Thank you, as always, to all of you lovely people who continue to read and support this fanfic. Every time I read your encouraging words, all I want to do is hug you and bake you cookies.
All my love, Juliet.

XX

—

Hermione hummed softly as she pulled another dress from her wardrobe, laying it atop the others that she'd selected. Ditzy had nearly cried when she'd been told her mistress would rather pack her things on her own, and was only placated by being assured that, when the time came, she could unpack them, and also that she could deep clean the suite while Mistress Granger was gone. The elf had agreed, and left Hermione to her business after being dismissed.

The Dark Lord's foul mood had suddenly lightened a few days after Hermione and Draco had reunited, and the young wizard had approached his leader, requesting a leave of absence for himself and his intended. To everyone's surprise, Voldemort had been receptive to the idea, even suggesting that they not return until after the boy's birthday, stating that it would be good press.

And so Hermione found herself packing for a two-week trip to Italy. The Corvi family, who were a heavily influential House from the Mediterannean country, had given the couple a respectable vineyard at their first Gifting Gala. She and Draco were going to be staying there to mentally recover from the bombing ordeal. Delilah would be coming along as well; they had to be properly chaperoned, after all. Not that her presence really meant anything.

Hermione had recently come to realize that nobody gave a damn what you actually did, so long as the appearance of propriety was upheld. Once word broke that the young couple was out of Britain, everyone would simply assume they were sharing a bed, but so long as they brought Delilah and made it look like they were abiding by statute, no one would bat an eye. It was quite ridiculous.

There was a knock, and the young witch flicked a hand to allow the visitor entry. Delilah walked through the door, a small silver clutch grasped in her fingers.

"Is there a reason you're taking so long?" She questioned, staring at the clothes and other necessities still sprawling over the bed. Hermione shook her head.

"I just wanted to do it myself. It's sort of fun, packing for a holiday."

"If you say so. I'm ready whenever the hell you are, and I'm sure your intended is as well."

Looking over everything she'd set out, the girl gave a satisfied nod and waved her wand, neatly sending everything into the little purse waiting on her nightstand and then snapping the bag shut. She slung the chain over her shoulder and made her way from her quarters, Delilah beside her, as always.

Draco was waiting in the ground floor's main parlour, discussing something with his father. He fell silent when his intended entered the room, crossing the floor to kiss her hand and then turning to his mother, who was clinging to her husband's arm like it was a lifeline. The boy gave a small sigh.

"Everything is going to be fine, mum. Please don't worry," he said quietly, pecking his mother on the cheek. She swallowed, and it was clear she was fighting back tears.

"Come back to me safe, my sweet boy," Narcissa breathed, enveloping her son in her arms and crushing him to her for several moments. She relinquished him only when Lucius rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

Draco embraced his father as Hermione kissed her future mother-in-law's cheeks, then the couple made their way to the fireplace. They would Floo to the British Ministry, where a Portkey had been arranged to take them to the Italian Ministry. Once they'd been cleared to enter the country, they could use the normal Floo Network of Italy to transport directly to their property. It was wonderfully efficient.

The three youths were soon stepping into the Ministry of Magic, where they headed up to the Portkey Office and retrieved the dinner plate that would whisk them across the sea to Rome.

—

The Italian Ministry was nothing like the United Kingdom's. Whereas Britain's Ministry of Magic was imposing, serious, and dark, the Ministero Della Magia was inviting and airy, with light streaming in through the windows high above them.

Sunlight. Real, genuine sunlight. Hermione nearly wept at the sight of it. She was prevented from doing so, as there was an International Control Officer waiting for them, who began going through a long list of questions. Their bags were checked, their appearances were run against a database of criminals and other unsavoury characters, and then they were escorted to the Sala Del Floo, a long hallway with gorgeous fireplaces stemming off of it.

Draco went first, stepping into one of the gleaming marble hearths and calling out the address of their Villa. Hermione followed, closing her eyes as rooms spun by too fast for her to catch. Then the whirling came to a halt.

She stepped out into a room with tall ceilings and windows, a warm breeze fluttering the drapes and bringing with it the scent of greenery and summer. It was paradise. Hermione felt a little bit of the weight drop from her shoulders as she began to take in the luxury of the villa.

It was perhaps a third of the size of the Descendant Manor, the girl surmised. She silently made her way through the house, admiring the architecture and letting the aura of the place settle into her bloodstream. The view from the balcony in the master suite took her breath away, and she just stood there for several minutes, awestruck by the beauty of the countryside.

Hermione heard Draco's familiar gait pause at the door of the bedroom, but couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze away from the rolling hills and vineyards. "Come look at this," she murmured.

The boy moved to stand beside her, losing his breath just as she had. It was just over two o'clock, so the sun was high in the sky, beaming down on the rows of blooming grapevines. The sight was magnificent. Hermione sighed, and when he looked over at her, her eyes were closed, a content smile playing about her lips as she tipped her head back to let the rays of warmth hit her face. Draco wanted nothing more than to freeze that moment forever and never leave it.

Eventually, the girl straightened, looking out at the landscape once more before turning back inside the house. She set her little bag down on the bed and opened it.

"Sorry, I'm claiming the master," she said, her tone and the smirk she wore implying that she was anything but apologetic. Draco chuckled.

"I pose no argument," he stated, watching as she began magicking dresses out of her purse. "You know, there are two elves, Zalu and Viti. Wouldn't you rather have them put your things away?"

Hermione smirked at having to explain it for the second time that day. "Believe it or not, some people enjoy easy little tasks like packing or unpacking for a holiday. Now go settle your own room and let me put my things away in peace."

There was a lilt to her voice that he hadn't heard since they'd been in school, and it sent a pleasant heat through his veins as he let her be. He chose a room on the east side of the house, contemplating calling for an elf to organize his belongings but instead deciding to set them out himself. It was, he found, a satisfying little chore, and he wondered how many other simplicities he'd been disregarding just because he'd never known differently. Perhaps, as she'd already done with a few more crucial aspects of his life, his intended could show him one day.

—

"Checkmate," Delilah said smugly, moving her Bishop into position. Hermione groaned.

"Why are you so good at this stupid game?"

"I'm really not, you're just exceptionally bad. Which is a bit of a surprise, actually, given that Ron Weasley was a friend of yours. He could hold his own against some of Slytherin's best, and we're naturals at strategy games."

Images of Ron trying to explain the intricacies of Wizard's Chess flashed through Hermione's mind, and she attempted to swallow past the lump that rose in her throat. They were good memories, and ones she hadn't thought about in a long time. Bringing them up stung more than others did.

"Ron was good at playing chess, but he was abysmal at teaching it. And I wasn't exactly the most enthusiastic student, so I never learned more than the basics. I played a few times with Harry, though, and I won occasionally, so I thought I was at least passable at it," Hermione said with a grimace. Her companion snorted.

"I would wager more than a few galleons he let you win. You're pathetic even by Gryffindor standards."

Before the other girl could retort, Draco returned from a meeting he'd had with a few of the old families of Italy; the ones that were on the fence about whether or not they would do business with the Dark Lord.

Even from across the room, Hermione could see that he was not pleased. He nodded tersely at the two witches, then started upstairs. Concerned, the girl trailed after her intended, calling his name and asking what had happened.

"I'll tell you over dinner," he bit out, shrugging out of the ebony coat he always wore as he continued on. Hermione glared as he began to fumble with his cufflinks and followed him into his room.

"If it's so bad that it's put you in such a mood, you will tell me now," she hissed, grabbing his wrist harshly. His gaze was icy for a moment as he stared at her, then he seemed to deflate, his eyelids slipping shut as he took a deep breath. The witch softened her grip on him as she spoke.

"Is it really that detrimental?" The girl breathed. He opened his eyes, only to shift them to his feet.

"The Coalition of Mercury is hell-bent on staying neutral. Evidently, they don't see the advantages of allying themselves with the most powerful wizard in the world," Draco scoffed. "They swore not to aid The New Order or other anti-establishment parties, but that isn't exactly what the Dark Lord was hoping for."

His stare moved to her fingers as they began to work at the platinum links fastening his shirtsleeves, an airy chuckle escaping her.

"I'm sure that is decidedly the opposite of what he wants," she said as she finished one sleeve, sending the little toggle over to the dresser. She almost deftly picked up his other hand, as though she'd forgotten what exactly she was doing, or perhaps who it was that she was touching so delicately. The young wizard tried to maintain his composure as his heart began to speed.

"I hate disappointing him," he muttered, garnering him another breathy laugh from the girl that only served to worsen his failing self-control.

"I find it hard to believe anyone doesn't. It isn't exactly in one's best interests." As she magicked the other cufflink over to its twin, she paused, then slowly pushed his sleeve up his forearm, revealing the skull and snake etched into his skin. He attempted to repress the shiver that ran through him as Hermione brushed her fingers over the ink.

"He's a part of you. Through this. You especially dislike failing him because it's also failing a piece of yourself, now."

She stepped closer, and her hands moved up to his neck, loosening the knot on his tie and unraveling it.

"It's fascinating magic, really," she murmured, pulling the garment from his shoulders. "Embedding bits of yourself in another person, tethering them to you."

Her fingers moved to his throat, and she unfastened the button on his collar, moving down to the next one without really thinking of what she was doing.

"I understand why it's regarded as such an esteemed honour."

Draco caught her wrist before she could go any further, trying to remember how to breathe normally as he spoke.

"How far were you planning to undress me?" He whispered, his voice strained.

Hermione looked up at him, finally noticing the quickened rise and fall of his chest, and the pink flush over his cheeks. She also realized exactly what she'd been doing, the way she'd mindlessly fallen into the task of divesting him of clothing. She inhaled sharply as she felt her own face heat.

The witch retreated from his space, unable to move her stare from the floor. "I'm sorry, I…"

Truly, she didn't know what had come over her. Her actions had been so natural, automatic, almost. She bit her lip and took a steadying breath before raising her eyes to his, attempting a half-smirk.

"I'm not sure how you put up with me," she uttered softly. A short, breathless laugh escaped him, and he raised his palm to cradle her cheek.

"It's a daily test of my willpower, I must admit. But… You know I would never do anything you didn't want me to, right?"

There was a seriousness in his gaze that was hard to look away from. Hermione nodded, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that, even if she were to ask something absurd of him, such as to never touch her again, he would abide. The thought of such a request made her cringe, and she covered his hand with hers, relishing in the little sparks that rippled through her at the contact.

She wasn't sure where her feelings would fall if measured on a scale, but within the past several weeks, they'd morphed into something a bit more potent than she cared to fully acknowledge. Over breakfasts and dancing lessons and just spending time with him, she had discovered they had quite a lot in common, but with just enough differences to keep things interesting. He had become a friend, of that she was certain, but there was also something more there, and it frightened her a bit.

Placing a tiny kiss on his wrist, she again stepped away from him. "Viti should have dinner ready soon," she informed him, then turned from the room.

Draco watched her retreat, his pulse still racing. When she'd gone, he flicked the door shut, raking a hand through his hair as he sighed. She was intoxicating, and he was very nearly dizzy from the interaction they'd just had. His mind began to wander into dangerous territory, so he huffed and schooled his thoughts back to the Coalition of Mercury as he changed, trying to devise a way to sway their opinion whilst the tingling where she'd kissed his wrist did its best to distract him.

—