not being able to free up enough time in our current schedules to come by Muggle transport, we're in a very complicated situation…

Especially as I promised you that you would only have to take care of the meals. Now… I don't know if that will be enough. I'm afraid we'll have to rely on you to ensure that he doesn't sink. I'm sorry to have to ask you this, I know it's everything you didn't want, but we have no other solution.

I also sent him a letter explaining everything. The owl, that brought you the letters, will stay with him, it will be our way of communicating. I have left a small parcel with food for her, but we will have to buy her some more seeds and perhaps set up a cage for her, or a corner in one of your barns. I hope you'll agree. Draco should be able to take care of it, if he has the resources.

I'll do my best to check in regularly and Blaise will try to get more permission, but I can't promise anything. In an emergency, I'm afraid you're the only one who can help him…

I wish I could have found a better solution, Hermione. I'm going to try and contact Theodore and Astoria to come and keep Draco company as well, but I have no idea if they'll come.

Take care of yourself, I hope you're doing well these last few days,

Pansy.

Hermione put the letter back on the counter of her bookshop and took her face in her hands with a sigh. She felt she had taken two steps backwards just by reading it. It was as if all the effort she had made for others had been in vain, as if she had been betrayed.

A week had passed since Pansy's visit. A week during which she had mentally prepared herself to have to deal with Malfoy's meals when the food supply brought by her friend was finished.

And now she was learning that she would probably have to do more than that. But what did that mean? Should she communicate with him? Treat him? Tell him about her days to distract him?

She had no idea, nor did she want to give any extra energy towards figuring it, or him, out. She didn't know him and hadn't been around anyone on a daily basis for almost seven years. How was she supposed to adjust so quickly?

A little voice in her head whispered that he hadn't been around anyone either, which reassured her somewhat. At least they would be on the same level in terms of social skills.

It was the doorbell of the bookshop that brought her out of her thoughts. She lifted her head from her hands just in time to see the village postman enter, with a big smile on his face. Albert immediately started barking happily and rushed to his feet to be petted.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Granger!" he exclaimed in perfect French, patting the dog's head.

"Bonjour, Julien," she smiled as naturally as possible.

She had no problem with him; however, he tended to be slightly… intrusive.

"I bring you today's mail," he said as he approached her.

She tensed immediately. As well as being stupid enough to tell her what he was doing here, he had—as he did every week—come far too close to her, and his overdose of perfume stung her nose. She could feel his magic tingling in her fingertips. She clenched her fists under the counter to keep it from boiling over.

"Thank you so much," she replied simply with another smile that this time was more self-conscious.

"I see you've redone the front of the shop!" he said after handing her the few advertising magazines and the invoices for her last order.

She held back a sigh of despair as she realised that she would have to make small talk with him to avoid appearing unpleasant.

He had leaned against the counter and moved his face halfway up. He was far too close and she deliberately turned to face the small cupboard behind them, to put her mail away and take the opportunity to discreetly move away from him.

"Indeed," she replied as she tried to fit the magazines into one of the slim boxes in the wooden cabinet, despite her shaky hands. "The name of the bookstore was starting to fade, so I took a few swipes at it."

"I really like the colour you chose! That gold goes perfectly with the blue of the rest of the building."

"Thank you very much," she replied soberly, clearing her throat.

She glanced at the clock, which showed her only eleven in the morning. She couldn't apologise and close the shop for lunch.

As she looked into Julien's eyes again, she noticed that a certain redness had developed on his tanned cheeks. She frowned.

"Is everything all right?" she worried uncontrollably.

"Well, to be honest, Mademoiselle Granger, there's something that's been bothering me lately…"

"Really? Can I help you solve this problem?" she asked in spite of herself.

In reality, she didn't want to. He wasn't mean, and some people might even find him very good company, but Hermione had come to find that she was less and less able to stand people who were too eccentric. Let's just say that he tended to be too talkative and stick his nose in everywhere.

"That's not really a problem, Mademoiselle Granger. You see, for weeks I've been desperately trying to find a way to invite you to dinner," he blurted out to her surprise.

So much so that she almost dropped the remaining bills in her hands. She raised her eyebrows and stared at him as if he had just told her the most bizarre thing. And yet she was a Muggle-born witch who had discovered that humans flew on brooms and used toilets to travel from building to building.

"I beg your pardon?" she said in a bemused tone.

"I'd like to ask you to dinner," he repeated stupidly.

"I–"

She had no idea what to say. How long had it been since she'd considered a romantic relationship with anyone? Because that was what he was suggesting, wasn't it? Hermione was so unused to this sort of thing, she wasn't even sure.

"You mean… for a date?" she asked naively then.

"If you're interested, of course!" replied Julian, scratching the back of his head. "Je ne voudrais pas vous mettre mal à l'aise, Mademoiselle Granger. Voyez-vous, je vous trouve très jolie et j'ai toujours plaisir à discuter avec vous, mais je suis peut-être allé trop vite en besogne !"

"Trop vite en quoi ?" she repeated, confused.

He had been babbling in French, probably because of the stress. And if she was getting better and better with the French language—which wasn't the easiest to learn—she still had trouble with some expressions. The worst was the older inhabitants of the village, some of whom had Basque accents that she didn't understand at all.

"Trop vite en besogne," he now replied, frankly embarrassed. "What I mean is that perhaps I was getting my hopes up, I thought you might be interested, but I was obviously mistaken. I was wrong to think you might be."

"Oh, no, no!" she hastened to reply as she realised what was going on. "It—It's not that, you're not the problem, I'm sure you're a very nice boy and—And a lot of women like you."

She felt herself blush in turn. Merlin, what had she got herself into? She felt increasingly uncomfortable. Her heart was pounding and all she wanted to do was go home and lock herself in her room to hide. She was ashamed.

So, without thinking, she came up with the first excuse that came to mind.

"Perhaps I might have been interested in another life, but I'm married," she said, pointing to her wedding ring.

She thought she would faint as she realised what she had just said. She couldn't believe that she could give such an excuse. It was the first thing that came to mind, although she had hardly thought about it since the wedding day itself.

She was married. She had to forget that information again soon. She had made so much progress in the last few months, she couldn't afford to lose it all because of this simple idea of marriage.

She saw Julian raise his eyebrows frankly, then blush heavily. He then began to stammer an apology that she barely understood, and then ran out of the bookshop before Hermione had time to reply.

She stood frozen in shock behind her counter for several minutes. She could hardly believe what had just happened. So much so that she barely felt Albert rubbing against her legs.

First Pansy's letter, then Julian's arrival and his intrusiveness, the particularly embarrassing statement he had made to her and finally the lame and sudden excuse she had given him in reply.

She was completely stunned.

She dropped into the chair behind her counter and clutched her head in her hands. How was she supposed to continue working properly after all this?

It was simply impossible. Too many things were stirring in her mind and she knew that the day wasn't going to be over any time soon.

She made a quick decision. She didn't want to waste an afternoon's work just because she couldn't clear her head and focus on anything other than the housemate—whom she firmly refused to name otherwise—she would have to deal with.

It was time she prepared herself for things to change. She had made choices and she had to face them.

So, although it was rare for her to do so, she drew her wand, which was tucked away in one of the pockets of her jacket. She pointed it at the shutters of her shop, took a deep breath and flicked her wand to close them.

She failed once. Then a second time before, eventually, the whole of the bookshop's shutters came down.

She then proceeded to magically lock her till, clearing the floor of the few bits of dirt that her customers of the day had left behind, all with extreme concentration so as not to let her magic overflow. It had been far too long since she had used it.

When she left the shop with Albert, she felt completely drained of energy. She knew then that it would take her much longer than usual to get home if she didn't want to risk getting sick on the way.

Although she had originally planned to stop at the grocery store on her way home to buy some food for Malfoy, she didn't feel up to it, and instead—after locking the door of her bookstore—headed home.

Her stomach rumbled the whole way, screaming at her that she had forgotten her lunch in the small fridge in her back room. She decided to ignore it, promising herself that in addition to the dinner she would make for Malfoy, she would make a sandwich or two for herself so she wouldn't starve. Using her magic had made things worse.

When she finally reached the gate to her estate, she wondered how it was possible that she was still standing and not being pulled by Albert's teeth.

She unlocked the front door and took a few steps forward before dropping into her sofa. Unable to help it, sleep took over and the resolutions she'd made to prepare the meals were put off.

When she blinked, the sun was lower in the sky. According to her estimates, it must have been around seventeen o'clock, which was far later than she wished.

She had planned to make dinner ahead of time to prepare herself mentally for the confrontation with Malfoy…

Still, she managed to find the motivation to get up and walked slowly to the kitchen. She sighed in frustration as she realised that she hadn't done her dishes before she left for work that morning.

She spent a good ten minutes doing them, which allowed her to wake up more. Although her anxiety had subsided, her fears about her confrontation with Malfoy were still there.

She was very apprehensive about talking to him, or interacting with him in any way. She had no idea how he would react and the last memories she had of him had been of fear and dread.

She could still see him cowering in the corner of his bed, his body covered in blood and his eyes distorted with fear.

She swallowed at the memory.

She hoped that the two months he'd spent with the Zabini couple had at least helped him regain a modicum of strength in his social relationships. She had no desire to face someone who was unable to look her in the eye without being terrified.

However, she thought that he had managed to get out of her room and steal some potions. This wasn't insignificant. He was still better, whatever she imagined. She had to be realistic. Even with her limited knowledge of psychology, if he could walk around the house, Hermione had to face the fact that he wasn't in the same state as he was when he got out of prison.

This simple realisation reassured her. She wouldn't have to deal with an empty body.

Once her dishes were done, she walked to her pantry and looked around for ingredients she could use to make dinner. She still had no culinary talent, she hadn't evolved in that department over the last two months. However, she knew a few basic recipes which, although not very tasty because of her lack of talent, would be enough to feed a twenty-five-year-old man who couldn't weigh more than fifty kilos.

But she didn't know what to make. What if he had allergies? What if some food wasn't to his taste?

She immediately scolded herself after thinking about this. Why was she so concerned about such a small detail? It wasn't as if he would deign to comment on the quality of her food, was he? Was he?

So she grabbed some potatoes, carrots and courgettes, and a piece of beef from the freezer. She deliberately took more than enough to feed two people, in order to prepare Albert's next bowls.

Once everything was in a pot on the gas, Hermione allowed herself a little respite and lay down on one of her sofas. Now that the meal was being prepared, it was her turn to get ready to face Malfoy.

Facing was a big word, she was aware, but she couldn't help but imagine this encounter as something insurmountable.

This man had been living with her for two months and yet she had only seen him three times. It was surreal. She thought she was a loser for not having cared about him once.

How could she complain that her friends rarely checked in with her, if she herself didn't do a thing for the man who lived in her home after being released from seven years in the worst prison in existence?

She growled in frustration. She couldn't stand to think anymore. She felt like she would explode. She didn't want to think about it. She wanted things to go smoothly, calmly, without her having to rack her brains.

She got up suddenly from the sofa and, after checking that the gas was still on and that no vegetables had burnt, headed outside. She needed to walk.

She went out the back door and walked along the house towards the stables. She wanted to stop by and see the horses—if they were there—before going for a walk near the forest.

However, as she often did when she passed by, she felt herself being watched. By reflex, she raised her head and met the grey gaze she had come to know through the first-floor window. She swallowed.

Draco Malfoy was watching her, a small owl poised in front of him, looking curious and calm. Before she had time to take a closer look at him, he walked away.

Only a few more hours and she would confront him face to face.

And that's it! See you on Saturday 12/31 for the next chapter! Thanks to Acciobraincells and DontStopHerNow for their / Don't forget to leave comments and follow the story to support me ;)