Backstory: Muggle world, Draco finished his Wizengamot sentencing that had him undergoing 'sensitivity training' by living in the Muggle world without his wand. He discovered one day that Granger lived in the building across the street. They struck up a wary acquaintance.

—

They sat in his flat glaring at one another. She'd been rearranging his books without informing him that she would. He told her she had no right to touch his things. She simply stood there, lip curled and arms akimbo listening - or not - to him pitching an almighty fit about it.

"I live here too, Draco."

He frowned at her.

What?! When had that happened?

The question thumped around in his head. They hadn't spoken about their living arrangements - ever. Draco simply hadn't said anything about her continuous presence in his flat. It had been seven months since he'd given her his key with a request that she keep his plants alive while he went on holiday to visit his estranged parents.

When he returned to the Muggle World, Draco had quite forgotten to ask for his key back. And Granger, stubborn bint, just kept on appearing, telling him he was incapable of taking care of any living thing. At first she appeared once a week, then, a few times a week, each time, bearing food. It was the food that allowed her over the threshold. How was he supposed to say no to food that was freshly made with exquisite ingredients? To turn away food was rude, at least Draco thought so.

One night, she let herself in with the key that he never asked her to give back. He'd sent her a glare at the intrusion, but she was moody, unbearably so. He'd almost kicked her out right then and there. But it was raining and she was blubbering about something that sounded like trouble with her flat. So, he repaid a favor. She was inconsolable and he had no idea what she was on about. He'd simply shrugged and didn't even bother to attempt conversation. Draco just placed a cup of tea at her elbow as she cried, curled up in the corner of his leather sofa. He'd frowned at her from his armchair, saying nothing. He nodded at all her questions without really considering her meaning. Draco couldn't really tell what he'd been agreeing to, he was just focused on the way her tears were running down her face and how her nose had gone sloppy as well as absolutely red.

After that, Granger was in his flat every night after he came home from work, bearing some sort of thing or another from her flat and tucking it away in his extra room. She stayed over, using the spare room, that first night after the crying bout, and every night since. Still he said nothing. They were good additions, after all, and Draco wasn't stupid. He'd managed to convince himself that she was sort of like a live-in elf. It wasn't as if he was paying for the various improvements she made, so he didn't see the harm in allowing her to transform his spare room. It looked… nice. Not that he'd ever tell her that.

Besides, his plants were flourishing. His belly was full. His regular chores were completed. And his shampoo smelled of flowers.

The last was an odd thing. But, still, he said nothing. Why would he complain about improvements to his home? And, anyway, he found that he rather liked the scent of flowers.

Within a few months time, Draco had grown used to their petty squabbles over what sort of wine went with certain dishes. He found himself relishing being contrary with her just to watch her fume. Their discussions were varied and animated. He'd even had to kiss her once, just to shut her up.

It had worked, the kissing thing - better than any charm. So, Draco employed the strategy as often as was necessary… which with Granger- as one might imagine- was quite often.

On another night, after a particularly long argument that had him attempting multiple times to shut her up, Granger discovered his bed. Since she was warm and didn't take up too much space, Draco, being the magnanimous soul he was, let her stay. He'd even allowed her to touch him. It was the least he could do. She was taking rather good care of his plants, after all.

But this book rearranging business? No! Draco had to draw the line somewhere and her touching his tomes without explicit permission was just the line that needed to be drawn.

"Granger," he began, his finger poking the air between them. "Now see here…"

"Draco, you're being unreasonable about this."

"This is my flat. You are just a guest."

"I am not a guest. Would you stop saying that? You're an idiot."

"I am most certainly not an idiot, Granger."

"Yes, you are."

He watched her warily as she approached, a knowing smile played on her lips and he scowled at her.

"What do you think, exactly, is happening here, Draco?"

"I'm letting you take care of my things."

"… Of you. Caring for you."

"No."

"Yes, Draco."

"I do not need to be cared for, Granger."

"Yes, you do. Even if you don't want to admit it. You need me to care."

"Shut it, Granger."

Her irritatingly pretty smile turned into a full blown annoying grin.

"Make me, you insufferable prat."

He frowned at her dare and the unnecessary name calling. He strode over to her and pressed his mouth over hers in a punishing, quietly passionate kiss. When he lifted his head, his heart was pounding and he found he desperately needed a fire whiskey - the whole bottle, preferably. Draco brushed the back of his hand over his mouth, his eyes falling to her well-kissed lips.

"Fine, Granger. Move the bloody books. See if I care."

He rolled his eyes at her as she turned humming, continuing the task of mixing her books with his. Draco leaned against the open archway, watching her as he nursed his firewhiskey. It was important, he discovered, for him to watch her do this - make her home in his.

The buggering thing was that he did care. A great deal.

Not that she'd ever know.

After all, Draco promised himself, he wouldn't say a thing.

dedicated to the0nlygrangerbookworm - thanks for the inspiration!