57.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off her, after that, despite the fact that it didn't really change anything. Life went on much as it had the past few weeks – Hermione went home on Saturday and pottered about doing housework, researching real estate, and catching up with her cousin Gwen over the phone. And then she flooed to Malfoy's with a small overnight bag in hand, wearing the pretty red dress she'd worn for Ron months ago now, which he hadn't appreciated. Malfoy appreciated it. He took it off rather swiftly after dinner admittedly, but before then he noticed it and complimented her, and then kept looking at her over the dinner he'd cooked, his eyes molten. Wanting.

They spent a long, delicious night in his bed, not collapsing into sweat-sticky sleep until close to 3 am, Hermione feeling limp and satiated and like a teenager again, except for the stiff, sore muscles, and exhaustion. They didn't seem to want to keep their hands off each other, but they no longer had the boundless energy they would've twenty years ago. They needed sleep. She woke bleary-eyed and groggy at 9 am to the smell of coffee waiting up from the bedside table next to her and Malfoy sliding back in bed, his arms around her, kissing her shoulder and neck with light, dotting presses.

It was a nice way to wake up, except that she didn't want to wake up. She grumbled and fended him off, and then pulled her pillow over her head and hid – dozing – until her phone alarm went off at half past nine. When she sat up and grabbed her coffee, warming it with a charm, Malfoy was sitting next to her in bed, in a t-shirt with a mug in one hand and his phone in the other. She grinned. It was so strange seeing him with Muggle technology. Maybe she should splash out and buy him a laptop for Christmas. She wriggled closer, holding her coffee carefully, and kissed his arm, peeking at what he was looking at. He appeared to be perusing Twitter. Oh dear. She was going to have to teach him about misinformation, wasn't she?

"Good morning, sleepyhead." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "You're grouchy when you don't get enough sleep, Granger."

Annoyingly, Malfoy seemed perfectly fine on the six hours sleep he'd gotten, aside from slight shadows beneath his eyes. Hermione was envious. She yawned. "I need my beauty sleep. Especially on the weekend, when I'm allowed to sleep in." She sat back against the pillows and gulped her coffee. "Thank you for this. There's nothing more romantic than waking up to a coffee."

He gave her a doubtful look. "I don't think that's true."

"Mm, it is for me. What do you think it is, then?" She knew as soon as she asked. He grinned.

"Blowjob," he said succinctly, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Why did I even bother asking?" she said aloud, as he smirked. And then she set her half drunk coffee down and flipped the covers back, slithering down as he made a surprised, pleased noise. They lost another hour before forcing themselves out of bed for toast with marmalade, and more coffee for Hermione. As much as she might want to lie around in bed all day with Malfoy, she couldn't. They were having lunch at her father's today. With Karen. Hermione felt rather nervous about it actually, especially considering Karen was a Muggle and Malfoy was a pure-blood.

Karen couldn't know magic existed, and Malfoy was a clueless wizard who had called a microwave a 'micronsave' the other day, and knew nearly nothing about Muggle culture and the acceptable social norms. And right now, having gotten a phone and the internet, he was almost more dangerous than if he was totally ignorant, because he thought he knew. But he didn't. Hermione knew, for instance, not to talk to a middle class bank manager in her late sixties about interesting subreddits. Malfoy did not. She gave him a quick primer over their breakfast.

"So, no talk about r/dragonsfuckingcars?" he asked, straight-faced. Hermione boggled at him.

"You made that up!"

"I didn't." He smirked and reached over to where his phone lay on the kitchen island. "Do you want to see?"

"No!" She paused. "Oh fine. Yes. Show me." He snickered at her and did, passing his phone to her, and she scrolled down with her nose wrinkled up. "God. That's just ridiculous."

"Well I didn't say I liked it, Granger. I just stumbled across it when I was seeing what exactly was on reddit. I found it deeply disturbing. But also just a little bit funny." He grimaced then. "And way less disturbing than some of the other stuff out there. Muggles are fucked up."

"See, this is why I'm worried about lunch," she said, pointing at him with her toast as she leaned on the kitchen island, her ankle hooked around his. He wasn't wearing his puffskein pyjamas, and Hermione found she missed them. He looked oddly sexy in novelty pyjamas. Maybe she could buy him a pair for Christmas. She went on, focusing: "Because the internet has warped your sweet, innocent mind, and you have absolutely no social filter when it comes to Muggle things."

"You wound me, Granger," he said. "My mind hasn't been sweet and innocent since I was twelve." She shot him a wry look.

"Honestly though, just don't mention anything you've seen on the internet. That's the only way to be safe."

"I won't. I promise. Calm down. I do know how to interact with other people."

"But she's a Muggle." It was stressing her out – probably unnecessarily, but she still couldn't help it. She felt more stressed about this lunch right now than she had about breaking the news about the divorce to the children yesterday. But she really didn't want to end up having to obliviate her father's girlfriend of some snippet of magical information.

"It'll be fine. Stop worrying. I know my cover story. Research in mediaeval religious literature analysis –" they'd decided on an obscure, boring topic to dissuade Karen from asking about it "– and then the rest is the truth, but without the magic."

"Or the war."

"Or the war," he echoed and grimaced. "Shit, Granger, you're making me nervous now."

"Jesus. I regret agreeing to this," she mumbled, burying her face in her hands. "Maybe you should also be a role playing nerd, who larps in some magical universe in the woods with your academic nerd colleagues once a month. Then if you slip up, we can cover it with that."

"What? I only understood a quarter of that," he said nearly apologetically as he cleared their plates away, and set the dishes to washing themselves with a few quick charms. "Larps?"

Hermione explained. It took a while, and they squeezed in and had a shower together during the explanation – without hanky-panky for once, except after Malfoy offered to wash her back, and things got very sudsy and slippery for a brief, giggling moment. But they didn't have time for sex. They were due at Hermione's father's at midday. Her necklace was around her neck as always, and she wore her nice retro-patterned shirt dress with black tights and ankle boots, her hair in a French braid; smart-casual, comfortable, and modest. She wanted to make a good impression on Karen. Malfoy had planned to wear a suit, and had to be talked out of it.

He ended up in a pale blue shirt, grey jersey, and a pair of dark navy chinos, looking almost normal. Hermione thought, as he stood in the middle of his bedroom floor and she walked around him, examining him, that she preferred his usual three-piece suits, where he seemed as though he'd walked out of Anne of Green Gables, or Wuthering Heights. It just looked right on him. Even rolled up shirtsleeves and dress trousers looked better. Especially when his hair was a little dishevelled, and his top few buttons undone. She bit the inside of her cheek, picturing it happily.

"Do I pass?" He gave her an expectant look.

"You do." And he did, really – smart-casual like her, and handsome, with his grey eyes shining like steel and his hair raked back slightly messily, clean-shaven, the faintest smile hooking up one corner of his lips. She felt warm. They were together. It was a nice feeling, to be able to take him out and show him off as her actual boyfriend. "Just remember not to draw your wand." His wand was in an arm holster, and hers would be in her handbag. The last thing they needed would be for him to draw his wand out of habit and perform a charm.

"I may not have been in extended conversations with Muggles unaware of magic before, but you've taken me into Muggle spaces, and I didn't embarrass you too much, did I?" He raised a brow at her, and she sighed and relaxed slightly.

"No, you didn't."

"Then stop worrying, Granger. You're impossible." He kissed her cheek, and checked the time. "Half an hour before we're due. We can go over my cover story one more time, if you like," he said rather jokingly – they'd already been over it several times. Or maybe half a dozen.

But, "Yes please," she said despite herself, and Malfoy gave her a fond, exasperated look.

"Impossible."

They had to apparate to a quiet spot in a service lane near Hermione's father's house, because coming in the back door would look too odd. Luckily, the lane was empty.

Karen seemed lovely, and perhaps as eager to make a good impression as Hermione was. Her dad had made a nice Sunday roast for lunch, and they sat down to eat soon after arrival. The woman was sharp and energetic – petite, with dark eyes and wavy blonde-streaked grey hair cut in a smart bob, wearing trousers and a blouse. She seemed younger than her age – 66 – and had a bright smile, laughing easily. Particularly when Hermione's father made a joke. She seemed very fond of him, and the way the two of them looked at each other made Hermione both feel happy for her father, and also miss her mother. It was an odd experience after her dad had spent so long on his own after her mum died.

"So how long have you two been dating?" Karen asked after a little small talk about Malfoy's non-existent job, and foiled them nearly immediately. Hermione had been so worried about the wizarding versus Muggle aspect, that she hadn't even thought about their relationship. They'd told Karen that they'd known each other at school and had reconnected recently when they'd discovered their children were friends. All true. But what did she say about when they'd started dating? Oh Merlin. She didn't even know herself.

"Yes," Malfoy asked curiously, his eyes mischievous, being no help whatsoever. "When exactly was it? You know I'm terrible with anniversaries."

She frowned at him, pretending mild indignance. "It was only a few days after my birthday, Malfoy! How can you not remember that?" she asked, referencing the first time they'd slept together – when she'd turned up on his doorstep, slightly drunk and angry, with an armful of orange lilies. His eyes softened, his pupils expanding, a smile curling his lips as he remembered.

"That's right. The 21st of September. Of course. That means it'll be three months just before Christmas," he said, playing along. In reality, Hermione didn't know what date they'd be able to use as an official marker of their relationship's beginning. It had happened by increments. Maybe last Wednesday, when their divorces had both officially been processed. Wednesday the 4th of December. Yes, that sounded nice as an official date. Oh dear. They probably should've figured that out before now, because if Karen and Hermione's father got serious, they might end up having to pretend a different anniversary for her from now on. Or hope she forgot this one.

Oh well.

Otherwise, the lunch went well. Malfoy clearly put on the persona he used for his parents' parties, because he carried much of the conversation, whenever it lulled. He asked Karen polite questions, getting her to talk about herself, the stately homes and castle ruins that she and Hermione's father loved to visit, their bridge club, and her children. He agreed – probably hoping it would never happen – that he and Hermione and their combined children would have to join them on one of their next trips to a castle. He was charming and engaging, and Hermione found herself just watching him adoringly much to her dad's amusement, as he stared at her across the table.

"You've got it bad, love," he said quietly, as the two of them did the dishes together while Karen and Malfoy chatted about roses, of all things, which Karen made a hobby of. It seemed Narcissa had a fantastic rose garden, and so Malfoy was well informed on the care and feeding of them. Hermione pressed her lips together on a smile, glancing over at Malfoy. Elegant and animated as he sat there in his casual clothing, legs tucked back under his chair and elbows on the table, a bit of hair falling over his forehead, as he and Karen talked cuttings, and grafting. She thought perhaps he paused awkwardly here and there to self-censor out magical methods, but Karen seemed to assume his lapses were just ignorance, and filled in the gaps for him, explaining methods happily.

"I do," Hermione admitted. "So bad." She swallowed, suddenly blinking back tears. "Do you think Mum would've liked him?"

"She would've loved him, you know that," he dad said, his own gaze softening as he stared into the washing up bowl in the sink. "Once she'd gotten over his, well, chequered past. He would've charmed her just how he's charming Karen – but Mina would have known exactly what he was doing, and loved it anyway."

"She would've." Hermione wiped her eyes with her wrist and smiled, a wobbly thing. "He would've thought he'd won her over, but really, she would've had him eating out of her hand." She put several bowls up in the cabinet. "Karen's lovely though," she offered. "And she and Malfoy seem to be getting along shockingly well."

"They do." Her dad looked over at the two as they sat chatting about pruning, and beamed. "I'm glad you like her. She's a very special lady."

"You've got it bad too, I think," Hermione said, and her dad shrugged, waving her off, embarrassed. "It's nice," she said reassuringly, wanting him to know that it was okay – she didn't think he was betraying her mum – and he smiled at her then.

"It is. It really is. I wasn't looking for Karen, or a relationship at all, really. But it just…"

"Happened," Hermione finished wryly, and her dad chuckled.

"Indeed."

The rest of the afternoon went well. Her father and Karen taught them canasta, another game they enjoyed with friends apparently, and they played a few hands of that, until Hermione made a move to leave. They exchanged polite goodbye hugs and kisses on the cheek with Karen, and Malfoy promised to see if he could get a cutting from a particular rose from his mother, before they left via the front door, to disapparate from that narrow lane again. Malfoy slid his arm around Hermione as they walked along, out the front gate, she in her coat and scarf, and he similarly rugged up.

"Are you really going to ask your mother for a cutting?" Hermione asked as soon as her father shut the front door behind him.

"Of course," he said, reaching back and drawing the gate closed behind them.

"For a Muggle?"

"Well, I won't tell her that part," he said, with the hint of a smile. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her." Hermione rather thought he enjoyed the idea of his mother's precious roses ending up in a Muggle's garden. They dissected the visit between them as they strolled along, the air chill and frigid, and both felt it had gone well. "I knew you were worrying over nothing," he said as they reached the narrow little service lane, and she elbowed him lightly, huffing in indignation.

"It was a reasonable concern! You might not have done so well if we hadn't revised so much, you know!"

"Revised? Merlin, you're still such a swot," he said and poked her back and caught her in a ticklish spot on her side, and she flailed, laughing, and skidding on an icy patch. He caught her up and steadied her, and then kissed the laugh out of her mouth. Oh. Oh yes. Her arms went around his neck as they kissed for a long, enthusiastic moment – she still breathless, and so inexplicably happy. Arousal licked up in her like flames, and she was fizzing with it when he pulled away, and shot her a wicked grin. "Shall we continue at mine?"

"Yes," she said emphatically, "please." And then with a glance about for any Muggles, they both disapparated on the spot, arriving on his well-manicured Ilkley house's doorstep. Hermione's ardour was somewhat cooled, thanks to the slight nausea of disapparation, but her happiness was still firmly fixed as Malfoy unlocked the door with a wave of his wand and ushered her inside. She shed her shoes and coat, and wandered through to the bedroom already unbuttoning, planning on slipping into his clothes, like every cliche ever.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" he asked, stopping in the bedroom doorway. He hauled his jersey off over his head with one hand as he whipped his belt off with the other hand, an impressive display of multitasking that distracted Hermione enough that she nearly fell over while taking off her tights. She suddenly had thoughts of things other than tea. His hair stood up all ruffled as he smirked at her fit of clumsiness, unbuttoning his cuffs and turning his sleeves back to his elbows. "You alright there, Granger?"

"I'm fine," she said as she plumped down on the edge of the bed, sliding her tights off her feet and unhooking her bra with a sigh of relief, before reaching out across the bed for the t-shirt he'd discarded earlier. Malfoy eyed her as she did so, his gaze heating slightly. "And yes please, tea would be lovely." She slid the t-shirt on.

"What sort?" he called over his shoulder as he began to walk away.

"Just a cup of Yorkshire please," she called back, sitting there on the edge of the bed in his t-shirt with her legs bare, feeling suddenly, wonderfully at home.