He wasn't given the least bit of warning. One day she was simply there, sitting across from him in the busy canteen, her impossible hair already coming loose from its careful knot.

If he were to kiss her now she would doubtless taste of onions and sugar, her lips butterscotch-sticky and sweet.

Cave Malafides dona ferentes. Was that right? Beware of Malfoys bearing gifts... It was an easy rule to remember, so how had Hermione allowed herself to end up going home with such an unexpected new find? EWE.

Hermione would never have been able to replace Crookshanks. Thankfully, it seemed she wouldn't need to.

The Department of Mysteries has its own set of entrance criteria, but as Hermione is about to discover, it's not slaying a dragon. It's not even wrestling a troll. It's something far, far worse.

All she wanted was half an hour's escapism. Still, Hermione should have known that a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product would come with side effects.

Ah, chocolate.

Everyone had a story. Most people couldn't wait to tell you theirs. You just had to act as if you weren't really listening.

She needed this. Hell, her career needed this.

Odd, really, that a man so darkly experienced could prove to be so very innocent.

She'll be there when he wakes up.