Reluctant Promises

A/N: Thank you to the people who reviewed the first chapter.  There weren't too many of you, so I want you to know how much I appreciate your encouragement.  In keeping with my promise to never hold a chapter hostage for reviews, I'm continuing with the story, but please let me know if it's worth the effort.  Now that I've disregarded all of my dignity and begged, here's chapter 2!  I hope ya'll enjoy it.  Please read and review!  Thanks!

The instant the discomfort of apparition disappeared, Draco dropped his hold on Granger, who immediately pulled out those same sheets of parchment she had checked at the manor.  Wishing desperately that he had his wand so that he could cast a cleansing charm and get rid of her Mudblood germs, he instead settled for glancing around the room they had landed in.  The bile rose in his throat as he realized that he didn't recognize anything but the cabinets, table, and chairs.  The rest of the items were probably Muggle in nature, but, aside from the furniture, the room didn't look like any dining room he had ever seen.  The floor wasn't wood or stone and the walls were painted yellow except for the tile behind the sink (the only non-furniture that he recognized).

"Okay, so let me take you on a tour of your new house," Granger stated in that annoying know-it-all voice of hers.  "This is the kitchen of course.  The Ministry has provided you with a refrigerator, microwa..."

"This is the kitchen?" he asked with a sneer.  "What kind of plebian eats in the kitchen?"

"You now, for one," Granger answered.

Draco didn't miss the amusement in her voice or on her face, even though she tried to hide it-she was a terrible actress.  The fact that she was finding joy in his misery didn't help with his already dismal mood.

"I will not eat in the kitchen.  I demand a dining room," he insisted.

He may be stuck in this shack, but he didn't have to live like a peasant.

"If you don't want to eat in the kitchen, then there's always the living room," Granger offered, clearly trying not to laugh at him, especially when the expression on his face grew even more horrified at the suggestion.

"I will not eat in the living room," he protested vehemently.

He watched Granger pretend to think and knew that she was messing with him (and enjoying it based on the way she kept biting back a smile). 

"Well, then that only leaves the bedroom and the bathroom, but if you don't even want to eat in the kitchen I can't imagine you'll find either of those options suitable either," she finally said.

He fought back the terror that threatened to overwhelm him.  Four rooms?  She expected him, the Malfoy heir, to live in only four rooms?  What sort of hell was this?  And the bitch was still laughing at him; she had stopped even trying to hide it.

"You can redecorate as long as you do it the Muggle way and pay for it yourself," Granger got out between chuckles, gasping for air and holding a stitch in her side.

He shuddered.  Redecorating was a witch's job, not a wizard's.  And he certainly didn't intend to do anything the Muggle way that wasn't absolutely necessary for his survival.  He shuddered again when he realized that redecorating the Muggle way would probably require manual labor.

"Absolutely not," he declared.  "Malfoys do not perform manual labor."

He ignored the strange look that Granger cast his way (that's right, he had only thought the manual labor part) and glared at her.  Any normal person would take one look at him right now and cower for fear of his retaliation, but not Granger.  No, she just laughed harder at him.  He always knew she was a freak.

"Malfoy, you're such an elitist snob," she accused, laughing so hard she snorted.

It was his turn to smirk at her in amusement.  Granger had snorted and as her cheeks turned pink, he saw that she was embarrassed about it, so he had to point it out.

"Better that than a Mudblood who sounds like a pig when laughing," he pointed out cruelly.

He felt definite satisfaction when the bitch shut up with his words.  She would learn her place over the next year.

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy," she remarked.  "As I was saying before you provided me with proof positive that you desperately need this program, the Ministry has provided several appliances to make the next year as comfortable as possible.  There's a refrigerator, microwave, oven, dishwasher, and blender.  There is also a grill on the patio outside if you want to use it."

Draco had tried his best to ignore her, and, with his back to her, he did manage to ignore the way she was gesturing around the room.  However, he couldn't tune out her irritating voice.  He didn't understand many of the words though.  He had, of course, heard of an oven before even if he'd never used or seen one, but most of it was complete gibberish.  When she mentioned a dish washer, he glanced around the room.  He was happy to hear that he would have at least one servant during his stay.  Perhaps he could influence the dish washer to cook his meals and clean up the rest of the house.  He didn't see anyone else, so he figured that the servant would arrive later that night.  Maybe he would get lucky and she would be a hot witch that he could shag since his hopes for a shaggable guide had been crushed.  Even if she was a Muggle, at least she would be in her proper place: working for him.  Unlike uppity Granger.  Who he just realized was staring at him, clearly expecting some sort of response.

"Whatever, Granger."  He knew that response would be right for anything that Granger had said.  And it would push her buttons because he knew she didn't like being dismissed.

As he had expected, she gave an annoyed huff.  "Fine, Malfoy.  Let me show you the living room.  You're going to love it," she stated with a malicious grin, turning on her heel and striding out of the kitchen.

Dread flooding him because she seemed way too happy, he followed.

"What do you think?" Granger asked, humor in her voice, when he was standing next to her.

Draco stared around the room in renewed horror.  The living room could have been the common room of the bloody Gryffindor house (at least he assumed so, having never actually been in the Gryffindor common room).  The room was half the size of his bedroom back home with a couch, armchair, coffee table, and end table, all situated to face a strange black thing that was sitting in a large wooden cabinet.  There was also a bookcase in one corner that was stuffed with books.  The furniture and the carpet were both a dark red and the wood was a light gold color.  Even the wallpaper was striped in red and gold.  It was one of the most atrocious things he had ever seen, and he had been a Death Eater so that was saying a lot!

"I just love this color," Granger stated, moving away from him and running her fingers lightly along the back of the couch.  "And the light wood really goes nicely with the depth of the red, don't you think?"

Yes, she was definitely enjoying this.  Draco couldn't have that, so he shrugged his shoulders.

"I've never really minded the color red," he admitted drolly.  "It's just an insult to the color to be associated with Gryffindor."

Biting back a smirk at the flash of anger in Granger's bland brown eyes, he felt like he had won this round.

"Then you'll really love your bedroom," she asserted brightly, throwing off his sense of accomplishment.

She led him into a small alcove in one corner of the living room and through the door that stood open there.  He shuddered in disgust.  The colors from the living room had carried into the bedroom.  It was all red and golden wood and an absolute bloody nightmare of a Gryffindor theme.  Draco had been telling the truth when he said that he didn't mind red, but this was too much.  He preferred the overpowering color in sparing doses.  The living room and bedroom looked like they were bleeding out, they were so saturated with the dark shade.  The bedroom was also a disappointment in that it contained a single queen-sized bed (he had a king at home) and a short four drawer dresser in addition to the closet.  He had noticed that none of the rooms contained art work of any sort or draperies, although rather ugly blinds did cover the windows.

Granger didn't comment on the bedroom; she merely led him to the attached bathroom.  Glancing over at her as he assessed the room, he decided that the only reason she wasn't talking was because she was once again fighting laughter.   He hated that she was having so much fun at his expense.  The bathroom was unfortunately done in red and gold tones to match the bedroom.

Draco truly hadn't planned on redecorating the house, but he wasn't expecting to be shipped off to the altar of Gryffindor either.  He was definitely going to have to put his backup plan into place, and he had been hoping to avoid that if at all possible.

He smirked at the thought.  Oh, Granger was just going to love it.

"Come on, Malfoy."

ooooo

Hermione was having more fun than she had thought she would, especially given that she was with Malfoy.  She hadn't expected him to be so unintentionally amusing, but perhaps she should have.  When she had seen the pictures that Harry had included with her instructions upon arrival at the house, she had felt an immediate thrill.  She had been very excited to see Malfoy's response to the fact that his house was decorated in Gryffindor style.  He certainly hadn't disappointed her!  And she knew that as she started laying out the rules for his stay and introducing him to Muggle technology, it was only going to get better.  Looking forward to his reactions, she stifled her laughter and moved to the next item on the agenda.

"Come on, Malfoy."

He looked away from the bathroom, which he had been surveying with distaste, and quirked an eyebrow at her.  Hermione felt a moment of worry at the smirk on his face, but shoved it aside.  When she heard his stomach growl, she hid a grin by turning to lead the way back to the kitchen.  Checking her watch, she saw that it was already well after six.

"While you cook dinner, I'll fill you in on the rest of the rules that the Ministry has set for your stay in the Muggle world," she offered.

They hadn't gone more than two steps when Malfoy nearly growled out, "You expect me to make my own dinner?"

Hermione paused and turned back to him.  She nearly burst into laughter again when she saw the expression on his face-a combination of disgust, disbelief, and fury.  Oh, he really wasn't disappointing her.

"Of course.  That's part of the deal; you learn to take care of yourself," she did grin now, adding in a sing-song voice, "all in the Muggle way."

Hermione's grin grew brighter when Malfoy looked at her as if he wished nothing more than for her to drop dead right there.  She turned around and continued into the kitchen, Malfoy following her.  She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, pulling her instructions from her pocket.  When she noticed that the room was completely still, she glanced up and saw that Malfoy was standing in the doorway, looking surprisingly unsure of himself.  Hermione was completely taken aback to feel a pang of sympathy for the snobby wizard-it had to be difficult to leave everything that he had ever known and try to start a new way of life that he didn't understand.

"What's wrong, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice softer than before.

Perhaps registering the change in her tone, he narrowed his eyes at her.  "Where is the dish washer you mentioned?  I shouldn't have to cook my own dinner if I have a servant."

Just like that, her sympathy disappeared because she couldn't feel any sort of kindness for anyone who used that tone of entitlement.

"What do you mean?  The dishwasher's right there."

She gestured in the direction of the white appliance, tucked under the counter next to the sink.  His gaze followed her hand and he frowned.

"That's the dishwasher?  Then, where is my servant?"

Malfoy sounded confused, and his confusion was stirring up Hermione's.  His servant?  What in the world was he talking about?  She thought over what he had said, and when she put two and two together, began giggling.

"You thought the dish washer was...?" she choked out.  "Oh, Merlin, there is no servant, Malfoy.  It's a dishwasher, one word, not two, as in an appliance that washes dishes."

He appeared less than pleased to find her once again laughing at him.  "Then how am I supposed to feed myself?"

Hermione covered her face to muffle her snort (she really hated that habit, and she had thought she had outgrown it until it started again today).  Once the sound had passed, she dropped her hands. 

"Merlin, Malfoy, you really are helpless, aren't you?  Can you not even make a sandwich for yourself?"

Malfoy crossed his arms defensively.  "I've never had to.  The manor and school both have teams of house-elves and the prison had servants to cook for us."

Hermione rolled her eyes, got up, and moved to the refrigerator.  "This is a refrigerator/icebox combo.  Surely you know what that is?  The wizarding world does have an equivalent to them, although there they are cupboards with permanent cooling and freezing charms placed on them."  She pulled the door to the refrigerator open.  "We keep non-frozen food that still has to stay cool in here to prevent spoilage.  Frozen food is kept in the icebox behind the other door."  She surveyed the contents and was pleased to find that the Ministry had provided ample ingredients.  "Well, come over here and get out what you want for your sandwich."

"I'd prefer something hot," he rebutted obstinately.

"Well, I'd prefer you not burn the kitchen down and as I don't have time to teach you how to use the oven or microwave, you'll just have to settle for a sandwich tonight," she insisted, just as stubbornly.

He glared at her (and, really, did he think she was intimidated?  He had directed that expression at her so often today that it didn't faze her in the least), but he still moved to the refrigerator and piled prepackaged chicken, cheese slices, tomato, lettuce, and mayonnaise into his arms.  He carried all of his ingredients to a section of counter and dropped them, then he looked around in confusion. 

"Bread's in the breadbox," she announced in a bored tone, retaking her seat at the table.  "If you need a knife, there should be one in a drawer and plates in one of the cabinets."

While he rummaged around for the required dishes, she turned back to her instructions.

"Okay, as part of your rehabilitation..." she was cut off by the sound of her mobile ringing.

Snickering when Malfoy jumped, cursed, and dropped the plate he was holding, Hermione pulled the phone out of her pocket and checked the display.  Ignoring the way the blonde wizard was looking wildly around the room, she answered.

ooooo

Draco couldn't believe the indignity he was suffering.  He fumed as he searched through the cabinets and drawers, looking for a knife to use on the tomato and the mayonnaise and a plate for his sandwich.  He was making his own dinner while a Mudblood sat right at the table and ordered him around.  She should have been doing the work, he thought bitterly.  He had just found a plate and was pulling it out of the cabinet when strange loud music burst through the room.

"Fuck!" Draco yelled, startling and dropping the plate. 

As Granger started laughing at him (again), he scanned the room for the source of the noise.  He was shocked when Granger pulled a little silver device out of her robes, flipped part of it up, stopping the music, and held it to her ear.

"Hi, Harry!" she answered in an annoyingly cheery voice.

Draco frowned.  Was that a communication device?

"No, everything's going okay," she said into the object.

Apparently only she could hear who she was speaking to (Potter apparently).  Draco bent down, retrieved the luckily unbroken plate, and set it on the counter.  He had noticed glasses on a different shelf of the same cabinet, so he pulled one of those down too.  He hoped that Muggles drank milk because he thought a glass would go well with his sandwich.  He also took the bread out of a box sitting on the corner of the counter.  While he built the sandwich, using the oddly identical chicken (at least that's what the label on the package said it was), he also listened in on Granger's half of her conversation with Potter.

"No, we've not killed each other; I'm more mature than that."

Draco smirked at that.  Saint Potter was worried about them?

"I know it's late," Granger paused.  "Well, then why didn't he call?  Never mind.  I swear, Harry, I spent all those weeks teaching him how to use his mobile and it was a complete waste of time.  I don't think he's used it once."

Draco's ears perked up at that.  Granger didn't sound happy.

"Fine.  You can owl him that I'll be home as soon as possible."  Another pause, then, "I will be.  Give Luna my love.  Bye."

Draco watched as Granger flipped the lid of the communication device closed, looking thoroughly disgruntled.  It may have been short, but her exchange with Potter had been enlightening. 

During his time in Azkaban, Draco hadn't kept up with the news about the so-called 'Golden Trio'.  Quite frankly, he hadn't wanted to hear about how they were getting everything they ever wanted when he was stuck in prison for two years and looking at one year as a Muggle after release.  So, he knew nothing about their lives after the final battle.  In fact, he had only been assuming that Granger wasn't an Auror because she didn't have the badge on her robes.  Since she hadn't corrected him, he must have been right.

However, that brief conversation had filled in some of the gaps in his knowledge.  Potter was apparently involved with that weird blonde girl from Ravenclaw that had been held in his family's dungeon for several months (his rarely used conscience gave a slight squirm at the thought).  He was surprised to hear that because he had thought that Potter would wind up with the Weaslette.  The most intriguing information was the fact that Granger was clearly living with someone, a pureblood by the sounds of it if she'd had to teach him how to use the little communication box (he thought she'd called it a mobile).  If it had taken her several weeks and the guy still didn't understand how to use it, then it had to be someone really stupid.  Oh, of course, she must be living with Weasley, he mused, pouring himself a glass of milk.

Draco carried his sandwich and milk to the table and took the seat across from Granger.  He watched her for a few moments.  She was frowning down at the silver object, clearly unhappy.  This was just too good to pass up.

"Problems at home?  Weasley not satisfying you?" he asked, smirking.  He also took a surreptitious look at her left hand.  No rings, so the git hadn't proposed yet.

Her face turned blank.  "That is none of your business, Malfoy."

His smirk grew with malicious delight.  "I thought that even a plain Mudblood know-it-all like you would have better taste than Weasley."  He tucked into his sandwich.

Although Granger's face remained bland, she clenched the fist holding up the parchment so tightly that the sheets crumpled on one side.  "Not that it's any of your business, but I love Ron and we're quite happy together.  Now, back to the business at hand," she changed the subject and he let her for now.  "According to the Ministry's rules, all activity must be completed using Muggle methods.  That includes cooking, cleaning, gardening, and redecorating if you choose to do so.  While you are free, and indeed encouraged, to befriend Muggles," Draco sneered here, "you are not to have in-person contact with anyone from the wizarding world.  If you wish to contact anyone within our world, I'd be happy to deliver the letters via owl for you.  By the same token, all letters delivered to you by owl must come through me first.  If your mother wishes to visit, she'll contact me and I'll bring her by for a supervised visit.  These rules are in place to prevent unauthorized magic use via someone else's wand."

Draco watched her stop and take a deep breath.  She had given all of the previous instructions in one breath, and he couldn't help but be impressed by her lung capacity, even if he was less than impressed with her words.

"Now, for the requirement you'll really enjoy," she stated as dread settled over him.  "To ensure that you will mingle with the Muggles around you, the Ministry is forcing you to get a job in the community."

"What?!" Draco exclaimed in rage after he had swallowed his bite.  He had never planned to get a job; why would he when he was an heir with a fortune in gold just sitting in the vaults below Gringotts?  "Malfoys don't work."

"This Malfoy does," she declared, waving her hand in his direction, "as did your mother during her year and as will your father during his.  The Ministry should have the appropriate paperwork prepared for you within the next few days so that you can start applying for a job as soon as your Muggle training is complete."

She paused and Draco knew that she was waiting for him to act like a spoiled brat over the whole job thing again.  He didn't want to give her the satisfaction, so instead he focused on the other part of what she had said.

"What do mean, my Muggle training?"

Clearly relieved that he hadn't argued, she smiled very slightly before answering.  "I'll be here every day for the next several weeks to help you adjust to the Muggle world.  I'll teach you how to use the Muggle inventions in the house, the facts about the world that all Muggles know, and some of the skills that might be valuable, in addition to answering any questions you may have.  For instance, before I show up tomorrow, I'm going to have your gold transferred to Muggle money so that we can go shopping.  You'll need Muggle clothing for the next year; robes simply won't do because Muggles, especially Muggle men, don't wear them.  After we're done shopping, I'll help you learn how to cook and perform other simple chores around the house."

"So the quicker I learn to take care of myself the Muggle way, the less I have to see of you?" he clarified.

Granger nodded.  "Exactly.  So do learn quickly."

Draco was absorbing all of the information she'd given him when he thought of a problem.  "What if an emergency comes up here?  Am I just supposed to sit around and wait for you to visit?"

He watched her eyes focus on something beyond him and he could tell that she was thinking about his questions.

"You're right; that simply won't do.  I'll speak with Harry about it tomorrow.  I'm sure that I can get you a mobile and my number so that you can call if you need anything."  Her big brown eyes refocused on him and he hid his confusion; he hadn't understood all of that (although he did at least have an inkling of what she was talking about).  "That's it.  I'll leave this parchment here for you; it has your new address on it."  She stood up.  "Start thinking of anything you want to know about the Muggle world and whether there are any particular Muggle skills you would like to learn."

Draco took another bite of his sandwich (it was actually quite good, oddly so for something so simple) and watched her push her chair in.  He was glad the infuriating Mudblood was leaving.  Even if she was going home to Weasley.  He shook his head at the thought; for the supposedly brightest witch of their generation, she had horrible taste in men. 

"Goodnight Malfoy.  I'll be back around ten tomorrow morning, so be up and ready to go by then," she requested before turning on the spot and apparating with a soft, almost musical, pop.

Now that she was gone, Malfoy allowed a true smile to cross his lips.  He had some work to do.

ooooo

Harry dropped his mobile on the end table and picked up the white container.  He and Luna had worked up an appetite, so they were camped out on the couch, eating last night's leftover Chinese takeout.

"Do you feel better now that you know she's alive?" Luna asked with a grin, fishing a noodle out of her carton.

Harry sighed.  "I guess."  He ran a hand through his even messier-than-usual hair.  "She's not happy with Ron right now though."

Remembering that he had to send Pig back to Ron with the note that Hermione was fine and would be home soon, he set his food down and grabbed a self-inking quill from the drawer in the end table.  He wrote out his assurance on the back of Ron's note.  It took several minutes to get the parchment attached to the tiny hyper owl, but eventually he managed it.  Pig left through the open window and Harry returned to his seat next to his wife, who had been watching his struggle with Pig calmly.

"Oh, Hermione sends her love," he recalled.

"I know," Luna stated simply, stirring her fork through her container determinedly.  "I think I ate all the beef."

Harry watched his wife for a moment before trading her cartons so that she could have the beef in his.  He always had preferred the noodles anyway.

"How do you know?  Did the Nigglewumpfs tell you that too?" he wondered.  He never could tell what Luna would blame her creatures for.

Her fork, piled with beef, dropped back into her carton.

She laughed.  "Don't be silly, Harry.  The Nigglewumpfs only know the best romantic matches.  I just don't need to be told that I have Hermione's love to know that I do."  She reached over and placed her hand over his heart, her heat sinking through the bare skin of his chest.  "You can feel it here.  Don't you feel it too?"

Harry only understood about half of what Luna said on a good day, and he usually just smiled and nodded because he didn't want to crush her beliefs.  This time, he actually thought about what she had said.  He thought about his wife and their unborn child.  He considered Ron, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys, the closest thing he had to a family outside of the one he was building with Luna.  Finally, his thoughts drifted to Hermione, his best friend and sister in all but blood.  She was going through Malfoy's torture simply because he had asked her to, because it was important to him.  His heart suddenly felt very full, not with his love for her (although that was nearly as immense as his love for Luna, if a different type), but with the sheer joy of knowing how much she must love him to put herself through that just for him.  He couldn't help the large smile that broke across his face.

Luna, who had been watching him, almost seemed to glow.  "You do feel it."

As she removed her hand and turned back to her dinner, Harry couldn't help but think that, yeah, some of what Luna believed and said was pretty ridiculous.  But at other times, she's the smartest woman he knows.

ooooo

"Where have you been?  Why did it take you so long?" Ron's voice rang out from the kitchen when Hermione stepped into their London flat.

Hermione couldn't help the futile hope that flowed through her that maybe Ron had cooked dinner for her, even though she didn't smell anything, and followed his voice into the other room.  When she moved through the door, it was to find him standing in front of the open refrigerator, surveying the contents.  She fought back the disappointment when she realized that there was no food waiting.

"Could you shut the fridge, Ron?  You'll run up the electricity bill," she snapped.

He closed the door and turned to face her.  "Merlin, Mione, what's up your bum?"

Her face contorted in disgust because that was a really awful visual image. 

"Nothing's 'up my bum', Ron," she responded, dropping into a chair at their kitchen table.  "You try spending more than fifteen minutes with Malfoy without being a bit testy afterward."  She laid her head down on her folded arms.

When Ron dropped a kiss on top of her hair, Hermione smiled into her sleeve.  Her smile grew when he began to rub her slumped shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Mione.  How horrible was it?"

She lifted back into a sitting position.  "It started out terribly.  He tried to smuggle a lot of magical items out, and I had to remove them all before we could leave.  It wasn't easy because he's really good at disguising them."  Ron snorted as if he didn't believe that.  "He really is Ron.  He may be a complete prat, but he's not stupid.  Narcissa's really nice though."

"You're kidding, right?" he asked, his hands stilling for a moment.

Hermione smiled.  "Nope.  She really is nice and when Malfoy tried to call me a Mudblood, she scolded him for it."  Ron snickered.  "Yeah, it was pretty funny."

Hermione proceeded to tell Ron all about the tour of the house and Malfoy's response when he learned that he had to cook for himself.  Her boyfriend was very amused by all of this.  For some reason, though, Hermione kept Malfoy's dishwasher mix-up to herself.  She knew that Ron would think it was funny, but she also knew that it was exactly the sort of mix-up that Ron would have made himself, if they owned a dishwasher.  She supposed she just didn't find it sporting for Ron to laugh at Malfoy for a mistake that he would have made too; it would just make Ron a hypocrite.  He may not ever cook voluntarily, but Hermione was fairly sure that he would without complaint if she asked him to, so that story hadn't been off limits though.

"By the time I left, I think we had reached some sort of peace.  We may not like each other, but I'm pretty sure that we can get along well enough to get through the next year without too much hassle," she admitted.

Ron removed his hands from her shoulders.  "What are you talking about, Mione?  You're getting along with the ferret?  I don't like that."

Hermione had turned in her seat to find him pacing angrily behind her.

"What would you have me do, Ron?  I'm stuck with him for the next year, so wouldn't you rather we get along than have me be miserable?"  Hermione couldn't understand why he was so mad.

"Yes, of course I would," he said quickly, although his tone was grudging.  "I just don't want you to get too close to Malfoy.  He's a Death Eater and I don't trust him, especially not with your safety."

Hermione stood up and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend.  Some things never changed.

"I'll be fine, Ron.  I can take care of myself," she reassured him.  "Plus, you can talk to me at any time while I'm with Malfoy."  She pulled back and crossed her arms.  "You just have to use your mobile."

He looked sheepish at the reminder.  "Er, yeah, sorry about that.  But at least you got to talk to Harry, eh?"

Hermione just shook her head.  "Really, Ron, I spent all that time teaching you how to use your mobile and..."

He cut her off, "So, what's for dinner?"

Men...always thinking about their stomachs.  She let the subject of his mobile go and offered, "As late as it is, we can either order in or have something quick, like sandwiches."

Ron wrinkled his nose at the suggestion of sandwiches.  "How about pizza?"

"Sounds good to me.  You order it," she announced, tossing her mobile to him.  "Pepperoni and extra cheese, please."

Hermione ignored his protests and headed for their bedroom.  She was going to change into something more comfortable than her business robes.

The rest of the night passed easily.  Ron got over his ordeal with the phone and spent the rest of the night talking about his job and his partner.  Hermione was happy enough to just sit back and let him talk tonight, because Auror talk was much more interesting than the Quidditch talk that she was usually subjected to.  When his monologue eventually turned in that direction, she decided that it was late enough for her to go to bed and excused herself.

Ten minutes after she climbed under the covers, she heard the doorknob rattle which then turned into a pounding.

"Hey, Hermione, let me in!" Ron shouted through the door.

She sat up in bed and yelled back.  "No!  Maybe next time Harry asks me for a favor, you'll stick up for me!"

"Where am I supposed to sleep?!" came his voice again.

"Try the couch!"

When she heard him cursing as he stomped away, she bit back a grin.  Gotta love those unbreakable locking charms.

ooooo

Several miles away, in Canterbury, Draco stood in the middle of the living room and admired the handiwork.  It had taken all night, but the house was livable now.

Heading to bed, Draco grinned.  He couldn't wait to see Granger's response in the morning.

A/N 2:  Okay, so the Harry/Luna scene wasn't exactly necessary, but so many of my reviewers mentioned that they liked seeing the two of them together that I couldn't resist.  I also hope you enjoyed the insight into Hermione's relationship with Ron and her follow-through on her chapter one promise to herself.  Thanks for reading!