49.

The house felt quiet and empty as Hermione stepped in from the garage, Malfoy a reassuring presence behind her. It was stuffy from being shut up all week – the curtains had been drawn on the south side to stop the sun pouring in, and dust motes hung in the air as she walked into the sitting room. Happily, Hermione had managed to step over the threshold without having a meltdown. After how she'd felt arriving home last Sunday she'd been half expecting a panic attack to sweep up and grab her by the throat, turning her into a pathetic mess again. Especially considering she'd just started her period, and had felt like an emotional disaster when she'd woken up. At least she knew she wasn't pregnant. And when she'd arrived home, she'd just felt a little nervous. It was a pleasant surprise.

Malfoy leaned against the door jamb watching with his wand casually in hand as she stood in the middle of the sitting room and flicked her own wand about – whipping the curtains open, and opening the windows just a sliver. It was sunny outside but icy, and Hermione wanted to freshen the house, not turn it into a freezer. She was wearing her cream, orange and blue fairisle jersey with jeans and cosy wool-lined ankle boots, but without a warming charm the breeze that whisked in the windows was brisk. Her lone house plant in the sitting room – a spider plant hanging from a macrame hanger Rose had made several years ago – was looking rather sad. She watered it with an aguamenti, and smiled at Malfoy.

"Now to do this in every room."

"How exciting," he said dryly. "Lead on and I shall follow." She felt the cheeky tap of his wand on her bum as she went past, and snickered to herself. She thought she knew why he preferred to follow. He'd said earlier when he arrived to pick her up from her father's how much he liked those jeans on her. They were nice ones. Hermione had always thought they did wonders for her bum, not that Ron had ever seemed to notice one way or another. She took off her boots by the end table.

"You can leave your shoes on," she told Malfoy as she wriggled her toes in her pale pink socks. He took them off though, and his grey socks – like his tie – were covered in golden snitches. Hermione smiled. "Present from Scorpius?'

"However did you guess?"

She opened the kitchen windows and peeked in the fridge. Everything left in there looked fine – she'd taken the leafy greens and milk to her dad's, and brought a fresh bottle of milk back, which she dug out of her beaded purse and shoved in the fridge now. She watered the aloe vera in the dining room, and opened the curtains but didn't bother opening the windows. The breeze would find its way through from the kitchen eventually. And then only the upstairs remained. Hermione stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips, and sighed.

"Come on, Granger, " Malfoy said gently and moved past her, squeezing her shoulder and dropping a brief kiss on her temple, taking the stairs two at a time, as if he were fifteen instead of nearly forty. Hermione smiled, watching him. When he reached the top he sat down, and grinned at her. "I feel more out of breath than I think I should. Merlin." He reached out with one hand to her. "But everything seems safe." He smiled, sweetly teasing, although there was a little sadness in his eyes. Empathy. "Come here. Or do you need me to go check the wardrobes and under the beds, first?"

"I know it's safe, you git," Hermione said indignantly, although she could see what he was doing and she appreciated it. "I just –"

"I know." He eyed her assessingly and sighed. "Do you want to just go to my place? We can floo. No one needs to know. And we can stick to the rules – I'll be on my best behaviour."

It was tempting, but then something occurred to Hermione and horror shivered through her. "And what if Astoria turns up, divorce papers in hand?"

Malfoy grimaced. "Hm. True. Well, I guess you'll have to brave the stairs then, Granger. Unless you want to go back to your father's?"

"No. No, I'll be fine. I just need to pull myself together," she said, and took a deep breath. She was being ridiculous. It was fine. He was right there. She grabbed the bannister railing and made her way up the stairs one step at a time, not looking at the wall she'd slammed into, keeping her gaze on Malfoy. He kept smiling at her faintly, eyes warm, forearms resting on his thighs as he sat there at the top of the stairs, waiting for her. Her beaded purse hung from her right wrist, her wand in that hand. It made her feel safer, holding it.

When she was a few steps below Malfoy, he stood and took her hand, leading her up and then guiding her past him. "There you go. You conquered them," he said softly, and she scoffed.

"Don't patronise me," she said, but her hand slid into his, squeezing briefly before she drew away and moved into Hugo's room. "Well? Are you going to check the wardrobe and bed?" she asked pertly as she waved her wand and opened the curtains and window. Hugo's room was bright and colourful, mostly furnished thanks to Ikea, the walls covered with posters, and the shelving filled with books and toys. Although these days he played on his tablet or the PS4 more than with physical toys. Everything was Roblox, Fortnite, or Minecraft, all played with his friends online.

"You just want me on my knees," he accused lazily, and Hermione grinned as she turned around, walking back to him in the doorway. Stopping very close and fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat.

"I do."

He smirked and bent his head, mouth to her ear as his hand drifted lightly down her side, settling at her waist. His fingers pressed in warm and firm. "I'm not getting on my knees for anything other than the taste of your sweet cunt, Granger," he murmured, and shivers ran down Hermione's spine, her breath catching. She swallowed hard as he drew back and looked down at her, eyes glittering, a dark sort of want evident in his smirk.

"Well," she said faintly and inanely, trying to collect herself and failing, and his smirk grew. She rather wished he could – and then a twinge of discomfort reminded her that even if they could, they couldn't thanks to her period. It was an unintentional chaperone, preventing her from having any fun. Which was for the best really, but still. She heaved a sigh. "Well, that won't be happening today, sadly," she lamented, her flustered arousal dashed to pieces.

"I find your rules oppressive and dictatorial," he said dryly as she sidled past him, ducking briefly into Rose's neat, also Ikea-furnished room and opening the windows with a flick. "I feel the need to overthrow your regime. Your reign of terror. Perhaps a well-timed coup is in order."

"This time it's not entirely my rules, Malfoy. It's that time of month," she said ruefully, heading for her bedroom.

"Oh. Oh. Right." He leaned up against the door jamb of her room, humming thoughtfully as she plopped her beaded purse on the bed and started pulling things out of it. "Well, that doesn't necessarily preclude everything," he began, and she glanced up at him startled, a blouse clutched forgotten in her hand. "In fact, it doesn't really have to preclude anything."

Her eyes widened. "Malfoy," she gasped, recognising with a wince how prim and shocked she sounded even as his name left her lips, imagining him on his knees in front of her now, his mouth – "Really?"

He shrugged a shoulder, a wicked, smug smile playing about his lips. "Well..."

Shock passed, Hermione snickered as she flicked her wand and hung up her blouses one after the other, embarrassment still stirring under her skin as she tried to keep her composure. "Don't tell me you have a fantasy about that too."

"No," he said, rubbing at his jaw, smiling that roguish smile as he leaned in the doorway, one ankle crossed over the other, tall and lean, eyes mercurial. "I'm just pragmatic. Your clitoris isn't really that close to your –"

"Malfoy!"

He went on undisturbed. "And I figure that mooncup thing you said you use should prevent any –"

"Oh my God!" Her cheeks were flaming.

"We could certainly make you come." He grinned wickedly. "No mess, no fuss." He went on thoughtfully. "I could use my fingers instead of my mouth, I suppose."

"Jesus Christ." She pressed the cool backs of her hands to her hot cheeks, unsure whether she was mortified or aroused.

He arched a brow, amused. "I just don't think we should let life's little obstacles stop us. I thought you were all about problem solving, Granger."

"Well, I didn't say no," she shot back, and he huffed a laugh. "But not today," she added. "There are rules to stick to, and anyway, I'm a little sore. I'm not in the mood."

"What about your Muggle pills?" he asked, expression shifting to curiosity and sympathy. "Don't they fix it?" Hermione smiled to herself as she put away the rest of her clothes with a combination of manual labour and magic.

"They're not a cure all, Malfoy. They help with pain, they don't necessarily eliminate it," she said as she slid her wand away and stuffed her knickers in her underwear drawer, aware of Malfoy's gaze taking in everything. She pulled out her toiletries bag and took it through to the bathroom, sliding her hand over his abdomen as she went past. He turned to watch her, and when she came back he caught her, pulling her into the circle of his arms. They seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement to relax the rules. Hermione relaxed into him, resting her head against his chest, his arms secure and safe.

"So, now what?" he asked.

"I suppose you can head home," she said reluctantly, her fingers tightening on his frock-coat even as she said the words. She hated the idea of being here alone. "The house is safe, and everything's fine. I'll be okay."

"For Salazar's sake –" He was irritated. She looked up and met exasperated grey eyes. "You don't even sound convincing, Granger."

She sighed and pulled back, leaning against the opposite door jamb, poking Malfoy's toes with hers, pink socks prodding grey. "I just don't want to be alone."

"So invite someone over," he retorted, looking down at their feet as he poked her foot back. Playing a standing game of footsies.

She could, she supposed. Harry and Ginny would probably come over in a flash if she asked. Or Neville and Hannah, if they were free – it had been a few months now since they'd caught up. Not since the holidays before the start of school, in fact. Or maybe Luna – but then she was exhausting one on one. And it was so last minute. And ultimately – "I don't really want company, though. I just want to relax." Hermione stood her foot full on his, the arch of hers fitting over his instep. Small over his large, bony foot. She bit her lip and then asked, "Could you stay?"

He chuckled, hands shoving into his pockets, elbows out and head leaning back against the door jamb so he looked down his nose at her, lazy and vaguely amused. "Am I not company, then?"

"No. You're Malfoy," she said childishly.

"That makes me not company how exactly?"

"Because you're mine," she said shyly, not even sure it was true yet, but Malfoy made a little growling sound low in his throat and his expression shifted from indolence to an intent, possessive pleasure as he straightened. His hands found her hips, tugging her close.

"Right answer, Granger," he said low and pleased as he held her hips, and kissed her cheek. His lips were maddeningly soft and lingering. "What's the plan then? How are we spending the day? If it's cleaning the house, I categorically refuse."

Hermione snorted. "No. The house is fine. I think we should relax."

They ate lunch at the breakfast bar – baked beans on toast, from a loaf of bread Hermione pulled out of the freezer, accompanied by poached eggs and a few sausages. A brunch kind of breakfast, and delicious, frankly. Hermione felt herself begin to unwind, the tension gradually easing away as they talked and laughed. Malfoy was in fine form, and she suspected he was trying extra hard to distract her. It was very sweet. Harry texted just after midday, asking how Hermione was settling back in, and whether she wanted him to come over. I'm fine, she told him honestly, and then smiled at Malfoy around a mouthful of toast.

By late afternoon Malfoy was sprawled on the couch on his side in just rolled up shirtsleeves and trousers, everything else piled on the nearby easy chair, as the television played. His head was propped up on left hand, a cup of Ovaltine – with a slosh of added creme de cacao – in the other hand. Hermione sat on the couch, leaning comfortably back against his lower abdomen, her feet propped up on the coffee table and her own doctored Ovaltine in both hands as she watched the TV.

"So who's Kylie again?" Malfoy was asking, frowning at the screen.

"Kendall's full sister. And Kourtney, Kim, and Khloé's half-sister. Oh, and Rob's. But he doesn't really appear on the show anymore."

"Huh. And that's their mother, right...?"

"Kris. Yeah. She manages them."

"Huh." And then a while later: "Why do you enjoy this?"

Hermione laughed. "Because it's patently ridiculous. And bizarre. It's like a whole other world. And sometimes it's reassuring to know that even the lives of the rich and famous aren't all perfect, smooth sailing." She shrugged. "I don't know. It's my guilty pleasure, I guess."

"I thought I was your guilty pleasure," he said with mock-offence, mirth in his voice, and when she looked over he was smiling into his Ovaltine, looking very pleased with himself.

"Well, you are patently ridiculous," she said, lips twitching, and slung her arm back over his waist, happiness buoying her up.

Dinner was purchased from the local Chinese takeaway, and Hermione showed Malfoy how to order food online. She feared she was creating a monster by showing him how to navigate a phone. He'd taken to it like a duck to water and loved it, despite having been – probably temporarily – scared off the internet. A little probing over dinner while The Great British Sewing Bee played quietly in background had pried out of him that he'd stumbled across a NSFW subreddit. He refused to tell her which one. "Maybe I'm old-fashioned," he said, chopsticks in hand, looking faintly ill, "but I just didn't even find it attractive. At that point, it was just flesh. Just...so much flesh."

Hermione's period cramps kicked off a little after dinner, so she changed into a t-shirt and pyjama trousers and spooned up against Malfoy on the couch under a cosy rug as he held a wheat bag he warmed with magic against her abdomen and they watched Aladdin on Disney, which she'd gotten at Hugo's request as soon as it had come out. Not that Hugo could even watch it except during the holidays. Malfoy wasn't exactly the right demographic for the film, but he hadn't seen an animated movie before so he was transfixed. Eventually she took over wheat bag duty while he idly undid her hair from its loose braid and combed his fingers through it, her scalp tingling under his touch. His soft, repetitive ministrations slowly lulled her into a doze as he hummed tunelessly along to the music, and Hermione slid into sleep not long after A Whole New World finished playing.

She was woken by the murmur of her name. "Granger? Granger, wake up."

"Hngh?" She blinked her eyes open to see the movie was finished, the room quiet and dim, lit only by the glow of the screen and the hall light shining in. Malfoy's lips were by her ear, his hand splayed over her stomach, and their legs were tangled together, and half asleep and groggy Hermione did the only thing that made sense. Turned her head and kissed him. Full on the mouth, open, her tongue slipping between his lips and he made a low groan and pushed into the kiss, lips soft and greedy, tongue curling against hers and sending delicious shivers down her spine.

She rolled over plastering herself against him, all tangled in the rug and half falling off the couch as she grabbed at his shoulder, even as he scooped her closer, arm around her. She felt like she was deliciously on fire in an instant, every nerve ending alight and blissfully stimulated by the way he kissed her, as if she were the only thing in the universe that mattered in that moment. As if he wanted to meld them together, sinking into each other, and she melted into it willingly, just as desperate. Their lips were hungry and she was making little panting sounds, loud in the quiet, just like the wet noises their mouths made, and then he made a low moan and oh, how did he do this to her? She was so wet, just from – oh no. No, she wasn't.

"Shit," Hermione mumbled as she jerked away, flailing upright, and Malfoy blinked up at her, bewildered as she untangled from the rug. "Sorry. Sorry. Period emergency," she got out in a rush as she fled for the door and the downstairs loo. Emergency sorted – mooncup emptied and knickers scourgified – she looked at herself in the small mirror above the sink in the toilet as she washed her hands. Her hair was a curly chaos, and her cheeks were pink, her lips reddened. She looked dishevelled but not bad. She nibbled on her lip, and then smiled at herself. Happy. She was happy. Breaking rules and happy. She opened the door and saw Malfoy loitering down the hall, in the kitchen.

"I actually woke you because I needed the facilities myself," he said wryly. "Too many cups of tea."

They sidled past each other a little awkwardly, and Hermione flicked the kettle on automatically as she went past in case she decided to have a cup of chamomile, before she went and turned off the television. It was 10.25 pm according to the TV and Hermione frowned to herself, nerves crawling in her stomach as she looked around the empty room. Malfoy's frock-coat, waistcoat, and tie were flung over the easy chair still, and somehow they looked right there. Hermione sighed. She supposed Malfoy would have to go home really, and then it'd just be her alone in the house.

There was a noise and she looked up and saw him there in the doorway, shirt and hair rumpled, and the thought of him leaving sent a pang through her chest. With a sigh she collected up their cups from the coffee table, ceramic clattering jarringly. He traipsed after her as she took them through to the kitchen and rinsed them out, hot water running over her fingers, still feeling sleepy but with a dull misery settling in her chest. Being home today had been good, but it seemed too much to stay here all alone. She wished she'd stayed at her father's, or arranged to go back there for the night. Except it was too late to apparate there now without having given her dad advanced warning.

"So am I sleeping on the couch, or in your bed?" Malfoy broke into her thoughts. He was leaning over the breakfast bar, forearms braced and the faded Mark barely visible, looking up at her, his chin sharp and eyes like silver moons, hair falling soft and pale over his forehead. He grinned. "Or on the floor at the foot of your bed like a guard dog?"

"I thought – I mean, you can't –" she said, pushing the tap off blindly with her wrist and setting the mug on the drying rack and shooting him an embarrassed glance. She'd probably just been standing there like an idiot for half a minute. Merlin. Malfoy gave her a look.

"I don't see why not. I can behave myself." He stretched out and picked up a pen from the pen jar and fiddled with it, examining it. "If you can refrain from throwing yourself at me, Granger –" she glared and huffed as he finished "– then it should be fine."

"I was half asleep! You woke me up, and –" She broke off and rubbed the heel of her hand over her forehead. She felt all tired and muzzy, and she was getting a headache, and more importantly, she was being stupid. Incredibly stupid. Maybe she needed to start relaxing her rules a little. What purpose did they serve anymore anyway? So long as they were discreet, maybe she should ease up. Relax. "Fuck. Actually, yes," she said emphatically, watching as he figured out how to click on the pen, and examined the tip curiously. Sometimes, Hermione thought fondly, he was like a time traveller who'd stepped straight out of the Edwardian era. "Please stay, Malfoy. That'd be lovely." He forgot the pen and looked up at her, openly pleased.

"The couch, or...?" he asked, raising a brow as he tossed the pen lightly back into the jar in a perfect arc, with a beautiful show of hand-eye coordination.

"The bed," Hermione said, leaning over the breakfast bar and kissing his left eyebrow impulsively. In for a penny, in for a pound. He smiled slowly. A very sweetly dangerous smile.

The urge to pee woke Hermione in the middle of the night. She stirred to consciousness still curled into Malfoy; she was the little spoon with his arm over her hip, warmth radiating off him and soaking into her. It was lovely and cosy. She started to wiggle out from under his arm – in nothing but a t-shirt and knickers, and he in nothing but boxers, although they'd done nothing untoward except cuddle. Well, and kiss, just a little. She smiled to herself. "Granger?" he mumbled sleepily, lifting his head, and she twisted and kissed his cheek.

"I just need to pee," she whispered, patting his arm, and he made a hum of drowsy acknowledgement and lifted his arm, setting her free. She padded through to the bathroom yawning, peeing by the hallway light and then squinting at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands. Her hair was an utter bird's nest. She spun on her heel, uncaring – she'd handle it in the morning – and headed back to bed. She paused in the doorway. Draco was a long shape sprawled under the bed covers, one pale arm stretched out, his hair shining a ghostly white under the slant of a streetlight through a crack in the curtains.

It was weird how right it looked, seeing him there in her bed.

She scrambled back under the covers, snuggling against him as he tugged her close, his arm sliding over her protectively.