Hermione rinsed her plates clean and placed them back into their respective drawer after towelling them dry. Her wand lay forgotten on her kitchen table as usual when she does her cooking as well as her washing.

Despite loving magic to hell and back, Hermione still stuck to her old Muggle traditions of doing the laundry, dishwashing, cooking and other house chores by hand. Ron had called her a complicated woman after witnessing all that during a visit.

Yes – after all, what is Hermione if not complicated?

Her life was complicated ever since she was eleven, what with being Harry Potter's best friend, the brain of the Golden Trio, the whole Voldemort business, the one-sided affection for Ron, Obliviate-ing her parents and shipping them to Australia and relocating them after the War, etcetera etcetera – Hermione's life was nothing short of complicated, it seemed.

But she'd come a long way since then. Things didn't work out with Ron, and she now lived in a dainty, humble house in suburban Muggle London and she has a monotonous job at St. Mungo's as a Healer.

She had changed into a boring, dull woman (however, if you asked Ron, he would have said "when was she ever not boring and dull?"). She had nothing to look forward to, save for her job which she loved dearly – she had an enormous responsibility, to save and heal people on a daily basis. It felt good to be needed.

However, she didn't feel the same way when she came home to an empty house every night. There were nights when she would just stare up at the ceiling … hoping, praying, wishing that something would change, that something big would happen to complicate her life once more. She had missed the thrill, the action, the suspense – hell she missed the problems she had to solve with her prodigious brain!

Hermione Jean Granger's life was colourless. The only thing, to her dismay, that she found remotely exciting in her home was whenever she found a crack on the ceiling or a leak in the pipes.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, this is pathetic," she would say.

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"When are you going to get yourself a boyfriend, Hermione, dear?" Molly asked her during their daily Sunday dinner gatherings at The Burrow.
"Not anytime soon, I suppose. I've been really busy with work, did you know that the -" she began, but was cut off by Molly's almost-sympathetic look.
"That's wonderful, dear, but you ought to find someone to share that lovely, big house with you. It's such a shame for you to be staying in such a nice place, all alone."

Hermione inwardly cringed.

"It's really not that bad," she laughed weakly, "But thank you, Molly."

She gave Hermione that look again, akin to pity, before moving into the kitchen to grab some more food. Hermione grabbed her glass and finished her wine in one gulp.

It's really not that bad, she reassured herself.

That night she went back to her house, empty as usual, and sunk into the armchair. She looked around the house fleetingly; it was one-storeyed with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room and her own study … everything was immaculate, in place and corresponded well with each other. She sighed.

This house needs a little bit of life. I miss Crookshanks. At least there was someone waiting for me to come home – even though it was just for food. She let out a huff of laughter. Maybe I should get a puppy after work tomorrow.

She smiled to herself. That sounded like a brilliant idea. At least now, she had something to look forward to. No sooner than she started smiling, she started frowning instead, vaguely remembering the note she got from her superior last Friday before she knocked off work.

Granger,

Take Monday off. Honestly. You work too much. I don't want to see you until Tuesday. That's an order.

Elias

Hermione went to bed that night, trying her best to push out the thoughts of loneliness and miserableness out of her mind. Even her boss didn't want her around!

Her dreams were full of puppies that night, and someone whose face was blurry, grabbing her hand and laughing along with her.

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Groaning audibly, she pointed her wand at her alarm clock and it stopped ringing instantly. She had forgotten to cancel her alarm clock as she was ordered not to go to work that day. Hermione turned to her side and clutched at the empty space next to her. The sheets on the unoccupied side were spick-and-span and untouched, so were the pillow and they radiated nothing but coolness. She unclenched her fist and clenched again, as if reaching out for some phantom warmth, phantom body to wake up to.

Smiling wryly, she got out of bed and tucked her feet into her house slippers before making her side of the bed up.

Her side? Who was she kidding? There were no sides. It was just hers.

She peeked out of the window, the clouds floating gloomily above, looking so dark and heavy that it seemed it would burst even with the slightest touch. Bloody Mondays.

Bloody every day, you mean, the nasty voice in her head reminded her. She shook her head at the thought and reminded herself that she was supposed to get a puppy today. No work means more time to hunt for a puppy. That cheered her up enough to get her to make breakfast and plan for a nice, long shower.

She was soaking in the lukewarm water with extra soapy foam, just the way she liked. Humming to herself, she genuinely relaxed after such a long time. Granted, it was by her choice not other's, but still …

Slowly, her hands trailed down her arms, her sides and her legs – she sighed at the comfort. It's been too long since someone's touched her so intimately, so intricately … too long.

I wish something would just happen.

Just as she was about to fantasize about a certain faceless man kissing her, stroking her face and proclaiming his love for her, she felt something invade her wards. It wasn't light, like when it happened when a cat or any other animals came too close to her residence, but it wasn't heavy or threatening either. She grabbed her wand and waved around, muttering the incantation to determine the magical signature of the being that was currently brushing against her wards outside.

It was unrecognisable. It was not familiar at all. It wasn't Harry nor Ron – though them being stuck outside her wards would be impossible since she had altered the wards to allow them entry. She sat still in the bathtub for a moment before hauling herself up, quickly getting herself into a bathrobe, wrapping her hair in a towel and zipped towards her main door, armed with her wand.

She know she must've looked silly to whoever was outside her door – being dressed in a bathrobe with a towel around her head and feet tucked in house slippers, looking serious with her wand. She knew she looked deceiving at times, but she used that to her advantage, for she could make people hurt something fierce.

Opening the door, she poked her head out warily to find –

A limp body, lying across her front door. The person's face was turned away, but before she inspected the body further, she looked around and checked the surrounding areas of her house for any foreign magic or entity. Nothing. The unmoving body by her feet was the only thing foreign according to her wand.

Certain that there was no impending danger, she kneeled down the body and gasped in shock.

For she caught sight of platinum-blond hair. Though it was mussed and stained with mud here and there, she didn't know many people who had that shade, only one man … long ago during her school years, and that one man was the one she rarely saw, save for during Ministry occasions.

He could have been anywhere, in a crowd of people, or out in the streets – with such noticeable, distinguishable hair, Hermione could never be mistaken … Hermione was rarely mistaken.

When she carefully turned the body so that she was able to see said person's face, she pursed her lips. She was right.

It was Draco Malfoy.

His face was pale, paler than usual – he had purple marks here and there, bruises and cuts on his face and body. He appeared to not be breathing, so Hermione brought her ear close to his marred-clothed chest and listened hard.

Thump … thump … thump … thump …

She let out a breath of relief. So he was alive after all, thank Merlin, save for the swallow breathing. She quickly grabbed her wand and did a quick scan staring from his feet, her Healer instincts kicking in.

A few cuts and bruises, nothing Hermione can't fix – until she reached his head. There was a deep wound at the back of his head. It wasn't bleeding profusely, it was just swollen … most likely caused by a heavy blow to the back of the head, or he was hit by a spell first before falling down hard. Either way, Hermione thought smugly, it wasn't anything she can't fix.

Saving her confusion and curiosity for later, she cast a Lightening Charm on Malfoy before Levitating him into her house. Without further thinking, she Levitated him into her bedroom, knowing that her spare rooms were useless as most of them had no beds and the only guestroom (for Harry or Ron during those drunken nights or when their wives kick them out) was filled with her unfolded laundry.

She gently dropped Malfoy onto the bed, disregarding the stains and blood marks that were caused by Malfoy's battered body and ruined clothes, and quickly got to work.

It took her longer than necessary, because whenever she unfolded any material from Malfoy's body, there were more cuts and bruises – almost as if Malfoy was tortured before getting knocked in the head and sent to Hermione's place after.

Wiping the sweat off her brow, Hermione watched as Malfoy slept on now-clean sheets, cuts and bruises stained with the colour of the healing salve and his head partially wrapped with bandage. She bit her nail nervously.

Why was Malfoy sent here? Who sent him? Who tortured him so mercilessly? And even if Malfoy came here out of his own accord, why did he come here, to Hermione?

Everything was so puzzling, and she couldn't wait for Malfoy to wake up to bombard him with questions.

For now he needed the rest, to heal. She checked that there was water and a Pain Potion at the bedside table before she flicked off the switch and shut the door only partially before making her way to the guestroom.

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Hermione was roused into wakefulness by the sound of a small, short cough. She jolted upright, finding herself in the middle of a laundry-filled bed and the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. Apparently she had fallen asleep in the middle of her clothes-folding. She paid it no mind as she pushed everything over in her haste before rushing over to the master bedroom.

Silver-grey eyes met hers and she stood in the doorway.

Draco Malfoy was seated against the headboard, looking calm and unafraid – not like a person who was just tortured within an inch of his life and found himself in a completely strange place.

Hermione noticed that colour was beginning to come back into his cheeks and lips.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked softly, taking a tentative step towards him – careful not to startle him, lest he … well, he didn't have a wand when he arrived here anyway so Hermione had no idea why she was being careful. Maybe she was wary of the famous Malfoy temper, after all.

"Thirsty," came the cool, terse reply.
"Here," she grabbed the glass on the bedside table and poured him a glass before handing it to him.

He accepted it willingly, muttering a quiet, 'thank you', before drinking like it without stopping for a breath.

Hermione's eyes widened. Malfoy actually said thank you to her, Hermione Granger.

"Better?" she asked.
"Yes, very much," he groaned as he tried sit up more. Hermione moved to help him but she stopped when she caught sight of the charming smile Malfoy sent her way.

Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion. Malfoy sat up fully and watched her with interest.

"I'm sorry, but hello. Do I know you?" Malfoy said, the charming grin still plastered on his face.
Hermione gaped at him.

"Of course you do," she said, offended at the fact that Malfoy has the audacity to play insult-you games at a time like this, after she saved his life! The nerve!

"Really? Merlin, forgive me but for the life of me I cannot recall who you are," Malfoy said, smiling guiltily, before raising his hand to grasp hers and stroke tenderly at the flesh there.
"I … I, uh … I think you fell pretty hard and knocked your head," Hermione said blankly, too shocked by this other side of Malfoy that she never knew existed.

"Is that so? And you took great care of me, I presume?" he asked.
"Yes, I should think I did," Hermione answered.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Malfoy."
"Malfoy? Is that my name?" Malfoy asked curiously, chanting the name repeatedly as if testing the sound on his tongue.
"It's your surname, Draco, really. We don't have time to play games such as these, we need to find out who did all this to you."

Malfoy ignored her and this time, kept chanting 'Draco'.

"Draco," he said with a finality, "I like it."
"Of course you do, it's your own name."
"Funny, I don't remember it, no. Not until you told me that it was," he shook his head and smiled.
"Malfoy, are you playing games?"
"No, not at all. I can't remember anything. You do look very familiar, though. Are you my wife?" Malfoy brought his hand up to her jaw and stroked there instead, ignoring the suddenly slack-jawed Hermione that was spluttering.

"Actually," she began but was cut off by Malfoy, who was still idly stroking her face.
"Is this your room?"
"Yes," Hermione answered, growing more confused by the second.

What the fuck was Malfoy playing at?

"Fantastic," Malfoy said in a husky, seductive voice before snaking his hand behind Hermione's neck and pulling her flush against him on the bed. Before she had any idea what was going on, Malfoy took hold of both sides of her face and pressed his lips against hers.

Hermione's head was ringing with alarms and warning sounds but for the life of her she wasn't able to move away from Malfoy, especially when he was kissing her like that –

One part of her was screaming 'this is Malfoy!' and the other half was just content to surrender her mouth for Malfoy's thorough, thorough perusal.

This was wrong, and weird and also Malfoy but fuck, that was the quite the hottest kisses and feeling she had ever felt in … well, donkey's years, shit.

Hermione's mind was reeling and she was this close to just participating and letting go – kiss now, ask questions later. That sounded good in her head. But just as she was about to follow through with that, Malfoy pulled away and Hermione instinctively followed him for a moment before he chuckled.

"What's your name?" He asked, pressing another chaste kiss onto her lips.

Hermione was about to protest, to tell him to cut the crap and that she wasn't his wife –

"My love, what's your name?" he smiled, running his thumb against her lower lip and she fought the urge to just lick, and before she could answer –

"HERMIONE!" A scandalized voice boomed throughout the room from the doorway.

Both Malfoy and Hermione looked towards to the source of said booming voice, to see Harry Potter standing in the doorway, jaw dropped to the floor and eyes as wide as saucers.

TO BE CONTINUED! Dun dun dun!

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