Draco had made arrangements to work from home, citing Hermione and his "mission" from Voldemort for his inability to go into the Ministry. True, of course, but not quite in the way the Death Eaters interpreted it. The two of them were in Draco's office. Stacks of books surrounded Hermione, researching tethering, Occlumency and pure-blood wedding traditions, while Draco read through whatever and sent off owls. Hermione kept sneaking glances at him, enjoying the quiet affinity between them. And enjoying the way his hair fell over his eyes. And how his shoulders flexed when he ripped up a report in disgust.