48.

Instead of going physically shopping, Hermione ended up ordering Malfoy a phone using Amazon – one of the new, mid-range Samsungs.

The idea of braving the high street right now with him in tow seemed exhausting, and her knee was beginning to ache slightly, her stomach vaguely upset. So they apparated back to her father's after lunch and sat on the back steps together, like children. Her father popped his head out and saw them there, perched on the concrete steps in their good clothes, heads close together as they peered at her phone screen, Hermione attempting to explain the features to Malfoy.

"You're as bad as me," her dad said, with a grin for Malfoy's utter ignorance as he hovered in the doorway, having said hello. "I never know what to get without Hermione's help. Technology moves too fast for me now." He straightened. "Cup of tea, either of you?"

They both accepted politely, and he brought them out a mug of tea each before he made himself scarce – "I'm heading out, Hermione love. Karen's off early today, and I want to take her out to a film. Behave yourselves while I'm gone, yes? No funny business while you're under my roof."

"Dad!" Hermione wailed, mortified. Malfoy buried his face in his hand and laughed silently, shoulders shaking, as her dad winked and vanished from the doorway with a cheery wave.

She woke Wednesday morning at 8 am to her phone buzzing.

[Good morning, Granger.]

She didn't know the number but it could only be Malfoy with that greeting; his phone had obviously arrived promptly. Hermione grinned. She'd given her number to him, but she hadn't expected him to try to figure out how to even put in the SIM card on his own, let alone work out how to text her. She'd planned to teach him the basics on Thursday. But as always, he'd gone above and beyond.

Morning.

[Well, this is far superior to owl.]

It is, isn't it? I can even send photos, this way.

Hermione held out the phone and took a picture of herself cuddled up in her pyjamas in bed, half under the blankets with her hair in two very frazzled, fluffy plaits, smiling. She looked tired, and the lighting darkened the shadows under her eyes, but she figured – hoped – Malfoy wouldn't care about that sort of thing. He'd only just seen her yesterday; he knew exactly how she looked. She sent it.

[I wish I was in bed with you.]

Malfoy sent her a picture of himself – in a snug grey t-shirt sitting at his breakfast bar, clearly frowning in concentration at something on the screen – and she burst into snickers, rolling over and burying her face in her pillow to muffle her laughter. He looked adorable.

I do too.

[I just thought of the kind of photos you could send with this... But we probably shouldn't. Right?]

Hermione dissolved into another fit of giggles, fingers clamped over her mouth. He'd been using a phone for less than an hour, and he'd already invented sexts. He was a gentleman, but still definitely a man.

No. We definitely shouldn't.

[Damn. Forty-one days.]

"Harry," Hermione said into the phone, as she waved for her dad to keep watching his show, and hurried from the sitting room. She shut the door into the dining room, and sat down at the table. "How are you?"

"Hi 'Mione," he said cheerfully, his tone reassuring her nothing had gone wrong. "I'm fine. I was actually just calling to see how you're feeling, now it's been a few days."

"Much better, now, thanks. Practically back to normal, honestly." She smiled down the phone automatically. Silly. He couldn't see her. "I'm starting to go stir-crazy stuck at my father's though. It's lovely to spend time with him, but I miss my own things, and my own routine, and going to work."

"Give it a few more days, 'Mione. Don't rush it." He broke up a little, static coming across the line – he must have been covering the mic. It sounded like Ron's voice, in the background. Yes, it's Hermione, she heard Harry say, and then Ron said something indistinct, and then she heard a woman's voice. Oh God, Chastity? Surely not.

"Give it here, Harry!" No – it wasn't Chastity. It was Ginny. She came on the line, voice bright and brisk as always. "Hi Hermione! I keep telling Harry to give you my love, and it seems he keeps forgetting, the idiot." There was the brief sound of a scuffle and Ginny laughing breathlessly, someone yelping, and then a door slammed and there was silence except for Ginny's breathing. "Sorry. I had to find some privacy away from the two lumps making a chaos of my sitting room." Ginny heaved a sigh, off on a tangent and not giving Hermione a chance to speak.

"They're playing Xbox, did you know? That's their thing now. They've been glued to some game that released last month called Gears 5 every minute they're not at work," Ginny ranted in a rush, as Hermione went and flicked the kettle on. "And they're both horrible at it! When I had a go playing, I did just as well as either of them, if not better. Which I think just annoyed them. Either way," she finished as Hermione laughed quietly, imagining Ginny outdoing Harry and – presumably – Ron, to their annoyance, "they're driving me mad."

"Is Ron staying at yours, then?" Hermione pulled a mug down from the over-sink cabinet and set it on the bench, sliding the jar of Horlicks forward and fumbling with the lid, heaping it into her mug.

"Didn't anyone tell you? Merlin, I feel so out of touch with everything this time of year," Ginny said – she was still playing for the Holyhead Harpies, and like Ron they competed overseas during the British off-season. Professional Quidditch in Britain ran June through August, over summer, and then September through December they played overseas when they weren't practising. So like Ron, she also spent a lot of time away from home.

"I haven't heard anything, no. I feel a little out of the loop myself."

"Well," Ginny began with relish. "Mum tossed Ron out of the Burrow last week. She was getting sick of him coming and going at all hours and having Chastity stay the night anyway," she relayed as Hermione listened with interest, silently cheering for Molly. "And then when you were missing, he turned up at the Burrow on Wednesday night with Chastity in tow, drunk, half-crying over you, and arguing with Chastity. Mum went utterly spare. She ripped him a new one, and tossed him out." Ginny sighed heavily. "So he's been living on our couch when he hasn't been over at Chastity's. It's been great fun," she said dryly. "And then since you got back safely they've both been insufferable – reliving the old days, as though our sitting room is the Gryffindor common room."

"Ugh. Well, now I don't feel so bad about being stuck at my father's," Hermione sympathised as she made her drink. It actually did make her feel better – it was an insight that she'd been sorely missing. Harry had always been terrible about sharing things like that, and with his loyalty tipping toward Ron during the separation, he clearly hadn't wanted to tell Hermione about Ron's dramas. "And maybe it's silly, but it's nice to hear that Chastity hasn't usurped me yet."

"Don't be stupid," Ginny said firmly. "You're family, Hermione. You can't be usurped. It's just...difficult at the moment. Ron might be acting like an arse, but –" Ginny's voice lowered "– he'd kill me for telling you, but he took it really hard to start with. He was an utter mess for a while, honestly. Depressed, drinking – mum and dad were quite worried about him."

Hermione sat back down at the table, mug in hand, bewildered by that. Ron was taking it hard? That was news to her; he seemed like he'd been having a fantastic time, partying and sleeping around. She felt slightly mean for thinking it, but it was actually rather nice to hear that he'd been suffering a little – to begin with at least. Unless of course, he'd just been putting it on to curry sympathy, which wasn't entirely unlikely. Hermione wasn't convinced. " Really? No one told me. All I knew was that he kept being caught with women, embarrassing me, and behaving like a complete git."

"Because he was, to be fair," Ginny allowed with a sigh, and Hermione imagined the redhead sitting in her and Harry's cosy bedroom at Grimmauld Place – long since redecorated and modernised. "He was depressed, drinking, and shagging around. Mum and Dad were walking on eggshells around him for a bit, which I don't think helped, and Harry is always useless when it comes to emotional issues. I would've given him a good shaking, but I've been so busy travelling with work I didn't have the full picture. Plus you were being scandalous with Malfoy, of all people."

"Ginny..."

"I'm sorry, but it's disgusting, Hermione, and you won't get me saying otherwise. I mean, come on, it's Draco Malfoy. He came out of Lucius's bollocks," Ginny said bluntly, and then made a gagging sound. Hermione nearly choked on her Horlicks.

"Christ, that's horrific mental imagery."

"Isn't it just? Plus he's a prat in his own right anyway. And an ex-Death Eater. And he's married –"

Hermione sighed and interrupted Ginny. "So am I. Married, I mean. As is Ron and look at him and Chastity. It's all a mess, Ginny, I know." She stared blankly at the clock on the wall ticking quietly, fiddling with an earring, stress simmering up under her skin. "But ex-Death Eater or not – Malfoy's categorically not a git. He was, I know. But that was decades ago, for Merlin's sake."

"If you say so, Hermione. He certainly seemed like a prat to me at the Ministry's Halloween party."

"But – that was different. I just – ugh..." Hermione sighed again, sinking her head into her hand as she gave up. Unless she wanted to give Ginny a detailed rundown of things that Malfoy wouldn't want her sharing, there was no real way to defend him. "He's been nothing but thoughtful and sweet to me, actually," she said in the end and changed the subject, feeling weary suddenly. "So how is Ron now?"

It had reassured Hermione to hear that she wasn't persona non grata with the Weasleys – although Molly had already made that fairly clear – but she hated that Malfoy's history was still being wielded against him. It had been over twenty years ago, and he'd only been seventeen; surely he deserved a little leniency. If not forgiveness, then an open mind – a second chance. But Ginny seemed determinedly insistent on classifying Malfoy as bad, and while Harry appeared to have softened toward him a little during the time Hermione was missing, his opinion of Malfoy was obviously still negative. It was frustrating.

"Chastity seems to have alleviated his depression," Ginny said dryly. "He's fine. More irritating than ever, but fine. What about you? How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine too," Hermione said, proceeding to gloss over her kidnapping, injuries, and other assorted issues, before changing the topic once more, asking how the Holyhead Harpies' overseas season was going, and then how James and Albus were doing at school, and how Lily was. And then they spent the next twenty minutes chatting amiably about the children – James was apparently leaving Scorpius well alone – before Hermione pleaded a tiredness that she genuinely felt. She kept thinking about the sympathy Ron got despite behaving like a selfish idiot, and about the way Malfoy was thought of badly despite not having done anything wrong, and it was horrible, exhausting, and unfair.

She fell into bed at 8.30 pm.

I miss you, she sent to Malfoy, feeling miserable as she curled up under the blankets, her phone the only light save for a thin sliver slanting in from the hallway.

[Me too, Granger.]

Thursday morning dawned bright and early, and at 7.30am Hermione found herself dressing in her pencil skirt and green and white striped silk blouse, hair pulled back into a Dutch braid, and black court shoes on, Malfoy's necklace at her throat. Screw this. She was going to go insane if she spent another day in her father's tiny flat with absolutely nothing to do. Her knee felt utterly fine, her stomach normal, she'd finished her course of potions, and she was getting further and further behind at work.

Her father tried to talk her out of it, but Hermione was stubbornly fixed on the idea. She didn't tell Malfoy, because she knew he'd rat on her to Harry for her own good, and she didn't need the stress of that. So she ate a breakfast of porridge, drank a coffee, slid on a coat and scarf, and headed out to the garden shed, feeling rather ridiculous as she shut herself in the dark space. She disapparated to the phone box entry, popping into existence in a nearby alley under a disillusionment charm, which she dropped in order to go to her usual café to buy coffee.

It made her feel a little exposed walking around in public alone – but she hadn't been attacked in public, she reminded herself, she'd been attacked at home. It was dreary and drizzling, and Hermione walked briskly through the streets, heels clacking, coat pulled around her against the chill and wet, wishing she wasn't in Muggle London and could use a Impervius charm. People brushed by her, drab and cheerless in the miserable weather and she found herself clasping her hands together in front of her so she could hold onto the butt of her wand discreetly, prepared to cast. She hated feeling this nervous. It irked her. But she forged on, and successfully bought two coffees before she walked back to the phone box and took the lift down to her office, using a drying charm on herself as soon as she stepped out onto her floor.

Mariska looked up from her desk as Hermione walked in at 9.05am, surprised. "Ms Granger-Weasley! You're back! I thought you weren't supposed to be back until Monday?"

"I'm not," Hermione said with a smile, and set a coffee down in front of Mariska. "Double shot large cappuccino with two sugars."

"Oh Godric, I missed these so much while you were gone!" Mariska took a careful sip – her nails and make-up perfect as always, dark hair immaculate, a Witch Weekly open on the desk atop a stack of parchment forms. Hermione had missed her secretary's company, oddly. The young woman was a gossip and constantly reading magazines at work, but she was a fixture in the office and more importantly managed to do a fantastic job despite seeming preoccupied half the time. And Hermione was used to seeing her every day. Mariska set her coffee down and shuffled her magazine off to one side, dark eyes warm and concerned on Hermione. "How are you feeling? We were all so worried."

"Better now, thank you, Mariska," Hermione said briskly, giving the younger witch a smile she didn't feel, and swiftly guiding the situation away from talk of her ordeal. "So, what have you been keeping busy with while I've been gone?"

"Not much, really. Organising new case files, passing cases that are coming up for hearing along to Mr Anvil and Miss Keen, and filling in time, basically." She smiled sympathetically at Hermione. "It hasn't been the same without you, honestly. I'm afraid you won't be able to Interrogate any hearings until next Wednesday at the very earliest because they've already been handed off. But I can lay my hands on some of the cases you were working on that won't be coming up in front of the Council until late next week, if you give me a moment. I was just going through them, actually."

"So are my files all in chaos then?" Hermione asked wryly, gesturing to her office, and Mariska chuckled.

"No. I was very careful to only take files that had hearings scheduled up to November 22nd – next Friday. All the others should be in order."

"Thanks, Mariska. I suppose I'd better get to work, then. Just bring those files through when they're done." She took her coffee through to her office with a smile. God, it felt good to be back at work. She already felt sixty percent more herself again. She unwound her scarf and shrugged off her coat, hanging them both up by the door and then plopped down in her chair, handbag to one side and coffee in front of her, and then settled back into work.

There was plenty to do; she had to check which cases exactly had already been handed off to the two other Interrogators in the department, get back up to date with upcoming cases, and get onto trial prep quickly. Hermione lost herself in her work, only snapping out of it when she went to take a sip of coffee and came up dry. "Oh shit. What's the time?" she mumbled to herself, checking the wall. It was 11.30am; oh dear. She'd very nearly stood Malfoy up for lunch – he was expecting her to be at home. She shoved her work aside and dashed off an interdepartmental memo, hoping he wouldn't be too annoyingly worried over her decision to return to work.

Malfoy,

Don't be difficult about it, but I'm in my office. I couldn't stand another day away from work. Do you want to have takeaways at my desk?

Granger

She set it free out the door of her office, and then sat back and waited, a small smile on her lips.

It only took him ten minutes.

There was a knock on Hermione's partially shut office door, and then Mariska's head popped around the corner. "Mr Malfoy's here to see you," she said with a knowing smile, and Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to try to stifle her grin, and nodded.

"Send him through, thank you, Mariska." And then Malfoy was shutting the door behind him, in a frock-coat and ascot, looking stylish and slightly irritated.

"You're supposed to be at home," he said shortly as he crossed the room, rounding her desk and leaning back against the edge of it, looking stark and striking all in blacks and greys, with his crisp white shirt and silvery ascot. "You look beautiful," he added matter-of-factly, "but you're supposed to be resting. Not in here, slaving away and risking relapse." Hermione shrugged, looking up at him, admiring him; the warmth in his ash grey eyes, the lushness of his expressive mouth. He frowned, and even that looked appealing to her.

"I told you not to be difficult," she said firmly. "And I'm perfectly fine to work. I won't be doing any trial work, just paperwork and prep. Catching up on things before I fall further behind, really. I'm not about to be silly and push myself, honestly. I don't want to relapse either. But I also don't want to go mad with boredom."

"Hm." Malfoy looked unconvinced but he leaned forward, bending to place a soft, lingering kiss on her cheek, dangerously close to her lips as his hand cupped her cheek very gently. He smelt of pine and something faintly spicy; a pleasant, heady scent that made Hermione want to bury her face against his chest and breathe him in. His eyes were mercury bright as he pulled back, pupils expanding and expression turning hungry. Intent. She could almost tell what he was thinking. His fingers drifted along her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw before he pulled his hand back.

"Well, you're a grown witch," he said, voice slightly rough before he cleared his throat. "I have to assume you know your limits, and you'll go home early if you feel tired, rather than –" Hermione nodded agreeably as Malfoy talked, although his words washed over her unprocessed; she was busy watching his plush, talented lips move and wishing desperately that he could just kiss her properly. Just being in his presence, Hermione found herself suddenly stupidly aroused. It was so frustrating, sitting here wanting him so badly, and not being able to climb him like a tree. He stopped mid sentence and smiled at her wryly, a little twist of his mouth. "Granger? Where are you? You look utterly away with the fairies."

That caught her attention, and she sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs at the knee, her skirt sliding up – Malfoy's eyes slid down and he bit his lip, hand twitching toward the scant amount of thigh revealed by the movement. "Forty days," Hermione said in explanation, feeling all knotted up with desire. "I'm forty days into the future," she elaborated, and he huffed a laugh.

"I'm there with you, Granger." He smirked at her wickedly, a brief flash as he leaned forward a little, as though about to share a secret. Hermione leaned in too, so that his mouth was near her ear, his breath puffing warm against her neck. Shivers tingled down her spine. "I haven't jerked off so much since I was in Azkaban," he confessed crudely, a boyish grin creasing his face as he drew back, and Hermione snorted, snickering as she covered her face with her hand, imagining that. Picturing him then, and now, and it was simultaneously incredibly sexy and utterly ridiculous.

"I shudder to think what that means, Malfoy," Hermione said as she regained control of herself, dabbing tears of mirth from her eyes with a knuckle. "How much does an 18-year-old locked up in a cell by himself masturbate?"

He bestowed a very serious look upon her, his eyes wide. "A lot."

"That explains why you had to resort to odd humiliation fantasies then," Hermione said, and they both remembered her on all fours on her bed on Sunday, and the laughter died. Malfoy's eyes turned gleaming and wanting again, and Hermione pressed her thighs together a little and swallowed dryly, all the air sucked out of the room.

"Like I said, I had a lot of fantasies then, Granger," he said hoarsely and very quietly, his eyes burning into her. "Funnily enough, the majority of them revolved around you. Maybe my subconscious was trying to tell me something, even then."

"Tell me another," Hermione said boldly, licking her suddenly dry lips, her eyes locked to his.

"Merlin, Granger, I'm already hard as iron –" her eyes slid to his crotch, and no, he was not exaggerating "– and frustrated as fuck, and you want me to dirty talk to you? In your office? With –"

"Yes. Please," she said breathlessly, flushing hot. "Although I wouldn't call it dirty talk, Malfoy," she clarified, trying for faux innocence. "You're just confessing an old sin to me. In penance for what you did then while thinking about me without my permission." She wasn't sure he caught the nuance of the religious comparison, but it didn't matter. He eyed her with a kind of admiring, contained amusement, and then nodded, eyes gleaming.

"Alright then. But I'm only telling you the facts, in that case. No prettying it up."

"I wouldn't dream of asking you to," she said primly, fiddling with the tanzanite pendant idly, inadvertently drawing Malfoy's eyes to her cleavage.

"And where does this fit with the rules?" he added distractedly, and Hermione smiled.

"At the outer limits," she said with amusement. "But we're alone, and unwatched, and you're merely going to be telling me about some naughty thoughts you had over two decades ago, so... I think it's fine. You're the one who mentioned other fantasies," she added. "Now you have to satisfy my curiosity, and...tell me a story."

"Well," he said with relish in a low voice, still leaning back against the edge of her desk, shoving his fingers through his hair as he thought for a moment. "There was the one where you came to visit me, but instead of what actually happened –" he leaned in slightly, expression contained but voice slightly rough "– you told me you knew you were just a filthy little –" He broke off suddenly flustered, and Hermione raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. She had a feeling she knew what he'd been about to say.

"Go on, Malfoy," she challenged him, feeling simultaneously aroused and tense, and he swallowed hard, giving her an assessing look, what she thought might be embarrassment lurking in his eyes. And then he took her by the upper arms, guiding her to her feet as she went willingly but bewildered, backing her up against the wall directly behind her desk with their bodies nearly touching, his hands ghosting over her sides, and his voice at her ear.

"There, that's better for storytelling," Malfoy murmured. He wasn't looking her in the eye, anymore, and he could tell her softly, into her ear. Hermione approved. His hand came up, fitting to her cheek, thumb brushing along her cheekbone. "Now where was I?" He was so tall, all wiry muscle as he crowded her up against the wall, and Hermione could feel his cock pressing against her lower abdomen, and her breath came short, and her insides clenched with anticipatory pleasure and want.

"You were saying that I told you... I knew... I was just a filthy, little..." she said softly as her fingers curled around the back of his neck and his hip, dragging the words out huskily, her pulse racing.

"Mm, that's right. Mudblood." He said the word with only a trace of awkwardness as his lips moved against her throat, a grinding, needy desire in his voice, and the way he said it made her whole body flush hot and her cunt twitch wantonly. Christ. How could that be sexy? And yet somehow it was, a strange, ashamed reverence in the way he said the word. Hermione couldn't untangle it. "You told me you knew you deserved to be fucked by me." His fingers trailed down her throat, over her breast, cupping it gently through her shirt and thin bra, his thumb finding her nipple unerringly and teasing it. Her breath stuttered. "You begged me to take your virginity."

"N-not very realistic, was it?" she stammered.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You begged on Sunday, Granger," he said darkly, his thumb still rubbing her nipple. She whimpered. This was definitely breaking the rules. "Didn't you?"

"I did," she whispered, tipping her head back against the wall and meeting his eyes. He was flushed, eyes swallowed by pupils, his breathing shallow as he pinched her nipple through her shirt and twisted slightly. Hermione felt light-headed. Dizzy. Maybe all the blood was rushing to her pussy, which felt hypersensitive and swollen, and desperate for his touch.

"So you released my chains, and I ordered you onto the table, lying spread-eagled over the edge of it on your stomach. Using your wand I stripped all your clothes off, slowly, until you were lying there naked on the metal table, your creamy arse exposed, your sweet cunt dripping on the table and making quite the mess –" she whimpered, knowing she was wet now "– and then I slid my dick all through your juices, all over your pretty pussy, and got it slick, and glistening, and let you suck it all clean."

"Let me?" she whispered, licking her lips as she looked up at Malfoy, whose eyes were hooded as he looked down at her, his face drawn in lines of tension and need.

"Mm. Well, it was a fantasy," he said, lips twitching, "so you were very happy to go up on all fours and –"

"You do like me on my hands and knees, don't you?"

"Because you look incredibly sexy like that," Malfoy said, "and I knew you would, even then. And if you want me to finish the story then hush." Hermione pressed her lips together immediately, pantomiming zipping and then locking them. He went on. "And then, once you'd sucked my dick for a while, licking off every bit of your own juices, I slicked it back up by taking your virginity with one lovely, hard thrust that made you wail like a little animal at the pain and the pleasure. And then I pulled out of your pussy and shoved you down and held you pinned there, as I fucked your arse hard until I came inside it, while you wiggled, and moaned, and screamed, and begged me to fuck your pussy, even while you came on your own fingers like a little whore."

Hermione was panting by the time Malfoy was done speaking, and she looked up at him with wide, dazed eyes as she leaned back against the wall, sure she must look like a drunken owl as she tried to steady her breathing, her knickers feeling damp and slick and her cheeks hot. "Christ, Malfoy. That's – that's weirdly hot and rather disturbing all at once." He grinned, slow and predatory, hand sliding from her breast to her hip, his gaze still dark and wanting.

"Mm, Azkaban will do that to you."

"Or maybe it was just you," she said faintly, a wobbly smile curling her mouth as she dragged her thumb over his plump lower lip, heart still thudding in her chest like a stampede of thestrals, her clit positively aching for his touch. He swept his tongue over her thumb and sucked it into his mouth and she shuddered, arousal darting through her liquid and hot. So much for the rules. "Being all twisted and dark."

"That's also a possibility," Malfoy agreed seriously, although his eyes sparked silver bright and her thumb was still incongruously in his mouth, making his words all distorted. He took hold of her hand and pulled her thumb from his mouth as he kissed her knuckles, and then resettled his hands at her hips, she still pressed up against the wall, his cock still hard and nudging against her. "But I never had those kinds of fantasies until Azkaban. Until I was trapped alone in a stone cell eighteen hours a day, and constantly thinking of you." He sighed, smiling ruefully. "Merlin, I wanted you so badly."

"You still do," she said, feeling absurdly smug about that, leaning in against him with her arms around his waist and the rules being flagrantly bent.

He chuckled, the sound echoing in her ear, which was pressed to his chest. "Hopefully with a far healthier desire than I had then, though. I'm not about to pretend my little fantasies back then were entirely sane."

"Mm. Good. Because I'm not about to let you put it there, Malfoy," she said, prim again, smiling against his waistcoat as his fingers trailed up and down her back.

"Fair," he said wryly. "That one can continue to just be a fantasy, then."

"I like hearing it though," she confessed, feeling almost shy admitting it, which was silly really. "I like it a lot." He smirked, looking rather self-satisfied.

"I bet you're as dripping wet right now as you were in my fantasy," he said, and Hermione blushed.

"Nearly," she said, and his smirk widened.

"Good."

He stepped back from her and cold air rushed in between them, and Hermione instantly missed their closeness. "So," he said, letting out a slow breath, ignoring the fact that he was unashamedly, visibly erect. "Shall we have high tea again, then? I quite liked it last time."

The end of Hermione's week went with an easy kind of normality that was almost bizarre in itself, given what she'd been through last week. She spent the rest of Thursday and Friday catching up on her work at the Ministry during the day, and in the evenings watching telly with her father, while doing a little extra paperwork and enjoying Malfoy's exploration of texting, and his discovery of the internet on his phone. She read some of his texts out to her dad, who thought it was utterly hilarious, both of them giggling over Malfoy's cluelessness. Hermione rather thought her father enjoyed being less technologically inept than someone, as she tried to help Malfoy navigate a strange new world.

[Granger, what's an email and do I need one?]

[Have you heard of a site called reddit?]

[Why are Muggles so obsessed with cats?]

[Why is it telling me there are singles in my area interested in me?]

[Can I actually have food delivered to my house?]

[Granger, how do I get a credit card?]

And then at 10.20pm on Friday, three in quick succession:

[What is wrong with Muggles?]

[Salazar's sake, I don't even want to say what I just saw.]

[I think I might be done with the internet for now, Granger.]

Hermione laughed to herself as she read the texts, while sitting up in bed with a cup of chamomile tea and her book.

That's probably for the best, honestly. Are you traumatised? Do you need to talk about it?

[No. Honestly I don't even want to think about it. Merlin.]

Hermione's mind flicked through what he could've stumbled across on the internet, and she grimaced. It could have been literally anything. It could have been something genuinely disturbing. Ugh.

Sorry, Malfoy. I wish I could distract you.

[You could send me a picture...]

Hermione stifled a laugh. He knew there was no way that was happening. She wasn't putting naked photos of herself out into the world, even if it was to send to Malfoy.

Hah. You wish. Use that imagination of yours. I'll see you tomorrow?

He was escorting her back home tomorrow. To her empty, lonely house, where she no longer felt entirely safe. Hermione had mixed feelings about it, to say the least. She missed having her own space, and her usual routines and creature comforts – she was looking forward to flopping down on the couch with a glass of wine and watching some terrible telly. But the idea of rattling around alone in the house she'd been abducted from was unsettling. Discomforting. She'd been telling herself firmly she'd get used to it, and she was sure she would, once a few days had passed back in the house. It was just unnerving her right now. Silly, really.

[Tomorrow. Good night, Granger.]