Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Draco traipsed outside into the daylight. The sky was a pale shade of silver. Whenever the enthusiastic sunlight caught a glimpse of a hiatus amongst clouds, it left no stone unturned to grope the citizenry of England. Harry held onto Ginny's arm and Apparated to the flat they had bought themselves.

Hermione and Draco felt an eerie atmosphere settle midst them as solace barged in.

"We ought to move now too, Ron." She fitted her palm into his. Draco flinched.

"Where to?" But Granger's snort told him that this wasn't the right thing to stay.

"Honestly, Ronald, you took me to your flat only this morning, and you also told me that we'd be staying there until and unless some metaphor hit the Earth, and I had to correct you, saying that it wasn't metaphor but 'meteor'? Remember?"

"Of course I remember." Draco rolled his eyes. "I was just thinking if we could go the Burrow-"

"Um,no. I'd rather stay at that flat." Hermione tapped her chin carefully.

"Very well. But I'd rather you do the apparition. I'm kinda attached to my limbs, and wouldn't appreciate leaving them behind." Draco didn't know what sort of body Weaselby had, that the muggle-born Granger had had to Apparate him.

Anyways, he didn't want to know.

Hermione grabbed his hand even tighter and they together slipped into the tunnel of transport. Few moments later, Draco found himself standing before a grey apartment with four storeys. The tattered placard read "Enchanted." Draco spat in disgust. Weasley could've done better than this.

"What's wrong?" Hermione peeped into his eyes.

"Nothing." Draco drank his saliva inside. "Just checking if my tongue's still there."

"Oh come on, Weasley!" Hermione gently nudged his hand as she laughed with her eyes closed. Draco simply stared at her flawless skin.

Just as they made their way inside the Apartment, Draco stopped dead in his track. At the front door of the apartment was pinned a cream poster with the huge initials 'WANTED' etched in jet black letters. Under the statement was the picture of a handsome platinum blonde with icy blue orbs and pale, pale skin. Draco Malfoy's moving picture's head shifted slightly to the left, and then jerked to the right. Under his picture was stated. "Death-Eater wanted Dead or Alive."

Hermione seemed to understand the cause behind Draco's halt, and she pursed her lips as she read the notice. Her hand slipped to the picture.

"Why're you so concerned?" Draco asked her, bitterness staining his voice.

"He'd been a worthless git throughout his life that insulted you times plentiful to get hexed, and yet you feel disheartened when you see his name on a Wanted poster?"

"Sure he insulted me plenty of times, Ron but that doesn't mean that I'll enjoy him getting killed!" Hermione stared at his face in horror.

"Draco Malfoy was just a brainwashed kid who didn't know what he was doing. He didn't deserve being murdered or being sent to Azkaban. All of us make mistakes, Ron. His only fault was that he didn't realize them. And to be blamed for this oblivion was the blood-static basis of his upbringing."

Draco smiled. What are you, Hermione Granger?"

But before he could say anything, Hermione unpinned the notice, plucked it from the wall and made a nice fold on it. Then, without any ado, she ripped it along the fold. Draco stared at her, utterly bewildered. Hermione placed the ripped paper onto the muddy ground, shot her wand out and chanted,

"Lacarnum Inflamarae"

The pieces of paper set ablaze, the fire engulfed the papyrus and empowered itself. Hermione held the tip of the scorching paper with her two fingers and buzzed it into the trash.

"Aguamenti."

As smoke liberated off the trash, Hermione whirled about, cocked her head at a very surprised Draco Malfoy, and tugged him inside.

.......................................***.....................................................

As Draco Malfoy stood inside flat no. 65 on the third floor of 'Enchanted Enclaves', only one adjective struggled to escape his mouth.

"Unsubstantial." He finally blurted. "I don't understand how I brought this cheap dungball-"

"Hush" Hermione slipped a finger to his mouth, and Draco instinctively shushed down.

"It's perfectly fine, Ron! We are two people here, and we have two bedrooms, plus one guest room. What else do you need?"

Four bedrooms on each floor of the ten-storeyed edifice, with 2 WCs and one bathroom on each floor, a library, a tennis court, a swimming pool, a Quidditch court, a dining hall on each floor, a parking lot in the basement along with twenty servants on 24 hour duty.

Draco felt homesick now.

"Er, a separate room for Dining and Entertaining guests, perhaps?" He arched an eyebrow. "I don't usually like people eyeing me when I am gobbling down hamburgers."

..........................................***....................................................

Hermione stretched her arms as she slumped on the red sofa.

"Aren't you hungry?" She asked.

Draco considered this. He hadn't had anything appropriate for three days. Provided, he was Weasley now. He'd arouse suspicion if he didn't eat like a wolf.

"Starving." He smiled.

"Of course, Ron." Hermione obliged. "I'll get you something you eat."

"Meanwhile, I'd prefer changing out of these uncomfortable Muggle Apparels." Draco snorted as he tugged at his red sweatshirt.

"Muggle clothing is much more comfortable, Ronald!" He heard Hermione's voice from the kitchen. He didn't want to land up in a debate with her about muggle dressing.

Draco removed his shirt and retired to the restroom. It was a plain 7 feet by 8 feet with a linen curtain obscuring the bathtub, and a toilet on one side with a mirror behind it. He observed his hairy chest and sighed. Had his mother ever seen the mess, she would have disowned him right away. Suddenly, the hair shrunk, his muscles toned, his skin paled and his figure enhanced. Draco stared at the mirror in horror as his red hair slowly transformed into pale blonde. He dug for the vial of polyjuice in his jogging pants and scowled when all he found was a packet of Weasley's hair. He slimed his hair behind as it sweated in anxiety. Where did the vial go?"

He could have kept it in the flap of his sweatshirt. As he rummaged through the laundry basket, searching for his sweatshirt, a weird recollection came to him.

Hermione-Ron, your sweatshirt stinks, and when I stay 'stinks', I literally mean stinks.

Draco (from inside the restroom)-Gee, Hermione. I am a male, and males do stink. And when I mean stink, I mean the literal 'stink'.

Hermione (rolls her eyes) - Not that I didn't know it, but I'm taking this stink hole to the Washing Machine. You okay with it?

Draco- Which macho?

Hermione- Seriously Ronald, had I not been with you, you wouldn't last three days in the Muggle World.

Draco- And would you tell me, as to why would I need to stay three days in the muggle world?

Hermione- Well, let's say Voldemort decides to revive and capture the Wizarding World. We'd be left with the Muggle World only.

Draco-Stop bringing the past into being, Hermione. The Dark-Voldemort wouldn't dare to resurrect-

Hermione- Stop talking about Voldemort, Ron! Out of all the topics in the world, this is where you land?

Draco- Hello, you started talking about him, not me."

Hermione (throws her hands up in the air) - Oh, whatever! Anyways, there's this big, silver box in my Washroom, with a front plate within which clothes are washed. So, as you wanted to get rid of 'uncomfortable' Muggle Clothing, I'll just get it washed.

Draco wraps a towel around his torso and face like a hoodie and tip-toes into Hermione's Wash. It was slightly bigger than his own, and it had the macho in one corner, clothes inside it were swimming in a whirlpool. Draco stared miserably at the clothes as he caught a sight of his red sweatshirt. In a frenzy of anxiety, he held the tip of the plate, and banged it open. Water and clothes spilled onto the washroom floor and made their way to the rooms too. Draco grabbed his wand from the pocket of his joggers, grabbed the sweatshirt and with a flick, sent the other clothes and the water back into the macho. Then, he erected his head to look out for signs of Hermione. However, all he heard were the mellifluous chirps of a female voice, and realised that she probably was listening to some music over that-weird-thingy-they wore-on-the-ears. What was it called? Headphone?

He shook the shirt violently, until the dusty vial plummeted into his hands. He sighed with relief as he sipped the scarlet lib disdainfully. Instantly, his features shrank, his hair burned scarlet and he removed his towel to find Ron Weasley looking into the mirror.

...............................................***..................................................

"Ron, breakfast's ready. My, what are you changing into?"

Hermione removed her apron and arranged the dishes on the table. As she tiredly averted her attention to the man who just stepped into the Dining room, she dropped a teacup onto the carpet as it shattered into three pieces,

Ron Weasley aka Draco Malfoy had his red hair gelled behind. He wore an expensive silver suit with a white shirt and red tie as he marched pompously into the room and shot a 'Reparo' spell at the broken teacup.

"There you go, Granger."

He handed the cup to Hermione and instantly bit it back. He was really going to be his end someday.

Hermione, however, was too fixated on his sudden charm.

"Ron-how-what-suit?" That was all that came out.

Then, she shook her awe off with a jerk of her head, crossed her hands and repeated.

"Well, Weasley, someone just told me that he was going to change out of 'uncomfortable muggle clothing'. Since when do Wizards wear Blackberry Suits?"

"That's exactly what the 'somebody' said Miss Granger, I agree." Draco shook his collar in an irresistibly hot manner.

"And so, Mr. Somebody changed into 'comfortable Muggle clothing.'"

Hermione glared at him as he sat onto the teakwood, cushiony dining chairs.

"Aren't you hungry, Hermione?"

....................................***...................................

"Will you mind passing me another slice of bacon, Hermione?" Draco munched down his toast.

"Um, it's actually in the refrigerator. I'll just go and fetch it-" Hermione began standing up.

"Oh no, I'll get it," Draco stood up. "Just tell me what is the referee-thingy."

Hermione laughed as she expounded the working of the refrigerator, and surprisingly, her gullible boyfriend patiently listened to her. For once.

Draco marched down to the refrigerator in Hermione's neat, little room and pulled the handle towards him. As a draught of chill swept past him, his senses reactivated. He was there for a reason. And it was not pretty much dining with his foe's girlfriend.

As he picked up the packet of frozen bacon, he caught a glimpse of a couple of glass bottles encasing a brown fluid. Its label spelled 'Farigoulette."

"Hermione?" He called out. "What's this 'Farigoulette' fluid in the referee?"

"The russet-hued one? That's the Brandy. Remember, the fruity, alcoholic gooey that Harry had offered you and you drank three bottles of it? And then you were so inebriated you couldn't even side-Apparate, and we had to stay in Teddy's bedroom in their house for the night?

"Yeah," Draco smiled to himself as he quietly sneaked a bottle for himself and slid it within the covers of his bed. Ron Weasley's stupidity was turning golden for him.

"And, you don't like it, Hermione?" He arched an eyebrow as he sat on the dining chair with the bacon.

"I'm actually alcohol-intolerant." Hermione confessed. "I cannot drink it. So, the next time I visited Walmart, it's a muggle shopping store, I bought you two bottles of it."

"Thank you, Hermione." Draco gave her a dazzling smile. I really don't know what could have I done without you.

upp۴#