A/N- You all are the best readers anyone could ask for! I appreciate immensely your love and support for this story! Cheers to the weekend!

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A laundry list of errands faced Hermione first thing Saturday morning, one of which was dropping by the Apothecary to pick up her order from Ingrid. Harry mentioned earlier in the week that it was ready, but with the chaos of her work schedule, along with various other unmentionable occurrences, she was just now getting around to doing it. She was rather looking forward to speaking with Ingrid, given she had some pressing questions to ask her pertaining to the case. Just after breakfast, she gathered up her belongings and Apparated to Diagon Alley where the shops were quickly filling with weekend shoppers. Under cover of a temporary glamour charm, she ambled from the alleyway onto the bustling street leading to Capacious Cauldrons and slipped seamlessly through the front door without catching the attention of one solitary camera lens.

With a muttered Finite, she dropped the handy disguise and made her way over to the counter where Ingrid stood ringing up a long queue of customers gathered with their purchases. Seeing the flustered look upon the elder witch's face, Hermione instead opted to browse the shop until the crowd thinned. As she tottered in varying stages of fatigue through the aisles, she lamented the struggle she'd faced the previous number of nights falling asleep.

Oddly, she'd never suffered from insomnia before, leading her to believe that the strain of the looming case was more burdensome than she previously believed. She refused to consider for even a moment that it had anything to do with the fact that every time she was left alone with her idle thoughts, her mind descended into a rather titillating loop of impassioned episodes which usually culminated in Malfoy having his lips pressed against hers. It was extremely disconcerting for many reasons, not least of which was that they were coworkers, who not to mention, barely saw eye to eye on the best of days, but also because this was her childhood tormentor, the ferret, the bane of her existence. And she couldn't reconcile in her mind that it was that very same person who made her heart race when he stepped too close, the one whose lips felt like a prayer against hers, and even worse, the one whose absence tormented her every waking moment.

How had she gone from despising him to daydreaming about him in a matter of a week? It defied logic and Hermione was nothing if not logical in all her mental quandaries. Believing it to be work stress combined with a glaring lack of sleep, she found herself perusing the area of the shop containing ingredients for a sleeping draught. She'd gather up a few sprigs of lavender and valerian, mix it with a few measures of Flobberworm mucus and wallah- she'd be rid of these troubling preoccupations.

As she watched Ingrid finishing up with her last customer, she made her way over to the counter with her basket of ingredients. When Ingrid saw her approaching, she immediately dropped the bundle of fluxweed she was holding and dashed over to envelope her in a hug.

"Oh, my dear! It's so good to see you!" She squeezed her so tightly Hermione thought she might implode. The elder witch held her out at arm's length, fixing her with a conspiratorial grin. "You've been a busy little witch since I saw you last if the papers are to be believed." She tutted and tapped a flushed Hermione twice on the nose with her index finger.

"You know how the Prophet likes to embellish," Hermione muttered sheepishly, inching forward to follow Ingrid as she pivoted back toward the register.

"No need to be bashful on my account. I know love when I see it!" Hermione opened her mouth to correct her, but Ingrid had already rounded the corner, stepping behind the register while leaning over and whispering behind a cupped hand. "Just between you and me, I was afraid you'd never find it- what with the tiresome life you lead."

"Oh, Mrs. Argo- I'm afraid-"

"But I know you didn't come here to talk about your love life! I have all your goodies right here." She crouched down to retrieve a bag from a shelf beneath the counter and placed it on the countertop with a muted rustle. Hermione could see the contents of her special order through the sack.

"Thank you, Mrs. Argo. But I think you should know-"

"Yes, I see. You have collected a few more items." She reached across to grab the basket from her outstretched hands, placing the ingredients into a bag and laying it next to the other order. "I'll just add these to your account," she said, tapping brusquely on the register's keys. "There we go- and done!"

She glanced up at a disconcerted Hermione, for the first time realizing the shift in her demeanor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she muttered, placing a rueful hand to her shaking head. "All this chatter about herbs and fungi- I nearly forgot you wanted to speak to me about-" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Confidential Ministry business."

Hermione pursed her lips, nodding as she picked up her belongings off the counter. "It should only take a minute," she whispered. "Do you mind if we go somewhere a little more private?"

"Of course, of course. Follow me." She met Hermione at the edge of the glass display and lead her back to the hallway where Harry and Ron had gathered the week before.

Instead of entering the littered room, she paused at the threshold and muttered a wandless Muffliato, surreptitiously looking around at the empty hallway. "This should do."

Hermione glanced around for anyone who might notice their covert meeting. "Right. So, Harry mentioned the other day that you hadn't ever encountered an order such as the one you received last week- apart from one occasion when a similar assortment was ordered to restock an apothecary." Seeing Mrs. Argo's eyes focus in careful concentration as she nodded in acknowledgment, Hermione continued. "Mrs. Argo, do you happen to remember when that was and for whom?"

Ingrid's eyes narrowed. "I can't say exactly when, but I do know it was sometime during the second Wizarding war. At the time, there was an uptick in business- you know, given the nature of events here in Britain." Her expression turned dour at the mention of that particular timeframe and Hermoine understood it to mean people were stocking up on supplies to combat curses and heal the injured. "What struck me as odd was not only the content of the purchase, but the rather strange request that accompanied it."

"What sort of strange request?" Hermione asked, eyeing her with interest.

Ingrid's voice dipped to barely a whisper, despite the use of a privacy charm. "The customer wanted what we herbologists call the progenitors- the seeds, the eggs, -"

"I'm quite familiar with progenitors," Hermione interrupted, visibly taken aback by the astonishing information Ingrid had just divulged. "What ever might be the reason they'd want those?"

"We see that type of request usually when someone is looking to start their own supply store, never for any practical use for an already established apothecary like St. Sofia's."

"St. Sofia's?" Hermione asked, eyes widening. "The apothecary that serves the surrounding hospitals?"

"That's the one! We have a very close working relationship with them- they turn to us from time to time when they need things that are a bit more challenging to find. And believe me, it wasn't easy to fulfill this request- especially during the war when supplies were spread so thin." She searched Hermione's face for understanding before adding, "But that wasn't the only thing noteworthy about this particular exchange."

"Noteworthy? Like how?"

"Well, despite the order originating from St. Sofia's, that's not who ended up receiving it," she said squinting.

"I'm sorry, what? Didn't your owl deliver it to the proper address?"

Ingrid pursed her lips. "Oh, she most certainly did. But many months later, when the war had ended, I came across a colleague of mine who worked at St. Sofia's. When I asked her about the unusual request, she said they had no record of any such thing having been delivered!"

"What?" Hermione gasped, eyes widening. "So are you saying someone stole the items?"

Ingrid shook her head. "No, Miss Granger. I'm saying someone made a duplicitous request and then intercepted the items." She fixed Hermione with a somber stare.

Hermione made a face, seeming to ponder this new information as she wondered aloud. "So, if St. Sofia's didn't place the order, then who did?"

"That is the million-Galleon question that still eludes me to this day," she replied, her expression hardening.

"I see," Hermione said, mulling it over. "And you've no idea what these ingredients may have been used for?"

"Individually, they are exceedingly rare. Together, even more so. In my studies to date, I've yet to come across any evidence that they can be used together to create anything which we have on record." She looked down at Hermione through her pince-nez glasses. "Miss Granger, I wish I could tell you more than what I already have, but unfortunately apart from the latest request from Scotland, I've never come across a combination of rare ingredients such as these."

Hermione nodded absently. "Well, I thank you for your time, Miss Argo. If you remember anything you think would be worth noting, please owl Harry or me."

Ingrid placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I will, my child. It's such a tragedy to lose someone, but even more so when it's one of our own. Healer Strout was one of the best around. I have no doubt you will find out who is responsible for her demise."

Hermoine's head dipped somberly. "Thank you," she said before following her through the corridor and back into the shop.

As Hermione began scuttling toward the exit through the throngs of other patrons, she glanced up only to see a shock of white-blond hair in her peripheral.

What was Malfoy doing here on a Saturday morning?

She immediately swiveled to avoid detection but it proved to be too late as his tempestuous eyes locked on hers right before his lithe form drifted over to where she stood.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said, peering down his nose at her through narrowed eyes.

"I could say the same," she replied stiffly. "What brings you to the Apothecary so early on a Saturday?"

He glanced around, eyeing the lively scene. "Well, Granger. I'm a wizard. And seeing as this is an Apothecary. It would be logical that I might patronize such an establishment when the occasion presents itself."

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest, rolling her eyes. "Ok, Malfoy. If you've no interest in engaging in pleasant conversation, I will be leaving." She advanced around him but he held out his arm, eyes suddenly regarding the bag containing her supplies for the Sleeping Draught.

"Having trouble sleeping?" he asked, scrutinizing eyes raking over her overtly disheveled form. "You must have had a late night with your boyfriend."

His expression twisted in disgust.

Hermione's cheeks ignited with rising fury as her jaw tightened. "If there wasn't a crowd of reporters staring at us right now through that very window, I would slap that wicked smirk right off your face."

"Wouldn't be the first time," he huffed out with a muffled breath.

"Now, if you would, please step aside so I can carry on with my day. I wouldn't want to cause a scene." She glared up at him with revulsion, her eyes daring him to goad her any further.

Without warning, he gruffly latched onto her shoulder, dragging her by the fabric of her jumper into a corner out of view of the journalists looming outside. "I saw you walking out from the back room with the owner," he hissed, hovering over her, his eyes boring into hers with swirling resentment. "Moving forward on the case without me?"

"You should talk! When were you going to mention you owled the Egyptian Minister? Or better yet, were you even going to tell me that the crest in your father's book was an identical match to the one currently sitting in the Ministry evidence room? I had to make the connection between the two of them myself, all while you were holed up at the Manor doing who knows what with Pansy Parkinson!"

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he leaned forward menacingly, fighting against his fledgling will to reign in his anger. "First of all, I told you the other morning in our office that I owled the Egyptian Minister. It's not my fault you can't hear through that bedraggled nest of hair. And furthermore, I would have told you about the crest had you not dropped by the Manor- unannounced I might add- pilfering the book from my clutches and then proceeding to avoid me for the rest of the week!"

"Avoid you?" she cried out in a high-pitched squawk. "How could I possibly be avoiding you when you're the one who completely abandoned your investigative duties by not even bothering to show up to work!"

"I did not abandon my investigative duties," he hissed. "I simply had other matters to tend to."

"Other matters? Is that what you call entertaining a witch at your Manor?" She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her chest with an angry huff.

"Oh, come off it! I've already told you Pansy is an old friend. Besides, you're one to talk. I'm not the one who is walking around town looking the epitome of perfectly shagged-"

A strangled shriek escaped her mouth unbidden as her hand flew back in one smooth motion to strike him across the face. But quick as a snitch, he reached out to stop her, gripping her wrist with visible force and watching with embittered intensity as her chest rose and fell from the effort.

"How dare you," she hissed, lip curling over her teeth.

"Ahhhh, there's the happy couple," Miss Argo chimed, toddling around the corner of the notably overflowing dittany display. "Mr. Malfoy, I didn't see you come in."

Draco allowed their arms to drop, smoothly catching her hand in his. "Yes, Mrs. Argo. So good to see you. You look well."

"Anything in particular you're in for today?" she asked, adjusting her glasses and crouching down to rearrange the display.

"Nothing more than the usual supplies to replenish my stores," he answered blithely, feeling Hermione grip his hand with crushing intensity.

He wouldn't dare utter the more lamentable purpose of needing to acquire ingredients to make a Sleeping Draught.

"Well, if there's anything I can help you with, please let me know." She added several more vials of dittany to the already teeming array. "Otherwise, I'll leave you to it."

When she disappeared out of sight, Hermione dropped his hand with violent repulsion and rounded on him. "Don't you ever speak to me like that again!" she growled, jabbing her finger into his chest.

He grabbed her finger with his fist and with one swift motion drew her closer until their noses were nearly touching. "Don't look now," he breathed in a low timbre against her lips, "but one of the reporters managed to get inside and is heading our way."

Hermione's heart accelerated, whether from the overcharged row or from something else entirely, as a bright flash of light burst from her periphery.

She squinted over as the overzealous photographer ducked his head, knocking into a display of murtlap before he scampered off.

The commotion caused Hermione to jump back, struggling to right herself. "Stay away from me," she growled at Malfoy between gritted teeth.

He leaned over with a clenched jaw and hissed in her ear. "I'd love nothing more, but this miserable charade all but requires it. Now be a jewel and walk with me out of here so we can both be on our merry way."

Hermoine drew a steady breath in through her nose before finally latching onto his elbow with her arm. "Walk me to Madam Puddifoot's," she demanded harshly. " I'm having tea with Ginny."

Draco didn't bother to acknowledge her request as he advanced toward the door. Just as the chimes from the door sprang to life with a tinkling, so too did the eruption of hollers from the mass of reporters outside the Apothecary.

"When are you going to make an official statement about your relationship?"

"Is it true you're also seeing Pansy Parkinson?"

"Mr. Malfoy, is this your latest attempt to clear your name?"

The couple dashed in and out of the buzzing crowd of Saturday shoppers in their harried attempt to escape the mob of journalists. "Keep up," Draco hissed, as Hermione stumbled over a rather vexing cobblestone that protruded from the otherwise level path.

"Oh, shut it!" she snapped, deliberately digging her nails into his forearm as she corrected her stride.

Despite the growing distance between them and the swarm of reporters, they could still hear the din of prying questions being hurled in their wake.

"I should have just had a lie in this morning and avoided this shite show that seems to accompany you wherever you go." He continued to drag her along faster than her feet could carry.

"Wherever I go," she seethed. "This little shite show is a direct result of your poor decisions, not mine."

"Yes, and I'm fairly certain we both agreed that it never should have happened."

"I'm talking about the war, you bloody fool! But yes, that also never should have happened."

"Yes, but if you remember correctly, you are the one who suggested we keep this pitiful charade going thereby fueling this blasted media circus we are now unfortunately dwelling in."

"To help you," she all but shouted, yanking him into an alleyway and swiveling to meet him eye to eye. "This has all been to help you!"

Her exasperated expression matched the feelings of a person who hadn't slept and who was currently being forced to argue in a very public place about that which she possessed no control.

"Look Malfoy, no one is holding you to this account of events." She sighed in resignation, peering up to find his equally defeated glower. "So if you'd prefer to call it quits, all you need to do is say the word."

The thought of publicly enduring what was already elevated scrutiny in the wake of the war, alongside a highly-publicized breakup, caused him to bristle.

He let out a harried breath, raking a hand through his platinum fringe. "That's a very tempting offer, but I think you'll agree we'd be hunted far worse if they got a whiff of a split."

Hermione couldn't disagree. When she recalled the media conflagration that erupted in the wake of her and Ron calling it quits, she cringed remembering how she had been unable to leave her flat for nearly a month.

Unquestionably, dodging a couple of over-eager reporters was the much-favored alternative to what would befall them if the Prophet were to dig for dirt on a potential split.

With contemptuous conviction, she inclined her head. "Fine, but if we are to continue this pathetic ruse, then we need to lay down some ground rules."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course- how utterly unsurprising that Hermione Granger needs to establish some ground rules for how others are to behave."

She squared her shoulders, eyes narrowing. "I wouldn't have to if you weren't such an irritable nuisance."

Draco leaned against the alley wall, crossing one leg over the other and casually sliding both hands into the front pockets of his pants. "Do tell, what are the ground rules that are to be in place thereby preventing me from being such an irritable nuisance?" he inquired, smirking.

Hermione inclined her head even further. "First of all, you will stop implying I'm hooking up with Cormac based on the erroneous assumption that he and I are anything more than friends."

When he fixed her with a placating nod, she continued, "And secondly, you will show up to work every day until the case has concluded unless you are otherwise incapacitated, sick, or dead."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a lop-sided grin as he considered her inane demand. "And thirdly, if you have a problem with me that requires discussion, you will speak to me about it directly instead of engaging in subversive avoidance tactics."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Is that all?"

Her mouth set in a hard line. "Should there be more?"

"Well," he said, pushing off the wall to stand upright, "it would seem only fair that if you're to lay down your ground rules, I should be able to present a few of my own."

Hermione's eyebrows rose with incredulity. "And what sort of ground rules could you possibly have for me?" she inquired defensively.

"Well, for starters, you will stop implying that Pansy and I are anything more than childhood friends."

Ignoring the affronted look on her face, he continued, "Secondly, no moving ahead on the case without me. If this is to be a collaborative effort, we should both be following the same trajectory."

She angled her chin up, lips pursing. "And?"

He stepped forward with an air of heavy-handed confidence. "And," he began artfully, "neither of us should see other people while we are trying to pass as a couple."

Hermione felt a peculiar jolt in her stomach at the suggestion but quickly donned a mask of indifference. "And why would either of us agree to that?"

"Because involving other people unwittingly overcomplicates the narrative we're trying to sell," he explained matter-of-factly. "And I think we both can agree that there are very few people we can trust to keep this a secret."

"So if someone were to ask me out, I'm to say no?"

"That's the idea."

"And if by chance a witch were to come onto you, you are saying you'd walk away without a backward glance?" She eyed him skeptically.

His mouth twitched before spreading into a half-smile. "You're a really quick learner, you know that?"

"Just so I'm clear, you're asking me to be fake-exclusive?" she asked, trying to hold back her laughter at the absurdity of it all.

"Just until we have this whole thing sorted," he clarified. "Then you're free to do as you please."

She eyed him with skepticism as she drew her lower lip between her teeth. His eyes dipped down at the motion before abruptly looking away, causing the obnoxious jolt in her stomach to return.

"Fine," she said brusquely. "But like you said, only until this is sorted."

He nodded his head, fighting back a smile. "Yes, until this is sorted."

"Well, if that's settled, I need to be running along to meet up with Ginny."

He held out his arm. "I will walk you to Madam Puddifoot's if you'd still like me to."

She threaded her arm through his. "As long as you don't do anything to give Ginny reason to talk- she's already convinced this is real."

"She said that?" he asked, feeling a well of panic rise in his chest.

"In not so many words."

She suddenly wondered if the admission might be divulging too much about her friend's perceptions.

They made their way along the winding path of High Street, turning down the road leading to Madam Puddifoot's without any additional altercations, which was remarkable considering their unreliable history.

Almost on cue, Hermione noticed Ginny walking toward the storefront, but her just-out-of-focus observation required her to do a double-take as very clearly, someone else accompanied her. And that someone was unmistakably Lavender Brown.

Hermione groaned under her breath. She had fully anticipated being able to enjoy a private tea service with Ginny, discussing the more intimate matters in their lives, but Lavender's presence would prevent that.

The lively blonde was adept at overpowering any conversation with talk of frivolous nonsense like what hair potion resulted in a shimmer befitting both translucent and opaque lighting or which Weird Sister could be trusted to give a manicure blindfolded.

She certainly added a level of entertainment to any occasion, and not to mention a few pained looks between Hermione and Ginny, but with the past week's events in Hermione's life, she recoiled thinking Lavender would be hindering the talk she very much needed to have with Ginny.

"Hello, ladies," Hermione said brightly as they came within earshot. Ginny fixed her with a look that said she most certainly didn't plan on Lavender accompanying her and she was deeply sorry that their plans had been foiled. Immediately following that look, Ginny's eyes snapped over to the imposing wizard hovering next to Hermione.

"Hi, 'Mione. Hello, Malfoy," she said, trying and failing to mask the shit-eating grin spreading across her face. "I just ran into Lavender at the owl post office. Hope you don't mind if she joins us."

"Of course not. Hi, Lavender. What, no Ron today?" Hermione asked, feigning interest to be polite.

She made a pouty face. "No. Won-won's at the Ministry so I had to come to town alone. I tell him he works too much," she simpered, swaying on her feet with the weight of her shopping bags.

"And how about you, Malfoy?" Ginny asked. "What brings you to Hogsmeade?"

"Just running a few errands is all. Granger and I crossed paths at the Apothecary so I decided to walk with her here for your little tea date."

"How very chivalrous of you," Ginny said, narrowing her eyes at Hermione. "So, are you staying to have tea with us then?"

Draco snorted. "As appealing as your little hen-fest sounds, I must be running along. You three enjoy yourselves." He turned to Hermione and placed a swift kiss on her cheek before adding, "I will see you at the office on Monday." And with a curt farewell to the others, he headed in the opposite direction, down High Street and out of view.

Hermione's cheek heated from where his lips had been, causing Ginny to whistle under her breath. "He's got it bad," she whispered to her as they followed Lavender into the cafe.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, hoping her inflamed cheeks didn't give away the effect he had on her.

"He kissed you even though there wasn't a reporter in sight." The keen observation was spoken like a giddy child with a secret as she practically danced up to the hostess counter.

Hermione swallowed hard at the notion but easily brushed it off as an involuntary reflex resulting from his aristocratic upbringing. And she tried not to give the idea a second thought as they were led by the hostess to their table.

The conversation that ensued over their tea date wasn't nearly as taxing as Hermoine had anticipated. It turned out Lavender had an agenda of her own, which was the planning of her and Ron's anniversary party the following week. Hermione never thought she'd appreciate discussing centerpieces and music playlists, but considering the alternative, she felt overwhelmingly grateful.

It surprised her to discover the couple designated their party a plus one, as she expected the guest list would be kept small. But perhaps Lavender recognized the anniversary for the milestone it was, considering the rocky go she and Ron had getting their relationship off the ground, and therefore settled on a larger celebration. She'd briefly wondered who she might ask to accompany her, but instead made a mental note to revisit the topic at a later time.

Hours later, when she had finally returned to her flat, she found herself recapping the rather peculiar day as she unpacked her apothecary purchases and set up her cauldron to brew the Sleeping Draught.

So much of what happened that day left her with more questions than answers. For starters, it was curious to say the very least that the potions order she spoke to Ingrid about originated from an apothecary that stocked the local hospitals, one of which was surely St. Mungo's where Miriam had been employed for many, many years. Regardless of whether or not an employee from St. Sofia's had indeed placed the order, the link seemed a bit too uncanny to not be relevant. She'd relay the new information to Malfoy to see if he had any insight as to a possible connection between the two.

She crushed the potion ingredients into a creamy paste using her pestle, then added two blobs of flobberworm mucus to the cauldron. While the ingredients began to meld together over the glow of a gentle heat, she thought about how she had initially been put off by the unexpected addition of Lavender to her and Ginny's tea date. But now that she had time to consider it, she found herself surprisingly happy she'd accompanied them. Not only did she learn that her little chat with Mrs. Weasley had the desired effect on her and Ron's relationship- according to Lavender, the matriarch thawed significantly to her presence- but she was happy to find out that the pair decided on an agreeable way to celebrate their one-year anniversary- with a formal dinner at Wizarding London's newest chic establishment, The Blue Moon.

As the potion brewed for the required seventy minutes, she sat there filing through her rather short list of possibilities for her plus one. Most people she knew would already be invited, so it made the decision that much more challenging. No matter what name floated to the forefront of her mind as a consideration, her thoughts kept returning to the object of her rather lamentable fascination. Did their recent agreement obligate her to bring him, she wondered. Would he even agree to come if she asked? His volatile history with Ron would likely take him out of the running altogether. After the Howler she received from Ron earlier in the week followed by his manic tirade the very next day in her office, she was certain he'd scoff in her face should she even bring up the matter. He seemed just as convinced as the Prophet that she was under the Imperius curse.

She increased the fire under the cauldron to high heat, just as the brewing instructions required before adding the four sprigs of Valerian. As the Sleeping Draught swirled clockwise for seven full revolutions, her mind couldn't help but travel to Malfoy's suggestion that they decline to date other people. While it made sense from a publicity perspective, she wondered if there was any underlying motivation. What that motivation might be, she wasn't sure. But something fluttered in her stomach even thinking about the possibility of it, so she decided to change the topic in her mind to something else entirely like the precise wave of her wand needed to complete the potion. Once finished, she poured the Sleeping Draught into several empty vials, stoppering and placing them in her stores. With any hope, she'd be granted a good night's sleep for her efforts.

A short while later, as she settled in for the afternoon with a hot cup of tea in one hand and her Perfectly Prepared Potions book in the other, a clamorous pecking rang out from beyond her kitchen window. The only owl she knew to make such a ruckus belonged to Malfoy but he made no mention of being in touch until Monday. She padded over to the window and peered outside as the loud commotion continued, surprised to see the imposing features of the very owl she least expected. Unlatching the window to allow the temperamental creature inside, she stepped back several paces, unsure of what to expect. Their last interaction ended on a bit of a foul note and she wasn't certain if he was the type to seek retribution. She watched carefully as he eyed the collection of jellied pastries within a domed glass container housed on her counter, jumping back as he unexpectedly let out a boisterous hoot that sounded eerily like a wolf's howl.

"My goodness! What's got you so worked up?" She brought her hands forward to smooth down his ruffled feathers, but before she had the chance, another powerful cry issued from his mouth accompanied by what looked to be a claw from its talon pointing in the direction of her pastries.

"Oh, no. I can't feed you." She shook her head frantically from side to side, stepping back from the counter. "The last time you were here, you ate the whole of my kitchen and I never heard the end of it from your owner. You'll have to settle for an owl treat this time."

She surreptitiously slinked past the turbulent beast to hastily grab a morsel from her treat jar, but the creature let out an ear-splitting squawk, the noise foreign to anything she had ever heard from an owl before. Admittedly, the force of it caused fear to well up in her chest. She couldn't imagine Malfoy would own an owl who exhibited violent tendencies, but she wasn't about to take her chances.

"There, now. No need to make a fuss," she said, raising her hands placatingly in front of her chest. "I can maybe spare one small danish if you promise to keep it between us." Her one hand remained extended out in front of her as a flimsy means of self-defense while the other raised the domed lid and plucked a raspberry scone from within.

"Now. We do an even trade. You place the letter on the counter as I reach over and drop this in front of you. On the count of three. One, two- three." She quickly tossed the pasty at his feet just as he unfurled the scroll onto the counter. "Excellent," she commended, swiftly grabbing the letter and walking over to the far end of the kitchen to read it, leaving the demanding brute to devour his sugary treat.

She unrolled the missive, remembering back to the week prior when nearly the same series of events unfolded, only this time she felt a flutter in her stomach of a very different variety reading his words. Well, one word really. In elegant scroll as if carefully brushed across the page, it said Dinner? followed by the initials D.M. If she were alone, she probably would have flushed pink and giggled like a silly schoolgirl, but when she glanced over at the delivery owl, she couldn't help but think her every move was being watched and catalogued. So instead, she reached for her quill and made to jot down her favorable reply but not before discovering a footnote she missed the first go-round.

Do not under any circumstances feed my delivery owl.

"Shite!" she bellowed, looking over to see the manipulative swindler swallowing a mouthful of chocolate muffin left unattended on her glass pedestal. "Oh, Merlin, no! Stop! You tricked me!" She ran across the kitchen to shoo him away, but he merely fixed her with a callous glower before slowly sauntering back to the sill. "Ugh, you naughty boy! Look at the mess you've made!" Grabbing a towel from the rack, she hastily brushed the crumbs and remnants into the sink muttering under her breath something about an untrustworthy scoundrel.

"There," she said when the counter was back to rights and the lid replaced atop the pastry stand. "We will just forget about this little episode. Pretend it never happened- for both our sakes. Now, let me fashion a response and you can be on your way."

She returned to the far end of the kitchen, grabbing her quill and scribbling a hurried, Sure. on the parchment, followed by a When? and Where? before rolling it back up and traipsing over to the window.

"This time when you return, I will be wise to your shenanigans. So don't think you'll be getting by with that again," she scolded, before attaching the letter to his leg and watching him launch himself into the air.

It wasn't long before a response arrived outlining the details of the proposed plan. She was to wear her most comfortable attire for an informal dinner at the Manor at seven o'clock that evening. Scribbling her agreement, Malfoy's owl set off into the distance with her reply, for the first time leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts. She didn't want to look too much into the invitation, but she couldn't help but wonder why he had unexpectedly reached out. Crookshanks eyed her skeptically as she paced the room fluffing pillows and nudging knickknacks into place.

Should she bring her work supplies? Would Pansy be there? Would it be awkward if she was? What if she wasn't and they were alone? This wasn't a date, was it?

The exhaustive questions kept swirling in her head as she excessively cleaned, causing unnecessary anxiety to swell in her chest. Ultimately, for her own inner peace, she decided to not look for anything more than what existed on the surface. Dinner. With Malfoy. At the Manor.

She inhaled a breath that was meant to ease her tension as she made her way into her bedroom.

It would be a non-event she told herself as she put on a pair of black yoga pants and an oversized jumper. Adding a scant few items from the MacNair case to her beaded bag just in case it proved to be a work endeavor, she took one last look in the mirror before sighing and heading toward the Floo.