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Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

January, 2006

"You fucking CUNT! You are no longer my brother!"

A fury of red hair hurtling through the floo. A fist. A burst of blood.

"Fuck, Ginny! My nose!" Ron crouched over. Red drops hitting the floor.

"Gin, for fuck's sake. Calm down!" Another voice. A pair of arms, reaching past Ron to Hermione, who burrowed into them and let herself be held.

"Harry," she said brokenly, more a whisper than a word.

"Can you go and pack her bag?" Harry spoke over her head to Ginny, who had started ranting.

"An eighteen-year-old from the secretarial pool? Could you be any more predictable and vile? Although, I don't know why I'm bloody surprised! Does she adore you? Does she look up at you with big, cow eyes and agree with every bloody word you say?"

Ron was yelling back. "Fuck, OFF, Ginny! You have no idea! No clue how it's been."

"Oh boo-hoo. Poor Wonikins, so hard to ride everyone's coattails that he had to find his own number one fan to suck his stupid, tiny, limp COCK!"

"FUCK! YOU!"

Hermione turned her face to Harry's shoulder and put her hands over her ears.

"Gin! The bag! Now!" Harry, urgent.

"OK, OK." Hermione heard Ginny move off, a fist hit the wall. But Ron was still bloody there. Hermione could feel the current between him and Harry, raw and electric as a severed powerline.

"We were unhappy, you know this!" It burst out of Ron thickly, through blood and snot. Hermione glanced over—he hadn't even spelled his nose, blood was still flowing down his shirt.

"Mate, you couldn't have just talked? To her? Or even to me?" Harry was vibrating with rage.

"How? You know how she is! I never had a chance!" Ron was crying now. Big, messy sobs.

Hermione turned in Harry's embrace to face him, disgust rolling over her in a warm wave.

Fucking cunt. Ginny was right.

"You've always been so bloody selfish, Ron." Harry's hands tightened on her arms and he sounded cold now. Matter of fact. "And it's finally ruined everything."

"I had no choice! She— she—!"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not fucking here!" Hermione hurled it, spitting, at Ron's head. "You're the one who cheated!"

"Exactly." Ginny had joined them again. "I have the bag. Let's get the fuck out of here."

Hermione began crying, feeling like she would never stop. "Crookshanks," she managed to say.

"We've got him," Harry murmured. "Let's go."

Chapter Text

April, 2006

"Do you know, I like the green? Especially in the lamplight." Ginny speared a potato from a dish of curry and gazed around the empty space.

"I think you're right. It's turning really nice as it dries." Hermione took a satisfied look around herself.

"Fresh. Minty!" Ginny said.

"Like muggle toothpaste."

"If the shoe fits." Ginny grinned and picked up her wine. "Although I don't know about this box as a coffee table."

Hermione laughed. They were sitting on the floor, their takeaway meal rather precariously balanced on an upturned carton that had until recently held a selection of Hermione's magical history books. "I'm going furniture shopping this weekend."

"You really didn't want anything from the old flat?"

"No."

Ginny nodded. "Lucky for them—they need all of it."

"Right, isn't she moving out of her parents' place?"

"Yup. From the frying pan into George's basement." Ginny snorted.

Hermione shook her head. "Well, I don't need much."

"Right, you have the essentials. Mattress, lamp, kettle."

"Bookshelf. Books."

"Cat." Ginny looked down at Crookshanks, who was butting his head against her knee. She shared a piece of chicken with him. "Careful Crooks, that's spicy." The cat stared at her in a challenging way as he gulped it down. "I swear he can understand me."

"Oh, he can." Hermione sipped her wine and looked at Crookshanks fondly. He meowed and strolled over to flop down next to her.

"So, the painting is done and the furniture is dialed in," Ginny said, looking up at the flat's high ceiling and out its large, rounded windows. "It really is a nice place. Good-sized rooms. Close to the apparition point."

Hermione nodded, her mouth full. The flat was lovely and in her budget—she'd been lucky to find it.

"I still want to bloody kill him, though." Ginny took a large gulp of wine.

"Don't bother on my account." Hermione swallowed. "I mean, it was awful the way it happened—"

"Understatement!" Ginny blared. "Bloody coward!"

"Agreed. Even if ultimately he was right. We were really unhappy."

Ginny made an angry noise. "And whose fault was that?"

Hermione set down her fork, her fingers drifting to Crookshanks' soft belly. "Both of ours," she said quietly. "But we would have kept on out of habit. And not wanting to rock the boat."

"The big, fucking Potter-Weasley-Granger boat."

"Quite the barque." Hermione started eating again. "And that's a completely bonkers way to live your life. So part of me is almost grateful that Ron jolted us out of it, even if his methods were deplorable."

"Yes, but aren't you angry? I'm still so bloody pissed-off at him!"

"I am, yes," Hermione nodded vigorously. "Angry and sad. And just exasperated! Because it didn't have to be this way. I mean, of course it would have been painful, no matter what. But it didn't have to be this, this rent in the very fabric of our—" Hermione took a steadying breath. "Or maybe it did. I don't know. Have he and Harry talked yet?"

"No."

"Shit."

"Whatever. Harry doesn't need—" Ginny looked away.

"He does. They need each other. They have to work it out. I'll talk to Harry."

"Fucking Ron! You shouldn't have to."

"It's been my role since I was eleven years old, Gin."

Ginny growled and Crookshanks swiveled his lantern-like yellow eyes in her direction. "You get me," she said, pointing her fork at the cat.

"Look, I'm out of the sobbing-on-the-floor phase and on to flat-furnishing. It's progress," Hermione said. "Got to keep moving forward."

"I know. But are you sure you're going to be OK alone? I'll miss you. Harry will miss you."

Hermione looked around her freshly-painted little sitting room and felt a tendril of excitement unfurl at the idea of arranging it, just the way she'd like. Her books and her things.

"I'll be fine," she said. "But I'll miss you too. I couldn't have survived the last three months without you. And Harry."

Ginny smiled, a little sadly.

"And I'm not alone!" Hermione reached over to scratch Crookshanks' ears. "I have this fuzzy little man. And you and Harry and Neville and Penelope. Charlie's moving back."

"I'm so excited about that!" Ginny squealed. "Even though I'm sorry the sanctuary is closing."

"I know. It was such a lovely place. I adored my time there."

"It's really too bad Charlie's gay," Ginny mused, putting her chin in her hand.

"Ginevra!"

"I don't mean it that way! Fuck's sake! You two just would have been great together. Much better match than— You know, both being creature-mad, and all."

"We are a good match. As friends and colleagues."

"Has he contacted you about a job in your department yet?"

"Not yet, but there isn't much right now. And I worry he's going to be overqualified for everything we do have."

"Something is better than nothing."

"True."

They ate in silence for a while, the sky outside the windows darkening. Hermione felt a little shiver at the idea of being alone here tonight. She hadn't lived alone in, well, ever. Did she even know how? She guessed she'd find out.

"Oh, and mum wanted me to tell you specifically that you're always welcome at the Burrow. For any Weasley gathering. Holidays, Sunday lunch, anything." Ginny held up a finger. "You're one of the family no matter what that…idiot decided to do. I think at least fifty percent of us like you better than him anyway."

Hermione laughed. "Ginny!"

"It's true. Charlie and me for sure. And mum and dad don't count because they have to love him."

"So I've got to work on Bill, Percy and George?"

"No, they're a fair way into your camp too." Ginny grinned.

"Now, now, I don't want to tear families apart," Hermione chuckled. "And it might be a while before I— especially if they're—"

"I know," Ginny said. "And everyone understands. But maybe someday."

"Maybe someday." Hermione dug her fingers into Crookshanks' soft fur. He lolled on his side and began purring.

"It is rather cosy in here," Ginny admitted, looking at the cat. "Especially once you get all your books unboxed and Nev brings some plants round."

"He's such an optimist when it comes to plants and me."

"Eternal." Ginny laughed and ate another potato, then picked up her glass of wine. "Well, here's to the first day of the rest of your life," she said.

Hermione took a deep breath and touched her glass to Ginny's. "Cheers."

Chapter Text

September, 2006

"That one really kicked my arse!" Penelope Clearwater brushed back the blonde hair wisping around her flushed face as she and Hermione exited the muggle kickboxing studio.

"I know. The new instructor is brutal." Hermione swept her own falling-down bun into a tighter roll. "But I love the way it makes me feel."

"Kind of boneless, but charged up?"

"Exactly. Exhausted and yet like I could do anything!" Hermione flexed a muscle. "Do you want to have a quick dinner? Or do you have another hot date?" They crossed the street and hopped up on the kerb, crowds of post-work Londoners swirling around them.

"One date with Mr. Zabini in a week is about all I can do right now," Penelope laughed. "And I'd love to get something fast and sloppy. I'm starved."

"Why only one date?" Hermione looked swiftly at her friend and co-worker. "And how about kebabs?"

"Yes, excellent. That place just up the road with the good sauce?" Pen nodded excitedly. "And uhh, I guess my constitution, not to mention my wardrobe, can't support being whisked off to a three-star restaurant in Paris more than once every…sevenish days?"

"He took you to Paris for your first date?"

"On a random Thursday. International portkey."

"Wow. That's a bit—"

"Much? I know. Slytherins." Pen shook her head as they pushed through the doors of a dingy little shop with enormous cylinders of meat rotating behind a high counter. She inhaled deeply and appreciatively. "But I get to plan the next one. Maybe I'll bring him here." She gave a wicked smile as she called hello to the owner, Rahim.

"He'd probably combust." Hermione pictured the cool, gorgeous face and fastidious person of Blaise Zabini with a laugh. He and Pen had met when he'd stumbled across one of their Magical Creatures open houses for the Ministry Children's Outreach Program. He'd been in the building for something entirely different, but had happened to look in just as Penelope was introducing a colony of Bowtruckles to a throng of eager ten-year-olds. It said something for Pen's beauty and vitality that instead of hurrying by with a disgusted sniff, Blaise had walked in, watched the whole thing, then asked her out directly afterward.

It had taken a few coffees and not-so-chance meetings before she'd said yes, but here they were.

"Do you want to go out with him again?" Hermione accepted her order slip from Rahim with thanks. "I mean, did you, er, have a good time?"

"Very good." Something in Penelope's tone made Hermione whip around to look at her.

"Did you—? Um—" Hermione grimaced and wiggled her brows.

"Are you asking if we had sex?" Penelope made a rude gesture with her hands.

Hermione lunged to cover them, darting a look at Rahim, whose back was thankfully turned. "No! My god!" She looked at Penelope for a few seconds, but Pen just smiled. "I mean, it was your first real date." Pen kept smiling and Hermione gasped, "Or did you?"

Pen raised her dark, expressive brows. "He did take me to Paris for dinner. Had to show my appreciation somehow."

"Penelope!" Hermione smacked her.

"It's so easy to get a rise out of you!" Pen crowed.

"So you didn't. Er, have sex." Hermione spoke out of the side of her mouth as they stepped back out into the street, warm bundles of meat and bread in their hands.

"No, we totally did. Bloody fantastic. That's why I'm on board with date two!"

"Oh my god."

"You know what they say about Slytherins…?" Penelope leered. "In my experience? Totally true."

"I don't know what they say, thank you."

"'Big wallets, big cocks?' Never heard that one?" Penelope ducked as Hermione directed another smack at her. "Oh that's right, you were with a two minute wonder, a.k.a., "a Gryffindor," for the better part of a decade."

"True." Hermione grimaced. Sex had been rather a dull spot for Ron and her.

"We really need to get you a shag," Pen declared, biting into her kebab and leaning over so its juice wouldn't run down her front. "A good shag. Are you at all ready to get out there? It's been what, eight months?"

"Almost nine. And I don't know." Hermione attacked her food too. "I was thinking I'd focus on the work thing first," she said through a huge mouthful.

"Oh that's right, leaving me for the Department of Mysteries." Penelope screwed up her features into a fake crying face.

"Look, you love Magical Creatures and it's perfect for you, but I've always—"

"Seen it as a stepping stone to something else, I know," Pen said. "And I'm all in favour. You're not going to make Minister of Magic in fifteen years by rehoming Graphorns."

"No, although I've really loved my time at Creatures. Crafting the Centaur legislation, the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary residency, and yes, even the Graphorn rehoming project."

"Getting to know me…"

"Obviously. The most important thing." Hermione nudged Penelope's shoulder. She'd never forget the first day she'd walked into the Magical Creatures offices, excited but a little uncertain about the choice to start her career there, and been greeted by Penelope's welcoming smile. Of course she'd remembered Penelope Clearwater from Hogwarts and her brief relationship with Percy Weasley, ("my youthful mistake," Pen had quipped when Hermione brought it up) but hadn't really known her beyond that and the fact that she'd been a Ravenclaw Prefect. But Pen, a few years senior and a rising star in the department, had immediately taken Hermione under her wing to become her guide and mentor, and very soon after that, her friend.

"You'd better say that." Pen grumbled, but then winked. Hermione laughed as they turned off the Strand and onto a smaller lane, their steps slowing. It was a beautiful evening, the last vestiges of summer lingering in the warmth of the air and mellow sun gilding the facades that rose on either side of the cobbled street.

"And I really don't want to go the DMLE route." Hermione picked up the thread of her earlier thoughts. She still had trouble with the idea of being in the same building as Ron, let alone the same department.

"Right. No thanks. What is it you need to do to make the move to the Department of Mysteries? There was a test, wasn't there?"

"Yes, the Duelling Certificate Exam. You have to be a Level Eight or above to be considered for an Unspeakable position."

"Why?" Pen balled up her kebab wrapper and threw it in a bin. "Mysteries seems like mind stuff, not attack and defence."

"The work is so secret and sensitive that each member has to be able to protect the department from invasion and theft. It can be rather intense," Hermione said, remembering her own childhood experiences.

"Ah, OK. And what level are you now?"

"Five."

"Is it hard to jump three levels?"

"Ron used to say it was—especially for a 'weaker dueller' like me."

"Oh, fuck him. That was the one thing he could hold over you."

"I know. And I let him have it—especially those last few years."

Penelope shook her head. They were almost at the border of Diagon now, where Pen would go one one way to her flat and Hermione the other. They stopped just outside the magical side.

"So how do you do it?" Pen asked. "Get ready for the exam? Can Harry help you?"

"The DMLE offers a class. Harry's co-worker Belinda Rowle teaches it and she's really good. He thinks I'll have no problem under her. And I've met and like her. She's no-nonsense." Hermione thought of the grey-haired Senior Auror who worked in the department's anti-smuggling arm. She'd seen Hermione in the Ministry atrium soon after the split with Ron, taken her aside and told her she was going to be 'better than fine,' on a day when Hermione had really needed to hear it.

"Well, you should absolutely do it," Pen said. "Something just for yourself." She gave Hermione a sweet smile. "Even though I'll miss you terribly."

"Ohh." Hermione put a hand on Pen's arm. "I'll miss you too. But we'll only be three floors apart. And we'll still have lunch, and pub trivia, and antique fair days, and film nights and kickboxing and…everything!" Hermione spoke encouragingly, but felt more than a little ache at the thought of no longer sharing an office with Penelope and not seeing her every day.

"I know," Pen said. "I do know all that. But I just love working with you. And you've brought so much to the department. We've been lucky to have you." Her eyes were shiny as she spoke. "It's time, though." She sniffed and grabbed Hermione's arm, tucking it under her own. "So when does this class start?"

"This Thursday night."

"Well, you'd better sign up tomorrow, then!"

Hermione stopped walking. "You know what? I'm going to. I'll do it first thing in the morning."

"Good on you!" Penelope squeezed Hermione close. "You've had your time to shelter and heal. Now you can start getting out there!"

"Right," Hermione said as they began walking again, passing into magical London with a faint pop and shimmer. "And once I figure out work, maybe I'll be ready to paddle around the dating pool."

"Well, I'd recommend starting with a Slytherin," Penelope said sagely. "For the cock, you know."

Hermione smacked her one last time, but she was laughing as they parted ways.

Chapter Text

CLASS #1

Hermione approached the Ministry's educational annex off Diagon Alley with a sense of purpose, of optimism, that she hadn't felt in a long time. True to her word to Penelope, she'd signed up for the duelling class first thing yesterday. Gotten the last spot too—a relief since the next class wouldn't be offered until the new year and she wanted to be applying for Unspeakable positions by then.

She shivered with excitement. It was a beautiful Autumn evening, the first really cool one of the season, and she was going to learn something new.

Change things.

Break out of the rut she'd been in for so long.

She sighed; she didn't quite know how she'd gotten into the rut in the first place. It had worn in so gradually over the years. She supposed it had something to do with needing safety and comfort after the losses of the war. And then prioritising equilibrium until her ambitions and goals—even love—had faded in favour of maintaining the fragile balance of ego, friendship and family.

She'd been so afraid of losing the only life she knew that she'd barely recognised herself when it blew apart.

And even though she'd forever carry hurt and anger over how it had happened—Ron's cowardice and ability to carelessly wound really were unmatched—she knew it was good that it had.

For the best.

And she was clawing back now. One day at a time. Remembering who she was. With her lovely little flat and the peace she found there. Her friendships and her work. And now this class and everything it stood for.

She was ready. For something.

Hermione clutched her bag close, craning her neck down the small curving street and searching for the exact building. London was really showing off tonight—somehow both crisp and cosy at the same time. There was a mist curling around the street lamps and warm light glowing from paned shop windows. A handful of deeply-coloured leaves dotted the pavement and Hermione gave a joyful little skip around them before stopping in front of a large, white edifice.

Number 65 Gryphon Crescent; this was definitely it.

She ran lightly up the stairs and pulled at the door, a flutter in her chest as a blast of wood polish and industrial cleaner hit her nostrils, signalling "school" to her brain as clearly as a struck bell.

She took a moment to breathe deeply; this she loved, this she understood.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim foyer, revealing an endearing mishmash of cork boards with fluttering notices, scarred old tables, and piles of faded flyers for things like magical quilting circles or accounting charms seminars. A set of stairs vaulted into the building's shadowy upper regions next to an ancient lift. Hermione's classroom (Room 22) had to be several floors up, but the lift was emitting such strange noises that she started for the stairs, glad by about floor five for her comfortable trainers.

When she finally reached floor eleven she stopped, catching her breath and reading the directory. It told her Room 22, aka "Gymnasium B" was on this floor. A gymnasium, hmm? Hermione looked down at her stretchy leggings and zip-up sweatshirt with satisfaction—she'd thought this class might involve some movement. She squeaked down the polished tile hallway until she reached the end and a large wooden door.

Turning its silver knob with a final burst of anticipation, she stepped into a high-ceilinged space framed on one side by a row of windows and the other by large mirrors. With neat rows of desks in the front and a large open area in the back, the room gave an impression of sparse utility, although the views of the nighttime city through the windows also gave it an aerie-like beauty.

Hermione was, of course, early, and only a few of the desks were already taken. Their occupants turned at her entrance and she gave them a quick nod, then sank into a prime seat near the windows, where she regarded the empty teacher's desk (a massive thing squatting in front of an old-fashioned blackboard) with some surprise. She'd expected Belinda Rowle to be the half-hour early type, so her surprise grew as the minutes ticked on and the instructor still didn't materialise.

After another ten minutes, nearly all the students had trickled in; every desk but one had been taken by a motley assortment of individuals. Hermione guessed they ranged in age from late teens to early sixties, some looking like they'd just come from an office job at the ministry and others from more casual settings. One couple, who'd walked in together, was very hip with matching black hair, tattoos and nose rings. They'd said a cordial hello as they'd chosen seats near Hermione and she'd been surprised to hear American accents.

She looked around covertly, wondering why everyone was here and how many of them were taking the exam. There had to be at least a few others; the DMLE recommended this class as a prerequisite. But of course people took duelling courses for many reasons—self-protection and general skill-building, even for fun...

She glanced at the large institutional clock above the blackboard. One minute until class time. Where in the world was Belinda? Had a cargo of illicit potions ingredients or a clutch of black market dragon eggs been discovered at the border this afternoon?

Just then the door jerked open and Hermione swivelled with everyone else to see a book and some quills fall to the floor. A sandy-haired man followed, crouching with a muffled curse as he grabbed at the book, somehow managing to get tangled in his robes. He straightened after a moment, glasses fogged, giving everyone an embarrassed wave and looking nervously at the front of the classroom. He relaxed in obvious relief when he saw the teacher's desk was empty, and Hermione realised with a jolt that she recognised him. It was Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw in her year. He'd been a stalwart D.A. member, but she'd lost track of him since school. She thought he worked for Gringotts, or maybe it was Philpotts the Potioners? She gave him a quick smile as he walked by. He started but then responded with a softly surprised, "Hi, Hermione," and took the seat in front of her.

Silence fell in the room again until Anthony started rummaging in his bag.

"No instructor yet, eh?" he whispered in Hermione's direction, producing an odd assortment of items from the interior of a worn canvas satchel: an apple, a protractor, a crumpled newspaper, a tea cup, a ball of yarn and finally a long, spindly wand. "Aha!" he said, holding it up in triumph, then stuffing everything else back in.

Hermione blinked. "Not yet," she said, looking at the clock again, a frown pulling her brows together. It was really unlike Belinda to leave it to the last—

But just as the minute hand clicked over to the hour, the doorknob twisted and another figure slipped into the room with a smoothness somehow emphasised by Anthony's earlier fumbling.

He was tall and a bit windblown. Impeccably dressed. Hermione had a general impression of fine wool, crisp cuffs and polished leather, and then a more specific one of the most beautiful grey coat—highlighting his shoulders and skimming to just the right place on his knife-creased trousers as he pivoted gracefully, no elegantly, away from the door.

He was smiling slightly. His movements were precise and confident. He was wearing the softest-looking gloves.

He was not Belinda Rowle.

He was Draco bloody Malfoy.

"Hiya." He waved as he strode to the teacher's desk (Hermione's brain in a sort of free-fall built of disbelief, 'what the fuck', and something very akin to a toddler crossing their arms and saying, "Nuh-UH" to a spoonful of peas). "Sorry to be," he squinted at the clock. "Almost late." He was pulling off the gloves, then unbuttoning the coat and Hermione's eyes tore themselves from his very good hair to his long fingers, which worked slowly, patiently, on the glossy buttons. "There's obviously been a slight change-up. Auror Rowle got hexed while in the field today—nothing serious and she'll recover without any permanent damage, but not in time to teach this class." He shook his head once. "And I've just come off of assignment in France with nothing pressing to do. So you're stuck with" —he bowed— "yours truly." He'd gotten the coat undone and slung it, along with his (muggle!) suit jacket, casually across the chair. A slim brown briefcase followed before he turned and leaned against the desk to face the class, long legs crossed at the ankle.

He was wearing a leather wand holster over his fine, white shirt.

"For those who don't know, I'm Draco Malfoy. For those who do, I'll give you thirty seconds to get any Death Eater scum comments out of the way before we get started." His drawl was belied by the gleam of defensiveness in his grey eyes, though he was obviously trying to undercut it all with an easy smile.

A ripple of nervous laughter went through the class, though the Americans looked confused. Malfoy did a precursory glance around the room, his gaze alighting with some surprise on Anthony.

"Goldstein, hi. Long time no see." Malfoy leaned forward from his desk to shake Anthony's hand and Hermione was seized by a mighty dread. She'd been sort of scrunched down, hiding behind Anthony and her own hair, wondering how bad it would be to just apparate on the spot. But now Malfoy was going to see her. And somehow the fact that she was in pilled yoga leggings and her C&CMC Field Team Meeting 1999 t-shirt ("Eyes on the Demiguise!") after that coat was what bubbled through her addled brain first.

Nevermind the childhood bullying and the bigotry and the opposite sides of the war stuff.

That was all behind him—them—anyway. Malfoy had publicly renounced his pureblood beliefs years ago, when his testimony had put several Death Eaters in Azkaban. He'd been at the DMLE for half a decade, even working cases with Harry sometimes. And about seven years ago Hermione had received a note, on the most gorgeous paper, apologising for his behaviour during their Hogwarts days.

But she'd never actually been around him since school. Never spoken to him. Never been nearer to him than across a large, crowded room at a Ministry all-hands.

Mostly because no amount of water under the bridge was ever going to make Ron hate him any less, and to a lesser degree because since about sixth year or so Hermione had found him distressingly, shamefully—

"Granger?"

He was craning his neck around Anthony and Hermione flinched, then scrunched even further down, turtling her shoulders as if she could will herself to sink into the floor and melt away, never to be seen again.

Malfoy looked almost sheepish. "Didn't, ah, see you there." He straightened and stepped to the side so he had a clear view of her. "Why do you need a duelling class?"

He was frowning and Hermione noticed he hadn't made any moves to shake her bloody hand.

She guessed old habits died hard.

"Exam," she said tersely.

"Ah, of course." His eyes rested on hers a moment. Hermione felt a strong urge to cross her arms over her stupid t-shirt, but refrained. She saw his gaze dip down to it, though. She scowled and his expression, which had grown almost amused, shuttered into something quite cold.

"That, ah, actually leads me to our introductory activity for this evening," he said, turning his back on Hermione and moving to the front of the room. "I'd like each of you to tell me a little about yourself and why you're taking the class. What you hope to get out of it, etcetera. That will help me tailor my lesson plans and the pace." He reached toward the briefcase and snapped it open, withdrawing a leather notebook and a sleek quill. "I'll go first." His cool look gave way to a disarming smile and Hermione saw several people smile back. The tattooed American woman actually put her chin in her hand and gazed at him.

Hermione mostly tuned out during his little introduction, though. She knew it all anyway: his surprising acceptance to the DMLE academy after the post-war trials, his ascent through departmental ranks to Senior Auror, his lauded undercover and field work, even his marriage and subsequent divorce (not that he was talking about that tonight). It wasn't like she'd been following Draco Malfoy's life and career, but he was hard to avoid. The Daily Prophet loved him; he was an irresistible reformed bad boy and a regular in its social pages, often with a beautiful witch at his side (and rarely the same one). It also didn't hurt that he was fantastically rich since Lucius Malfoy had died directly after the war. Not that he flaunted his wealth, other than some charitable doings and the fact that Hermione bet those glossy chestnut-brown Oxfords he was wearing cost more than her entire outfit—including her bag, which had been a splurge.

Hermione felt an acute stab of self-consciousness that turned quickly into anger and frustration. This was bollocks. How was she going to take a class from Draco bloody Malfoy? She wouldn't be able to concentrate or learn. Plus there was the question of whether he could actually teach. Being decent in the field didn't mean one could effectively convey knowledge, and Hermione had her doubts.

Why couldn't it have just been Belinda? Practical, no-nonsense, non-unsettling Belinda?

A powerful urge to get up and leave gathered in Hermione's body and she tensed to stand out of her chair. Better to skip the class and wait until next year rather than muddle through, then fail the exam anyway.

But then she slumped back down. It would be so awkward to leave and Harry would be annoyed with her. He and Malfoy were in the same Major Crimes unit at the DMLE. They had to work cases together and see each other in the office and such.

She darted a quick glance at the door as Anthony, who had started the student introductions off, fumbled to a close—something meandering that boiled down to duelling being a requirement for certain curse-breaking positions at Gringotts.

Malfoy was nodding and thanking him and then he was looking past Anthony to Hermione, and just like that, she'd missed her chance to scuttle away.

"Granger. Er, Ms. Granger?" Malfoy's mouth quirked the slightest bit.

Blimey, it was really something to have someone you'd gone to school with address you like a pupil. Hermione shifted in her seat, a feeling she did not want to examine flashing over her.

"Hermione Granger," she said to the class with a small wave. A murmur arose in some quarters—she wasn't exactly anonymous herself. "Senior Legislative Agent at uh, Care and Control of Magical Creatures." She pointed to her top. "I've been there for seven years. I'm hoping to, uh, take the level eight duelling exam in January. Hoping to pass." She cut her eyes to Malfoy, who crossed his arms. "So that I can, uh, open up paths for advancement in my career."

"Department of Mysteries?" Malfoy murmured.

"Among other things." Hermione lied because she wasn't sure she wanted Draco Malfoy in on her plans. He kept looking at her for a moment and Hermione got the impression he knew exactly what she was thinking. She fought the urge to squirm.

"Well!" Malfoy stood up off the desk and wheeled to the blackboard. "As long as you're willing to put in the work, we'll certainly have you prepared for the exam." He took up some chalk and began writing energetically on the blackboard, "Gringotts Positions," and "Duelling Exam." Hermione, annoyed over the 'do the work' comment, found herself glaring at his back, then rather distracted by the way his shoulders moved under the holster. Not to mention the way those trousers fit his ar—

Fuck. How was she going to survive this bloody class?

She wasn't. And that was the end of it. She'd sit through tonight and make an excuse to not come back. Harry would just have to understand. And she'd just have to rework her promotion timeline. Hopefully that Level IV Unspeakable position wouldn't get snapped up by someone else before the spring.

Hermione's shoulders relaxed a fraction, the decision not to return settling her. She was even able to sit back in her chair and listen to the rest of the students introduce themselves without any further inner turmoil. There really was a broad spectrum of people in the class: from a grandmother who wanted to be able to spar with her grandchildren, to various Ministry workers going for promotions, to a young woman who was applying for a DADA professorship at Hogwarts. The Americans, a husband and wife who had moved to London recently, wanted to start a magical gym that would feature a duelling room, among other things.

What a fantastic idea. Hermione tapped her quill to her lips.

"What a fantastic idea." Malfoy pivoted to write, 'Magical Gym' on the blackboard, which was fairly covered in his bold script now. He stood back and looked at it.

"I confess I'm a little humbled by this," he said over his shoulder.

Hermione's brows shot up as a ripple went through the group.

"You're just planning to make such good use of this knowledge. Interesting use." Malfoy dusted his hands as he turned around. "I'll endeavour to be worthy." And with that he launched into an explanation of his proposed course outline and schedule, complete with methods, benchmarks and revision check-ins. Hermione found herself reluctantly impressed, then quite impressed. He was thoughtful, and very thorough. Especially considering he'd only found out he was teaching the class today.

"Of course, I've never done this before, so all of this may go out one of those big fuck-off windows." He hitched a thumb at the plate glass and flashed another smile. Nearly everyone smiled back. "But," he nodded around the room. "I think it's worth a try, don't you?" This last felt almost like he was saying it directly to Hermione. His eyes definitely went to hers. Heat crept up her neck and into her face, which in the slight tilt of Malfoy's head, she saw him notice.

"Right," he said with a small cough. "No time like the present. We'll start with no-contact disarming. A revision for most of you, I'm sure, but a good way to warm up and let me see where you are ability-wise. Please, find a partner and move to the back of the room."

A spark of excitement ignited in the class as chairs scraped and a hum of chatter rose. Surprisingly, Hermione felt it zip under her skin too. Could she actually learn something here? It would be wonderful to know how to duel well. To go to a Weasley gathering and participate in one of those tournaments they were always getting up? She hadn't beat Ron since he'd completed Auror training. Had stopped trying altogether, in fact. She'd mostly just found an excuse to watch from the sidelines with Molly and Arthur and the younger kids the last few years. But if she was a Level Eight with command over all of the spells Malfoy had listed? She pulled her wand through her fingers, small sparks showering from its end. She'd call Ron the fuck out. Knock him on his arse if he dared talk about 'going easy.'

She glanced down at her wand; a realisation hitting her that if she were still with Ron, he would have made her quit this class. As soon as he'd heard Malfoy was teaching it. Even Harry wouldn't have been able to intervene. And she would have done it. To soothe Ron's ego and not rock the boat.

Well, fuck him, she was sticking with it.

She could endure Draco Malfoy for ninety minutes a week for twelve weeks. She'd be cool and professional, get what she needed for the exam and move on.

It would be fine.

Her eyes wandered to where Malfoy was demonstrating a disarming motion to the grandmother from earlier. His tall form was relaxed, but his movements hinted at the latent power of an extremely strong dueller. He actually reminded Hermione of Harry, which called to mind Malfoy's years of experience as an Auror on difficult and dangerous assignments.

He may actually turn out to be a very good teacher.

If she let him.

Just then he smiled at the older witch, a genuine smile, and Hermione's breath sucked in. A renewed spike of anxiety—and something else—clenched in her belly, sending her spiralling again.

In many ways, this remained a bad idea.

But no, she'd just keep a lid on…those types of thoughts. She was a grown-up and fully in command of herself. Besides, they were just biological reactions to a well-formed, er, specimen of masculinity. Always had been. And while dismaying, they were, at the end of the day, harmless. It wasn't as if he shared her whatever-it-was, so nothing would ever—

Hermione frowned as Malfoy bent politely to listen to something the grandmother was saying, fair hair glinting in the overhead light.

It would really be a help if he left off wearing that bloody holster, though.

"Hermione?" A timid voice came from behind her and she spun around. "Do you, ah, want to be partners?" Anthony Goldstein shook his robes back from his wand hand with a little flourish.

"Anthony! Sure. Yeah. Great idea." Hermione pushed away her ridiculous thoughts, looking around to see everyone already facing each other in lines across the room, which seemed to have enlarged to at least three times its original size. "Mirrors or windows?" she asked, pointing between the two sides.

"Uhh, windows!" Anthony jogged over to them with only a slight stumble.

Hermione walked over to the mirrors and took up her duelling stance. "Ready?" she called.

"En garde!" Anthony waved his wand like a fencing foil.

Ten rounds later, it was clear Hermione was the better dueller, although Anthony had managed to surprise her a couple of times. His style was erratic, but it made him unpredictable. He'd gotten her this round with a ricochet off one of the mirrors. She jogged over to where her wand had fallen, giving the American chap a quick word of thanks when he bent to pick it up for her. She turned to see Malfoy, whom she'd almost forgotten about in all the activity (almost), approaching Anthony.

"Goldstein. Granger. May I observe?"

"Please, Mal— Um, Mr. er—" Anthony poked at his glasses as Hermione tried to tamp down her own nervousness.

"'Draco,' please." Malfoy leaned a shoulder against the wall.

Anthony responded with a smile, but Hermione sputtered inwardly. What was with the 'Ms. Granger' earlier, then? And like hell she was calling him 'Draco!'

But then Malfoy nodded and they took up their positions. And Hermione may have been less than successful in soothing her nerves, because her Expelliarmus shot out in a jagged yellow flash, knocked Anthony backward into the wall and sent his wand spinning halfway across the room. He whooped, "Good one, Hermione!" before running off to retrieve it.

A few heads turned in Hermione's direction.

"I did wonder why you needed the class," Malfoy murmured, pushing off the wall and ambling over.

"I'm only above-average at duelling," Hermione said, fighting the urge to cross her arms again.

He snorted.

She glared up at him. "What? It's not something I've studied extensively!"

Malfoy looked like he was trying not to laugh, damn him. "Let Goldstein disarm you this time. I need to see his spellwork," he said after a moment.

"All right." Hermione crouched into her duelling position even though Anthony was still talking to the woman on his left. Her trainers squeaked and Malfoy looked down at them.

Then slowly back up.

To her instant regret, Hermione's misgivings about her clothing choices shot out of her mouth. "I thought we'd be doing a lot of bending…and stretching!"

Malfoy's brows went up. "You're certainly ready for action."

Then she swore he glanced in the mirror behind her and Hermione realised that, along with 'old and comfortable,' her clothes were very tight.

Her prohibited-thoughts-filter fizzled out, and her eyes flew to Malfoy's, which were almost silver, something like warmth sparking in their depths.

"Oi! Hermione, I'm ready!"

Only at Anthony's shout did Hermione tear her gaze away.

Bloody hell this was never going to work.

Artist Credit: BookLoverDream

Chapter Text

"You'll never guess who's in my class." Draco settled himself a little deeper in the soft leather chair and took a sip of whisky.

"A woman." Theodore Nott spoke through a long drag from his silver cigarette holder. A fragrant, rose-scented cloud curled through the room, one of Nott House's more gothic salons.

"Yes." Draco didn't elaborate. Instead he drank again, keeping his eyes trained on the fire leaping in the enormous grate in front of him, his mind heading down an already well-trodden path—of disbelief that she of all people had been sitting in his classroom last night. Right in the second row with that cloud of hair and an annoyed expression. And of course that pert little—

"That French girl who keeps sending you howlers?"

"No, thank gods."

"Can't blame her, you did leave Aix rather abruptly."

"The assignment was over. She was aware of my situation."

"Was she?"

"I was clear. I always am."

Theo laughed and let out another plume of smoke. He watched it for a moment, then whipped his head to the side, a grin overtaking his face.

"Not that insane Norwegian who snuck into your flat and set fire to your bed?"

"No! Nothing like that!" Draco half turned. "Why do you always bring that up?"

"Because it was bloody funny."

"It was not funny. It was terrifying." Draco flopped back, then glowered at Theo again.

"Oh, you and your cashmere collection were fine," Theo said. "So who is it? What poor female is in your, er, class? His shoulders convulsed and a small snort escaped his nose.

"Fuck. Off."

"It's just— You, a teacher."

Draco extended a middle finger in Theo's direction.

"No, I'm sure you'll be very patient. Flexible. Accommodating of other viewpoints." Theo was chortling now.

"I will be! I was!" Draco sent him a murderous look.

"Who was the woman?" Theo inhaled his cigarette again, still grinning.

Draco tossed the rest of his dram down his throat. "Granger."

Perfect silence reigned and Draco felt Theo's head swivel slowly in his direction.

Then, "Oh ho ho ho hooooo!" Theo exploded into a paroxysm of laughter and coughing. He kept on laughing as Draco's scowl deepened.

"Please, contain your sympathy," Draco said. "No, your support is too much." He turned to see Theo helpless with mirth. "God, you are such a wanker. I don't know why I waste my time with you."

Theo wiped tears from his eyes. "I'm your only real friend."

"I'll tell Zabini you said that."

"But really, Draco." Theo was wheezing now. "How are you going to teach Hermione Granger anything? She already knows it all." And then he was off in whoops again.

"Apparently she's 'only above average at duelling'" This time Draco cracked a smile too.

"My gods." Theo finally subsided enough so that he could take a drink.

Draco's smile faded and he blinked at the fire. "I think she wanted to leave when she saw me."

"Well, were you wearing that tie?"

"Kindly fuck off. And thank you again for your support." Draco sloshed a (large) second dram of the whisky into his glass. Bloody Theo. He should have talked to Blaise about this instead.

Theo waved an arm, encased in some kind of peacock-blue silk dressing gown, as if he were going to argue. But thankfully his house elf entered the room just then and asked about dinner. The two of them embarked on a conversation about side dishes and sauces, while Draco's attention drifted away on a calming stream of aged alcohol. He got up and lit his own cigarette, a habit he indulged in only when at Nott House, and moved through the dim, darkly-wallpapered room toward a window.

He didn't know why he let Theo lure him up here for these sessions. Must have something to do with the quiet and the privacy. And the whisky, which Theo sourced in a secretive way from somewhere north of the border. It was very good—especially after an unsettling week.

Draco leaned a knee against the faded brocade window seat and looked out at the grounds. Everything was overgrown and decrepit, per usual, the twisted trees and tumble-down folly looking almost sinister in the autumn twilight. And was that huge mound in the distance, dirt? Was Theo doing construction or had something collapsed? Draco squinted, sending up a silent prayer of thanks for his neat, spare flat off the good end of Knockturn Alley, and the fact that Narcissa still seemed to see the ancestral home as her duty.

Then he sighed and stopped really seeing the view, his mind wandering back to last night. To the classroom. To Granger.

Why did it keep doing that?

Why did he bloody care if she was in his class?

Or that she seemed to not want to be.

He hadn't seen her in years, other than glancingly in the hallways of the Ministry or in the papers sometimes. After the war she'd (surprisingly) faded from view, living with Weasley and taking a quiet position in Magical Creatures.

Draco snorted to himself—that shirt she'd been wearing; "Eyes on the Demiguise."

And—he shifted—the trousers.

'Leggings,' or whatever the muggles called them.

Merlin.

He took a deep drink of whisky, feeling it burn a trail clear down to his belly. Thoughts like that weren't productive. She was practically married. And she was Granger. No amount of time or carefully-worded apology notes was going to erase their past and what a vicious little cunt he'd been.

"No, but this is actually great for me," Theo's drawl rang out as if their earlier conversation had never been interrupted.

Draco didn't take his eyes off the view. "Why am I not surprised that we're bringing this around to you?" He took a pull on his cigarette. "And what are you talking about?"

"She's friends with that Weasley."

Draco turned. "Uhh, she's his partner and they've lived together for nine years."

"Not that one. The dragon one. There was an article about him last Sunday. Captured some rare specimen and got a job at the sanctuary on Harris. Very dishy." Theo waved a hand. "Red hair. Blue eyes."

"You don't say."

"She was quoted in it. The article. They're friends."

"In-laws, practically." Draco regarded Theo, in the peacock dressing gown and an excessive amount of eyeliner. "And I cannot see you anywhere near the rocky shores of Harris."

"I look nice in tweed!" Theo struck a pose, one hand in his black hair and the other on his hip.

Draco snorted. "Anyway, do you even know if that particular Weasley is—"

"Gay? Of course I know. We've met. He wasn't immune."

"To?"

"Me."

"When did you—? You know what, I don't care. What does Granger have to do with this?"

"I need an excuse to, ah, contact him again. They're friends. And with you and Granger chumming it up…"

"We're not. I would be very surprised if we end the class on polite terms." If she even turned up to class again.

"Mmm-hmm." Theo's eyes were practically glowing.

"What?" Draco braced himself against the window frame as Theo walked toward him, the absurd dressing gown rippling behind him.

"She's quite beautiful these days. Strikingly lovely, in fact. I saw her in the wine shop in Knockturn last week. She was buying a Melon de Bourgogne. Excellent varietal."

"Your point?"

Theo approached. "A spot of colour here and here." He touched either side of Draco's jaw. "And your poker tell."

"What is my poker tell!?"

Theo lit another cigarette. "Obviously I'm not saying. I like winning hundreds of galleons off you every other week."

Draco shook his head. "Fine, but what does my poker tell have to do with—"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

"Really?" Draco eyed Theo incredulously, then drank. A silence stretched. "She's been with Ron Weasley since school. They're practically married."

Theo shrugged. "He's not a very compelling Weasley."

"But—" Draco stopped. Closed his eyes. "I cannot believe we're having this conversation."

"Can't you?"

"No. There is absolutely nothing to talk about."

"Pity."

Draco pushed away from the window. "She's not even my type. You should have seen what she was wearing. Old, painted-on muggle trousers and a silly shirt that was also very—"

"Casual muggle-wear can be so revealing."

"I wouldn't know." Draco flicked an ash vaguely in the direction of the fireplace.

Theo raised his brows.

"I wasn't looking!"

"Liar."

Draco drummed his fingertips on his arm, then stopped abruptly. Was that his bloody poker tell?

"Whatever. None of this matters. I still find her insufferable and I'm fairly certain she still loathes me. I know she thinks I can't teach her anything."

"Aww, sweetheart." Theo lounged into the window seat and tilted his head. "Well, you have twelve classes to change that."

"I'm not particularly interested in changing it!"

"No?"

"No."

The corner of Theo's mouth lifted. Irritatingly. "Are you interested in dinner?"

"Possibly. If you stop being ridiculous."

"Can't promise anything."

"Don't I bloody know it."

***

Hermione bit into a nougaty chocolate and chewed meditatively. "I've decided I'm not going back."

"You're not?"

"No, it's just silly, Nev!"

"But I thought you said it was going well!?" Neville stopped in the act of misting one of Hermione's Climbing (straggling, more like) Shrivelfigs.

"I said it was going better than expected, but then my expectations were low." Hermione selected another chocolate and bit into it, thinking about last night's duelling class, the second one, during which she'd gone back and forth about staying just as many times as she had during the first.

Oh, Malfoy seemed fine at the teaching part—Hermione was actually surprised at how much her mastery over Disarming basics had solidified in just two sessions—but she continued to be distracted by his presence.

She was constantly aware of him—where he was in the room, who he was talking to—even though he paid no more attention to her than he did to anyone else in class. He was like a low-level static that hummed against her consciousness, twining around her senses in an insidious way. And when she should be listening to him lecture, or needed to focus on perfecting her own spells, she found her mind…wandering. To places that involved him. Often telling him off or getting the better of him, yes, but sometimes doing other things. Unsettling things.

It was totally unacceptable. She didn't need that kind of stress in her life. The confusion and the complication. Not at all.

She jammed another chocolate into her mouth. Hazelnut, mmm. "Thanks for bringing these, Nev. Please come and help me eat them." She beckoned him away from the crammed bookshelf where the Shrivelfigs lived and patted the cushion next to her.

Crookshanks jumped up seemingly out of thin air and meowed hopefully.

"No, my naughty boy. Chocolate is not for you. I was talking to Neville." Hermione transferred the cat to her other side as Neville chuckled and folded his extremely tall frame down onto the squashy couch.

He rummaged in the chocolate box, then popped something dark with gold flecks into his mouth. "But don't you need the class for your Department of Mysteries thing? I really think you should go for that," he said.

"Yes, I do need it. There'd just be a slight delay if I left this class. A six month delay." Hermione frowned. Malfoy had mentioned last night that the next class would be scheduled further out due to revisions in Belinda's recovery schedule.

"Six months seems like a long time to wait." Neville's eyes flashed to hers with concern. "Is Malfoy all that bad? Harry says he's good at his job. Or," —his expression darkened— "he hasn't been rude to you, has he?"

"No! No, he's been fine. Very professional." In fact, the only things Malfoy had said to her last night were, 'Wand tip up, Granger,' when she'd been practising defensive positioning and, 'Good strike. Keep at it,' when she'd sent Anthony's wand looping away for the sixth time in a row. A little galling, actually. He'd palled around with the Americans for ten minutes and spent a good deal of time helping the DADA professorship candidate perfect her wrist flick.

"That sounds OK, then," Neville said gently. "Maybe stick it out?"

"Maybe. Anthony wouldn't have a partner if I left." Hermione plucked a tasseled pillow from Crookshanks's questing claws and petted him absently. Anthony Goldstein had somehow already managed to endear himself to her with his good-natured clumsiness and unapologetic nerdiness. He'd walked her to the apparition point after class last night and bent her ear with a theory about magical duelling in Beowulf, of all things. She'd feel bad leaving him high and dry—or worse, with Malfoy as a partner.

"Anthony? Not Goldstein?"

"Yeah, he's in the class and we partnered up the first night. Seems to have stuck."

Neville yawned and stretched out his long arms, fetchingly encased in an off-white fisherman's jumper. "You know he's going out with Hannah?"

"Abbott? Your Hannah? No, I didn't know that!"

"Not my Hannah for a long time," Neville smiled. "She and Anthony have been together over a year now, I think. They're a great match. She's so steady and he's a little…" He waved his hand.

"Scattered, yeah. But really nice."

"Exactly."

"And how do you know so much about this?" Hermione got up and moved to her small, sunny kitchen. She picked up the kettle. "Tea?" she asked, and Neville nodded.

"Oh I've been to dinner at theirs a couple of times." Neville also got up and went to the kitchen, then bent over the windowsill, which held a collection of small ferns that never quite seemed to thrive.

"You are truly the healthiest person I know," Hermine said, leaning on the counter and watching him while he worked on the plants. He pulled off a few yellowed fronds and pushed at the soil.

"These are too wet," he said. "I've warned you about overwatering."

"I know! But I get so worried about underwatering!"

"Set yourself a schedule like you would for anything else." Neville resumed his fussing with the ferns. "I had dinner with Ron too," he said after a moment. "And, er, Lorna." He gave Hermione a worried glance. "I've been meaning to tell you. I hope that was OK."

The kettle whistled and Hermione grabbed for it. "Course it's OK!" she called, a little overloud. She saw Neville wince and made an effort to modulate herself. "I never wanted to cause a rift, or make everyone choose sides or something."

"I know."

"I really worry about Harry and him," Hermione spoke quickly as she pulled down mugs and worked the lid off the tea canister.. "They still haven't spoken since all of the…" She waved a hand. "And I can tell that Harry is feeling— And I'm sure that Ron will be thinking that he— Anyway, I need to talk to Harry about it again. Make him see that I'm really OK now and he should stop being so protective and that—" The canister slipped and banged to the counter. Tea leaves scattered everywhere. "Shit, shit." Hermione brushed at them.

Neville leaned over and stilled her hands. "You know, you really don't," he said gently, pulling out his wand and beginning to clean up the mess. "You can let them work it out themselves this time."

"But I—"

"Really, Hermione. You're the injured party here. You don't have to fix this one."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. Her shoulders loosened and she shook her head at Neville. "Have I ever told you that you're the best?"

"I'm still waiting for the best friend designation." He spelled the tea leaves into the bin, fixed their mugs and handed Hermione hers.

"Yeah, well there's an opening now." She blew on the steaming brew.

"Oh Hermione— I didn't mean—!"

Neville's handsome face went into appalled mode and Hermione laughed. "Just joking!" she said, pushing against him.

"Oh!" He put a hand to his heart with a relieved smile.

"You know…" Hermione sipped her tea, not quite done teasing him. "It's a pity we couldn't just go out."

Neville's face went bright red. "Oh. Hermione—"

"I mean, you're ridiculously handsome and kind. Owner of a successful business. My oldest friend. And I'm not…chopped liver." She swept a hand down her figure.

"Far from it, Hermione! You— I— We—"

He was really floundering, so Hermione took pity on him, nudging him again. Harder this time. "I'm still messing with you, Nev."

"Oh, god. OK." Neville laughed into his tea. "You had me going there for a tick."

Hermione smiled and patted his arm. "I'm honoured to have you as a friend and nothing more."

"Same." Neville nodded. "I mean. Uh, you're certainly not, er, chopped liver. You're wonderful. There were definitely times. Especially in school. But there was Ron. And er. But, I think as adults. We have— Or we don't have. I think a romantic relationship needs more of a…" Neville jammed a hand through his dark blond curls. "Merlin, what am I trying to say?"

"I know what you mean." Hermione looked up at him. "No spark. We don't have that kind of spark. And it's fine. I love that you're holding out for that. I mean, you could have your pick, you know." Hermione raised her brows at Neville's tall frame and arresting face, now going red again. The degree to which he'd transformed in his late teens still caught her by surprise sometimes. She suspected it still regularly surprised him, too.

"Oh. Well, I don't. You know. Do that."

"I know you don't. You're waiting for something special. And I understand—I'd like to experience that myself. What I had with Ron grew so gradually and from such a young age, that it felt almost rote once it happened. I wouldn't mind experiencing that heady rush the poets all speak of. Coleridge's sacred flame. Keats's bright star."

Or she wouldn't turn down a good, strong wallop of pure, unadulterated lust. Someone she just had to have? Couldn't resist? Something almost reckless? Hermione went unfocused, then stiffened her spine when Draco bloody Malfoy and his wand holster popped into her mind.

Neville smiled. "Exactly. And it was the same with Hannah and me. We could have gone along forever—we were so similar and so nice to each other. But it wasn't…exciting. I think I'd like exciting for once."

"Same." Hermione pushed away from the counter and started rummaging in her cupboard for biscuits, Crookshanks suddenly twining around her ankles; the cat had an unerring instinct for when food was about to appear.

"What was she like? Lorna?" Hermione asked over her shoulder. "Ginny met her a few months ago at the Burrow, but I couldn't get anything more than half-coherent swearing out of her afterward."

"She's fine. Quiet. Seems sweet. Has Ron on a bit of a pedestal, I think."

Hermione snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Yeah, I know. But I have to say he seems…" Neville squinted. "Less on edge? More calm and confident? I don't know quite how to put it, but those last few years he was always—"

"Unhappy. I know. Biscuit?" Hermione held out a plate.

"Hermione, I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't mean it was my fault." Hermione shook the plate of biscuits at Neville until he took one. "But Ron was unhappy and it brought out that side of him that could be mean and small. I should know, I was constantly trying to smooth over every situation." Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm honestly relieved," she said, dropping into a seat at her small kitchen table and shoving a biscuit into her mouth.

"About?"

Hermione swallowed on her biscuit. "That we're not together anymore. That he's not my responsibility and I'm clear of his moods and his baggage. I hope he can be happier now." She shrugged.

"Hermione, that's great." Neville leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad to hear you say that. It sounds like you've really moved on."

"I really have." Hermione nodded and put her hand over his. "I'm so much better today than I was this time last year."

Nevilled nodded and then began to smile. "Does that mean you're ready to try and find that spark?" He wiggled his brows.

"You sound like Penelope!"

Neville laughed. "Oh! I heard something about her at the shop the other day. Is she seeing Blaise Zabini?"

"I've said it once and I'll say it a thousand times; that flower shop is an absolute hotbed of gossip. And yes, they've been out a few times. Can you believe it?"

"I can kind of see it, yes. Warm and cool. Opposites attract. Sparks aplenty."

"Who did you hear it from?" Hermione knew Penelope and Blaise had done the whole pub dinner at the Leaky Cauldron thing on their last date and wondered if there had been some fallout from going so public. She'd have to check in with Pen on Monday.

Neville had wandered back into the living room and Hermione's Shrivelfigs. He pressed on the mister and spoke through a cloud of vapour. "Diantha Zabini was in with a friend for her monthly flower arrangement order. She said something about Blaise being excited about someone, 'for once.' I thought she said the woman was called Penelope, and I just wondered if it was our Penelope. There aren't that many."

"Yes, our Penelope. I still can't quite comprehend it, though. Blaise Zabini," Hermione said, thinking of the cold, arrogant boy they'd gone to school with. He was anything but cold now, according to Pen. Hermione shuddered a little at the memory of Friday lunch's TMI session.

"Isn't he good friends with Malfoy?" Neville paused in his misting.

"Yes. Pen mentioned it when I told her who was teaching my class." Screeched it amidst gales of laughter, more accurately.

"What does she think about all that? Him being your teacher?"

"Oh, that I should stay in the class." Amongst other, more ridiculous ideas; "He's bloody gorgeous and you're both single, Hermione! We could have a matched set!" Hermione shook her head slightly. "That I'd be silly to let a small thing like him being my teacher derail my plans."

"Have to say I agree with her." Nevilled tilted his head and gave Hermione a gently admonishing smile.

"But Nev, it's Malfoy. I know you remember what he was—even if everyone else has forgotten."

Hermione directed a dark look out her kitchen window, where the sun was lighting up the sky in oranges and pinks as it set, her mind worrying at old hurts and reliving a very distinct feeling of not belonging. In the magical world. In her own life.

Draco Malfoy had been one of the architects of that feeling—but then so had Ron, at times.

"I do, but I also firmly believe people can change." Neville caught her eye and held it. "You know I did that project with his mother last year? When we opened one of the gardens at Malfoy Manor to the public?" Hermione nodded. "Well, Draco actually helped with some parts of it. I interacted with him a few times over the duration and he was polite and friendly. Easy to get on with."

"Hmph." Hermione's mind flashed to several examples of Malfoy being polite and friendly with her Duelling classmates, but she clung to her resentment—her suspicion—like a lifeline.

"He even took me aside early in the project and asked if I'd gotten his letter. Then he apologised again. In person."

"He did?" Hermione tried to imagine Malfoy apologising to her, but she couldn't quite get past that cold expression he'd worn in class the first day.

Cold and beautiful.

Her eyes focused outside again, the rapidly darkening landscape evoking him somehow; his pale skin and striking eyes. The dark brows and lashes a contrast to the cool brightness of his hair. That touch of pink that flushed his lower jaw sometimes.

"He did." Neville's quiet voice brought Hermione back and she shook her head, making a wordless sound of frustration as she pushed away from the table. She went to the low cabinet that flanked her tiny iron fireplace, knelt and opened the doors, taking a hinged cedar box from within. Bringing it gingerly to the sofa she sat and lifted its lid, then began digging through years of birthday cards, thank you notes and wedding invitations, some of them still weakly zinging with magical fanfare.

A piece of thick, heavy cardstock—creamy white—sat at the very bottom.

She'd always meant to throw it away. She hadn't looked at it in years, but here it was. She pulled it out and held it up.

Neville raised his brows and crossed the room, going round to the back of the sofa and reading over Hermione's shoulder as she skimmed the bold script.

"Wow," he said after a moment. "It's totally different from mine."

Hermione looked up at him swiftly. "It is? All of it?" For some reason, she'd always assumed this was a glorified, quite possibly Wizengamot-ordered, form letter.

"Yeah." Neville nodded. "He really personalised them."

Hermione looked back down slowly, a wash of feelings she couldn't quite name flowing over her, then closed the letter and put it away.

Chapter Text

Class #3

"Nice, Granger. Good footwork." Hermione tried not to let Malfoy's compliment (meagre as it was) put her out of countenance, but she faltered a little in her wand motion and her binding spell fizzled before it reached the middle of the room.

It was class number three and she had caved to Neville's gentle prodding, or maybe it was her own stubbornness, and returned with a renewed commitment to getting what she could out of the curriculum without taking undue notice of the instructor.

"Do it again." Said instructor stopped and leaned a shoulder against a nearby pillar. And now Hermione was fighting the urge to stick her tongue out and refuse. Instead, she sucked it up and refocused the mantra she'd adopted: be calm, persevere, rise above. Although, it was difficult when he was three feet away and watching her intently, arms crossed over one of those obscenely crisp shirts he seemed to favour. Did his elves have some special kind of starch that they—

Focus, Hermione!

She stopped just short of closing her eyes as she planted her feet and put her wand into position, sighting Anthony across the room and sweeping her arm in the motion Malfoy had shown them earlier that night. She spoke the words to the spell as she finished the pattern and a spark of yellowish-white light flowed from her wand to Anthony, wrapping him in shimmering cords. She started to turn toward Malfoy, unable to stop a satisfied expression stealing over her face.

"Your wrist motion is wrong."

"What!?" Hermione squared all the way around.

Malfoy squinted at her. "Have you been reading Detwiler?"

"He's bound!" Hermione gestured across at Anthony, who, somewhat disproving her words, was shaking off the cords and brushing at his robes.

"If you mean he was immobilised for two seconds, OK. But the intent of a binding spell is to actually bind. Meaning, we don't want our opponent moving at all. Until we release them. Your spell didn't stick. And it didn't stick because you closed the loop at the end of the motion."

"But that's the proper way to do it!" Hermione had, of course, gone to the library and of course checked out several books on duelling the moment she'd known she was taking this class. And yes, one of them had been Enoch Detwiler's Strike or be Struck, a classic in the field. She had reviewed bindings for tonight's class since Malfoy had mentioned they'd be working on them, and could clearly recall Detwiler's binding spell motion finishing with a 360° circle. And if Malfoy's demonstration earlier hadn't finished in quite a full circle, she may have just marked it down to general sloppiness and told herself she'd be more precise.

"No, it's an over-correction. You want to release the incantation and the magic at about three quarters of the way through the circle. That's what builds the power and creates the true binding action."

Hermione pictured the diagram in her mind. "But I—"

"Who's teaching this class, Granger? You or me?" Malfoy's relaxed posture had vanished and he was glaring at her. Hermione glared back, her hand edging to her hip. Then, with a quick movement, Malfoy was behind her and taking her wrist.

"Wha— I—" Hermione started to say something, but she didn't quite know what. She looked over her shoulder at him in alarm. He was right bloody there. She'd never been this close to him and he was taller than she'd thought. His fingers were warm and she could feel her traitorous pulse leap under his thumb.

"You stop," his voice dropped as he rotated her wrist firmly, stopping just shy of the apex of a circle. "Here." He looked down at her. "Understood?"

Hermione's mouth was still opening and closing. She could smell him. And yes, his elves must use something special in the linen starch because the scent was so good she wanted to turn around and inhale at his collar.

She almost bloody did.

He went still for a second, then cleared his throat. "It's, ah, what the examiners will expect," he murmured, his voice deeper and closer now.

Hermione managed to nod once, staring at the floor in front of her, head swimming. Probably because he was still holding her wrist, a fact which he only seemed to notice when someone called for him from across the room and he dropped it like a hot poker, stepping backward with more speed than decorum.

First time touching a muggle-born, Malfoy?

"Uh, carry on," he muttered as he moved away. "My way, not Detwiler's." A flash of grey under a lowered brow accompanied this last and Hermione stared after him until Anthony called to her. She lifted her wrist, (she could still feel the firm grip of his fingers) and tried the motion the way Malfoy had instructed, still not totally convinced. She pictured the diagram again. Why would the book say it if it weren't correct?

"Ready, Hermione?" Anthony waved and she nodded, dropping into her crouch and waiting for his nod. Once he was in position, she started the spell, moving her feet and twisting her arm, but speaking the incantation when she was just short of a full circle.

A thick rope of white light shot out of the end of her wand and wrapped around Anthony in a blur, spiralling so fast that it whipped to a close at his ankles. He struggled against it but it held fast.

"Direct hit!" he called cheerfully. "I cannot move!" He twitched back and forth with a grin, as Hermione re-aimed her wand and muttered a quick Finite Incantatem. The ropes dissolved and her eyes moved surreptitiously to Malfoy, who was helping the American woman, but watching Anthony. When he started to turn in Hermione's direction, she ducked and reached into her bag.

Her hand brushed the Detwiler book and she thumbed at it, wondering how the leading figure in the field could be so wrong. Clearly the two spells had performed quite differently, with Malfoy's version the more powerful. But maybe she had bungled the first spell—the incantation or the timing. Could there be another explanation? Hermione was half-whispering to herself and surreptitiously flipping to the correct section in the book when Malfoy's voice rang out.

"Attention, everyone!" He clapped his hands and all motion in the room stopped. "Just a quick announcement that if you've purchased Enoch Detwiler's book, Strike or be Struck, return it." He looked around, staring down some fidgeters and people who looked like they might want to contradict him. "Or at the very least do not use it as an aid for this class. He's completely wrong about half the wand motions and worse with the incantations. Should never have been published."

Total silence had fallen and Hermione, who had been focusing somewhere near Malfoy's left knee, looked slowly up to see him looking back at her challengingly, his lower jaw faintly red. She lifted her chin and he cut his eyes pointedly at her bag. Almost involuntarily, she yanked her hand out of the book, feeling her own face get hot as she grabbed around the bottom of the leather satchel for anything else. Her fingers closed on a hair clip and she pulled it out, ostentatiously sweeping her hair up as she straightened. Malfoy's angry look turned sardonic.

"It is especially important to follow my methods if you're taking the DMLE-designed exam," he continued, his voice and face shifting into extreme blandness as he turned to face the other side of the class. "Particularly if you want to pass."

Hermione's teeth ground as Malfoy completed his slow circle. "Everyone clear?"

"Aye, aye, Cap!" Anthony waved his wand in the air and a few people laughed. Hermione saw some looks dart around the room and thought she must not be the only one who had been supplementing with the text. It was cold comfort, though. She was so annoyed and embarrassed that she almost forgot her mantra, though after a few deep breathing exercises she'd focused enough to chant it continuously through the last thirty minutes of class.

Finally, they were back in their desks and Malfoy was making a few closing remarks about the defensive spells unit. They'd be switching to offence the following week—something Hermione was looking forward to, since she felt the least well-versed in that type of duelling. She shoved away her earlier pique and took diligent notes, marking down what she needed to revise and mentally planning some time for a practice session this weekend. Perhaps Harry would spar with her. Or Ginny might be a better partner at this point…

A tap on her arm took Hermione from her notes and she turned to see the American woman—April—lean over with a smile. She asked Hermione a question about one of the incantations and Hermione whispered a quick response. The woman thanked her as Malfoy turned from the blackboard, where he'd been writing in his usual bold script, and leaned against the desk again.

"So, wrapping up. Please practise your binding spells—with my wand motions." Hermione caught his tone and just knew he was looking at her, so she found something very interesting out one of the windows to occupy her attention. The glass was propped open and a wisp of freshness from an earlier rain shower had been drifting into the classroom all evening. Now, high clouds scudded across the moon.

"And that's all for tonight. Thanks, everyone." Malfoy stood as the minute hand clicked over to 7:30 p.m. and the class broke into a flurry of chatter and activity, chairs pushing back and robes rustling.

Hermione shoved the Detwiler down into her bag and thought of cutting things she could say to Malfoy should he have any more snide comments about it. She was going to research the difference in the wand motions and she was going to ask Harry about it too. There had to be an explanation.

Students began filing out as Malfoy raised his voice over the din. "I'd recommend reviewing the whole disarming unit before next week since we'll be starting right away with offensive spells." He gave a lazy wave as students filed out. "Lecture first, then some basic drills. And if we have time I'd like to try—" He cut off as a creamy white barn owl swept in through the open window and made a ghostly pass around the room.

What in the world? Who would be getting an owl in class? Hermione looked up to see the bird wheel away from the back wall and swoop toward Malfoy, whose mildly puzzled expression transformed as it drew nearer, his face draining of colour and his eyes widening. Hermione followed his gaze to see that he was staring at the letter in the bird's talons, which she now realised was bright red and smoking.

"Oh, bloody hell," he breathed as the bird dropped the letter on his chest with a soft hoot.

Hermione, who always travelled with owl treats, sat down, pulled the box out of her bag and rattled it.

Malfoy's eyes shot to hers and she tilted her head at him quizzically. People didn't usually get howlers past school age, and she couldn't really see Narcissa Malfoy employing the method anyway. So what could this be? She supposed there was a chance it was something really ugly or distasteful, but Malfoy's reaction seemed to be skewing more toward rueful embarrassment than total mortification.

The owl flew to Hermione and she greeted it with a soft word, while Malfoy frowned and picked the envelope up by a corner. At the contact with his skin, the smoke intensified and a small lick of blue flame leapt from under the seal.

The few other students who hadn't left yet were frozen near the door. Hermione sat up at her desk as the owl settled on her shoulder, petting the creature's soft feathers and offering it a handful of treats. It pecked gratefully and Malfoy, still dangling the letter from his fingertips, darted another glance in her direction and then at the students in the doorway.

Just then the flame leapt up to brush his fingers and he hissed, swearing and nearly dropping the envelope. He swore again and looked around one more time, jaw tight. No one had moved an inch, so he shook his head and almost seemed to shrug before ripping into the howler and unleashing a torrent of furious, sobbing, highly idiomatic French into the room.

Between the crying and the fact that her French wasn't all that strong, Hermione didn't understand most of it. But the words, "bastard," "liar," and "fuck off," (or was it, "fuck you"?) came through rather clearly. As did a piece of filmy silk that ejected itself from the envelope as the tirade came to a gasping close, the speaker mumbling something like, "Je suis fou de toi," in a plaintive sigh before ramping back up with a final screeched, "Encule!" to finish.

Hermione bit down hard on her lip.

The other students were still as statues and the room was so quiet Hermione could hear the distant honk of car horns from muggle London.

Then the owl hooted and Malfoy fastidiously picked the scrap of silk from where it had slid from somewhere near his chin to his shirtfront, and dropped it in a nearby bin. The envelope followed. He seemed to take a deep breath before he looked up, his grey gaze going directly to Hermione's, something unreadable in it.

The owl rustled itself and launched off her shoulder to swoop silently out the open window. They stared at each other until Malfoy crossed his arms and lifted a shoulder.

"Cherchez la femme, I guess."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed. She knew she should be outraged on this woman's behalf. He'd probably done her wrong. Left her in some ignominious way—or at least been less than aboveboard. She had no doubt he was a bastard.

But she laughed.

She couldn't help it.

A small giggle escaped out of the side of her mouth in a burst she immediately and unsuccessfully tried to tamp down. No one else was laughing. In fact, the other students seemed to have taken Malfoy's comment as their cue to scuttle out silently.

But her lips kept twitching and her shoulders wouldn't stop shaking. Why was it so funny? Something in his expression? His utter sangfroid? The way he'd looked with see-through knickers hitting him in the face? Whatever it was, Hermione couldn't resist, and her laugh finally burst out. And Malfoy, who'd flinched back in a sort of puzzled surprise at her first outburst, started to twitch too.

First the corners of his mouth went up and then his eyes crinkled. He tried to hold it in, but he didn't manage either, putting fingers to his brow and shaking his head.

Then he looked back up, and for just a second, the second before Hermione remembered who he was, and who she was and where they were—they laughed together.

***

"Wait, he got a howler in class!?" Penelope's lager sloshed over the rim of her glass as she leaned in close to Hermione.

Ginny's laugh peeled out over the pub. "You have to hear this, Pen. Fucking brilliant!" Hermione, spilling over with mirth, hadn't been able to resist telling Ginny about it when they'd walked over to the pub together.

"Yes, I clearly need to know every single detail surrounding this event. What the actual fuck?" Pen was gleeful as she settled deeper on her barstool.

Ginny, sitting on Hermione's other side, cackled. "Go on. Tell her."

Hermione ran through a quick version of the night's earlier events (with frequent pauses for Pen and/or Ginny's screams of laughter), right up to the point when she and Malfoy had realised they were having a moment and became instantly mortified, both jumping up and trying to leave at the same time. There'd been an awkward back and forth until Malfoy had waved Hermione out and she'd scurried away with a muttered word about being late meeting Ginny for this pub trivia night—a standing tradition with her friends every other Thursday.

Penelope wiped tears from her eyes. "I've actually heard about this girl from Blaise. It's not the first one she's sent him."

"No! Really?" Hermione took a deep drink of her cider. "He must have really fucked her over."

"One way or another." Pen's brows flicked up. "According to Blaise, Draco isn't in the wrong, though. He met her on assignment in Aix en Provence—temporary assignment—and she knew he wasn't looking for anything serious."

"Hmph, well. Not sure if I take his best friend's word for it," Hermione said.

Ginny shrugged. "No way to know, really. Although howlers are a bit juvenile, so you have to wonder about the woman. Also, he must be something in the sack." She winked at Hermione then squinted toward their table, currently occupied by Harry and Neville. "Potter's waving at me. Must want help with the picture round." She slid off her seat and strode away.

Penelope looked at Hermione over the rim of her glass.

"What?" Hermione blinked at her.

"Oh nothing. Just thinking about what Ginny said." Penelope grinned lasciviously. "So how's the rest of it going?" she asked. "Tonight didn't put you off, did it? You're going to stick with it?"

"I am." Hermione said with a sigh. "No more waffling. He's a good teacher, despite, er, everything else. I can admit that. I'm mastering spells I never had a great handle on before." And he'd been right about the bloody wand motion, damn him. She'd looked it up earlier when everyone else had been yelling through the Sport round, and then confirmed it with Harry.

"Oh, Detwiler?" he'd said. "Don't get Draco started on him. They've had words in person, you know. And Draco challenged him to an actual duel—just to illustrate the flaws in his models—but he's never accepted. Bloody old fraud. Knows he'd lose." Harry had snorted into his pint. "But yeah, listen to Draco on that stuff. He's going to prepare you really well for the exam."

"So I'll stick it out." Hermione shrugged at Penelope. "Especially with the added bonus of entertainment value."

"A howler in class." Pen shook her head.

"From a pissed-off Frenchwoman, no less." Hermione started laughing again, picturing Malfoy's face when he'd said "Cherchez la femme." She had to admit he had cheek—and beautiful French. His accent was perfect. She smiled, then giggled a little into her glass.

"Oh. My. God." Pen got into Hermione's face, her eyes narrow.

"What?"

"You little minx, you like him."

"I DO NOT."

"After all that grief you gave me for even suggesting it."

"I do not like him. At all!"

"You want him, then. Go on, don't be ashamed. He's bloody gorgeous!"

"Penelope CAMELLIA Clearwater. You are mad."

"Then why are you bright red right now?"

"Because I'm appalled at the very notion!"

Pen just stared at Hermione, her lower lip caught between her teeth and her eyes sparking.

"OK, fine!" Hermione finally burst out. "He's empirically attractive. He's a handsome man. He dresses nicely. Anyone can see that." She waved her cider at Pen's stupid face.

"It's more than that." Penelope was positively gleeful now. She sat back on her stool and sipped her drink. "I know you."

"What do you know!?"

"I know that you've spent your life around men who are—let's say—less than intellectual giants. Sport mad. Not very interested in art or books or culture or even basic grooming. But you care about all of those things. You're practically dying of thirst for someone—other than me, of course—who cares about them too. And now who waltzes into your life in a beautifully cut suit and really good hair? Tall and beautiful in the face? Someone else who cares about those things and I suspect can match your wits as well." Penelope drained her pint with the air of one making the winning point.

Hermione sat still for several moments, her own glass halfway to her mouth.

"Oh that is just BOLLOCKS!" She finally said. "Just because I find him attractive—"

"So you DO find him attractive!"

"Yes, haven't I said so?"

"You said he was 'empirically attractive.'"

"Oh my god, never argue with a Ravenclaw."

"No, you should do more of it. Or a Slytherin." Pen wiggled her brows. "They can usually keep up." She put her chin in her hand. "So you're hot for teacher—tell me all about it."

Hermione was only able to sputter in response to this.

"No, do go on," Pen said after several incoherent moments.

Hermione took a breath. "I am not hot for—" Pen's brows went up and Hermione tried again. "I would not put it that way! And whatever it is, it's purely physical anyway."

"Why do you say that?" Penelope frowned and her words triggered a memory, sending Hermione back to a long ago Potions class. It was sixth year and Slughorn had given the students tingling hartshorn to use in a mixture. A lot of the boys had been messing around with it, putting it on their skin or tongues. Malfoy and his cronies were no different, and at one point he'd said something like, "Dare me to, Goyle?" and lifted his shirt as if to smear it across his stomach. Hermione had looked over just in time to see long fingers against smooth skin and hard muscle, a line of pale gold trailing down beneath a trim, belted waist. In a rush she'd imagined her own fingers there and her mouth, a stab of pure sensation arcing right though her core—like nothing she'd ever experienced. And when a jostle from Ron had started her out of it, she'd looked up to see Malfoy watching her, lips slightly parted. He'd let his shirt drop and turned away, and Hermione had also spun away, mortification infusing every cell of her body. But that had been it. The start of her understanding that lust, want, could be very distinct from love—or even like.

And Draco Malfoy had been the root.

"Hello? Where did you go?" Pen was waving a hand in Hermione's face.

"Nothing. What? I—" Hermione tore her mind away from her memories (and those gorgeous abdominal muscles, which were probably even more impressive now—) "Anyway. It has nothing to do with emotion or a mental connection at all."

Pen took a long, disbelieving slurp of her drink.

"What!?"

"I just understand so much better now why you were bothered about taking the class."

Hermione glowered at her. "Yes, well. It's a bit disconcerting."

"Is it getting stronger?"

"No!" Hermione blinked and remembered when he'd stood behind her earlier. God. "I don't know."

"Exposure and proximity will do that."

Hermione glanced at their table. "We should get back over there."

Pen still looked like the cat who'd got the cream. "Well," she said briskly, making no move to get up. "I'm all for it. It's very normal and healthy and, if nothing else, will help you climb out of the post break-up slump." She snapped her fingers. "I think you should do it."

"Do what?"

"Shag him. Senseless. Messily and repeatedly."

Hermione gaped like a fish. "WHAT? NO! He doesn't—" She blinked rapidly. "I'm sure he doesn't feel in the least the same about me. He doesn't like me." She thought of their annoyed exchange around the Detwiler. The way he'd refused to shake her hand the first night.

The way he'd forgotten to let go of her wrist earlier.

Heat flooded her cheeks again.

Pen just gave her a look and signalled the bartender for another round.

"No, no!" Hermione tried for a recovery. "I actually have a theory about this. I've thought about it a bit."

"I'll bet."

"Penelope."

"Fine, fine, Tell me your theory." Pen accepted their fresh drinks from the bartender with thanks.

"So. OK, it's like a Mr. Darcy thing."

"Ohh, intriguing!" Pen smiled and Hermione reflected on how nice it was to have one friend who was well-read (which brought her back to Pen's earlier comments, which she tried unsuccessfully to shove away before her brain could remind her that Malfoy had been reading the night of the second class while he waited for students to arrive. A newer novel that Hermione wanted to read and had not yet).

"Anyway. He's rich and handsome and cold and has never found me the least bit appealing, so something in my Elizabeth Bennett brain is piqued by the challenge. That's all this is. So I'll just admire his hair and his ability to wear a suit during the duration of the class and then we'll all go our separate ways!"

"You do know how that book ended? One of literature's great happily ever afters? True love and all that?"

"Yes, of course. It's my favourite book. But the difference is that he doesn't like me! Or find me attractive, or whatever it is I have going on with him. And he's certainly not secretly pining for me or going to fall madly in love with me or anything like that. I haven't gotten a vibe back from him at all." Hermione resolutely ignored the way his eyes had smiled into hers over the howler earlier.

Pen's gaze narrowed as if she knew exactly what Hermione was thinking. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes! I'm sure I'm not his type. Please." Hermione gestured toward herself, her generous curves and her brown, freckled skin and her corkscrew curls. "He's always with those socialites in the papers. The impossibly slim and polished kind. Designer sheaths or Malkin's robes. His ex-wife is like a porcelain doll." Hermione pictured the ethereal face and delicate figure of Astoria Malfoy, née Greengrass, from a Daily Prophet photo depicting the front row of the Paris runways that spring.

Penelope shrugged. "All the more reason he might find someone like you compelling."

"Someone like me?"

"Warm, vital, smarter than him. Willing to tell him when he's full of shit."

"I cannot see him liking that."

"Can't you? I think he needs a little of that. Plus there's the fact that you're stunning."

Hermione pushed on Pen's shoulder. "Go on. And how do you know so much about Draco Malfoy?"

"I was at his flat for a social visit last week." Pen sipped her drink and winked.

"What!?"

"With Blaise. We're at the 'introducing each other to our friend groups' phase, so get ready. I almost invited him here tonight. But yes, we had drinks with Draco and Pansy Parkinson at Draco's very swanky flat."

"Pansy Parkinson, yuck! They're not together?" Hermione could not justify the swoop in her stomach at this idea.

"No, they're just friends. And she's actually OK too."

"Hmph."

"Prepare yourself because eventually we're all going to mix."

"This sounds serious, Pen!"

"I know, don't jinx it." Their table had started waving them over so they eased off their stools and started across the room.

"Did Draco say something about me? On this drinks night?" It burst out of Hermione before she could hold it in and she instantly wanted to put her hands over her mouth.

Pen laughed.

"What? I'm just curious." Hermione tried for nonchalant. "You seem to know something I don't."

"He mentioned that you were in his class, yes. And I told him I knew. And then I got the impression that he wanted to ask me something more about it, but we were interrupted."

"You're basing this whole idea of him…liking me…on a hunch that he wanted to ask you something?" Hermione plunked down into a seat at the table, uncomfortably conscious of a deflated feeling.

"Who likes Hermione!?" Neville leaned in eagerly.

"No one!" Hermione trilled.

"Draco Malfoy," Pen said.

"WHAT?" Harry's voice erupted over the din Pen's comment had introduced, Ginny smacking the table and Neville making a wordless noise.

"For fuck's SAKE! For the last time, he does not like me! We don't like each other. At all." Hermione stared them all down. "Penelope is delusional."

"OK, OK, Hermione." Neville rubbed her arm like he was soothing a high-strung horse. He looked around the group too and one by one, they all calmed themselves, although Penelope and Ginny were still eyeing Hermione avidly and Harry was sort of staring down at the table. "Now," Neville said, "we need all hands for this picture round. I'm sure this first one is Bernard Batscalder who invented the Dangling Jinx, but Ginny thinks it's a quidditch coach."

They all leaned in and Hermione let the wave of chatter about the photos flow over her.

There was no way Draco Malfoy felt even one iota of what she, er, felt about him. Or her body felt about him. Or whatever. Penelope was just engaging in some wishful thinking because of what she had with Blaise. That's all it was.

It had to be.

Right?

artist credit: Ectoheart

Chapter Text

Class #4

Draco contemplated the two piles of paper on his desk, trying to decide which was more distasteful; the backlog of case reports or the letter from Astoria's lawyers.

He tipped back and stared at the ceiling before lunging forward and grabbing the thick (read: expensive) pages of the letter.

Nothing like ripping off the bandage.

He skimmed the text quickly, but there were no surprises.

Just another request for money. For the 'rising costs of treatment,' to support the, 'lifestyle to which Mrs. Malfoy has been accustomed.' Which he thought roughly translated to the fact that Astoria had dipped more deeply than she'd intended to at the Ready-to-Wear shows earlier this month.

He threw the letter aside. He'd do what he always did and lob gold at the problem. Probably why he kept getting the bloody requests. At least it kept Astoria somewhat happy.

He slumped back in his chair, eyes going back to the ceiling. A sizeable crack ran across its mottled surface and Draco aimed his wand at it, muttering an incantation. The crack mended with a soft pop, but left a slight seam in the paint.

A fitting metaphor as he reflected on his failed marriage. Or was 'fizzled' a more accurate word? 'Failed' implied some trying first. Some solidity of structure.

He sighed; he always got maudlin this time of year. And thoughts of his marriage always led backward, to his childhood and the war, when everything he'd been taught and everything he'd done had turned out to be wrong. Or after, when his father died and all that fierce sense of being righteous, elite, a Malfoy, died right along with him. The life Draco thought he'd lead vanished—poof!—the moment Voldemort's white, noseless carcass hit the floor and Draco had been able to start thinking for himself.

Can't be lord of the manor when you stop believing in the system that underpins it.

He rolled his neck; not that he'd fully realised all that until after he married Astoria. He'd still been attempting to do what was expected of him then. Please his mother in a last gasp of filial duty.

And Narcissa had been so happy on their wedding day, so radiant. She'd gotten tipsy on elf wine and called Astoria the daughter she'd never had. She'd even mentioned grandchildren. More than once.

She'd never mentioned them again after that. Not after Astoria had started taking her extended 'retreats' to Switzerland directly after the wedding. And especially not after they'd found out the reason for the trips—treatments for the blood curse that meant Astoria could never have children. No, Narcissa had stopped talking about the future altogether. She'd barely made a whimper when Draco had told her about the divorce.

And last week at the manor she'd been pale and too thin—obsessing over why her white roses hadn't bloomed. He'd hardly been able to get her to speak of anything else. So many disappointments for her. They'd faded her, pulled at her until she was a wispy skein of her former self.

And he suspected she was lonely.

He knew the feeling.

Coming home to his empty flat every night, or worse, after months on assignment. Like the last one in Aix. He'd walked in after nearly three months away and everything had been still and so quiet. Exactly the same as he'd left it. Like someone had bloody died.

Draco sat up abruptly. Shit, he'd become pathetic. He grabbed for the stack of reports. Nothing like a spot of busywork to get his mind off pointless and depressing topics. Work had always done that for him—ever since he'd joined this department and discovered, surprise of bloody surprises, that he was actually good at being an Auror, and that engrossing work could be a distraction. It could even be an antidote to the poison of the past, help him come to terms with the disillusionment and the shame. Make something new for himself, of himself.

And—he flipped open the cover on one of the reports—this Olson case had been rather intriguing. The stint in France, twelve weeks tracking a wizard-run muggle trafficking ring. Going undercover with them at times as a hired guard. Draco hated polyjuicing, but gods it was exciting, living on that knife-edge. No time for melancholy when you're totally focused on not being discovered…or killed. He'd actually enjoy the write-up for this one too, especially the description of that brilliant binding spell Xing had deployed just as the ringleader was trying to disapparate from the hideout Draco had infiltrated. Xing had snapped the little shit back at the very last second, incredible that he hadn't splinched him.

Binding. Hmm.

Draco ran the tip of his quill over his lips, his mind wandering to a high-ceilinged classroom.

It wanted to go to her, but he didn't let it.

Instead he forced his thoughts to the class in general. Teaching. The other bright spot in his life. What a fucking surprise that had turned out to be. He'd said he'd do it only reluctantly because he couldn't come up with a proper excuse when Robards had put him on the spot the day Rowles had been hexed. But he found himself looking forward to it more each week: the newness and the challenge. Getting to know the students and being granted a glimpse into their lives. Watching them progress. The mellow glow of the classroom in the evening—the smell of wood polish and spent magic. Chalk dust on his hands.

Who knew he'd take to it so thoroughly? Find it so…rewarding.

Despite—or was it because of?—her.

Draco sank down in his chair again and drew the quill back and forth through his fingers, giving in to a vision of Granger glaring at him last week, just before he'd reached out and...

Gods, he'd been so irritated with her and that swotty, I-know-better-than-you attitude. But when he'd touched her. Merlin. He gripped the quill tightly, crushing the feather.

She'd been warm, he could feel it coming off her in waves, along with a ripple of her magic that had twined into his senses like a lure. And the scent in her hair? He closed his eyes. He'd been unable to stop himself bending his head to her, inhaling. Imagining. His lips on her neck, his hand gripping her waist. He'd been lost in it until someone had called his name.

Lost in the idea of pushing her up against a pillar and kissing her full lips, making his way down the delicate column of her neck. What would she taste like and how would it feel? Would she moan for him? Especially once he ran his hands over the smooth plane of her stomach to her full, round—

"Hiya, Malfoy." A cough came from the doorway and Draco sat up like a jack-in-the-box, wiping what felt like a very silly expression off his face and shoving his quill (now snapped in half) into a desk drawer.

Potter was standing there, shuffling his feet. "Er, hello," Draco said, feeling like he'd been caught at something.

A silence descended and Potter's glasses winked owlishly. "So, er, how's the class going?" he finally said.

"Fine, great." The feeling intensified. Did Potter know something? Draco did a quick rummage in his own head, but Potter wasn't in there or trying. He'd always been shit at Legilimency, anyway. Still, Draco banished all images of Granger to a dark closet and slammed the door behind them. "We're, ah, starting offensive spells tonight." Draco looked at the clock. He actually had to leave soon. Class was starting in twenty minutes.

"How are you doing that?" Now Potter leaned against the doorway.

"Training light-ups." Draco squinted at him.

"Ah, of course." Potter kept standing there. What the bloody hell did he want? "Any word on Belinda?" he asked.

"No, no changes. Steady recovery."

"Good, good." Potter fidgeted. "And the Olson case. How's that going? I know there was some, er, follow-up, after you came back from France." Potter gave Draco a look that made Draco think of smoking red envelopes. Fuck, of course Granger had bloody told him.

"All wrapped up as of last Tuesday." Draco gritted his teeth and tapped his pile of reports, sweating a little under the suddenly warm lights of his office. "Just have to, ah, write it up."

"Bloody reports." Potter shook his head and almost smiled. "Your pile is much more manageable than mine."

Draco nodded, his eyes sliding to the clock again.

"You've, uh, got class tonight, right?" Potter asked, also looking at the clock.

"Correct."

"Good, good." Potter nodded and sort of peered at Draco. "Hey," he said.

Draco, who had been grabbing for his leather case, froze, his heart beating strangely fast. "Mmm?"

"If you ever want to show them a real duel, I'd be game. Take off the training lights and all."

Draco was aware of a distinct feeling of relief, although he didn't want to identify what it pertained to. "A real duel. You mean in class?"

"Yeah."

"A demonstration, hmm." Draco stared off, not exactly sure how he felt about it. "Might be good for the students," he said slowly. "Maybe in a few weeks when we've learned more spells." He wasn't quite comfortable with the idea of Potter being in the room when he was trying to teach. Especially teach her.

"No Detwiler, though." Potter's glasses glinted again.

Draco stopped and looked at him, his brow lowering. "Did she—?" Of course she bloody had, right after she'd told him about the Howler. Or knowing her, probably before.

"Yeah, and I told her to listen to you."

"Good." Draco snapped his case shut and stood. Was Potter holding in a laugh, damn him?

"Oh, don't let me keep you," Potter stepped aside and waved Draco out the door.

Draco walked through with a terse, "Thanks." He gave Potter a nod and saw that all traces of humour had drained from Potter's face. He was doing this thing Draco had seen him do during countless interrogations—looking Draco up and down with a penetrating glint in his eye. Like he was searching for something he already knew was there. Draco froze over and gazed down his nose at Potter, whose brows went faintly up.

"Have a good night, Draco," he said.

Draco nodded again before turning on his heel. "You too."

***

Draco walked down the street to the educational annex briskly, his mind moving as fast as his feet. What the bloody hell had that been about? It wasn't like Potter to just stop by. They'd of course moved on from the intense mutual animosity of their childhood and were now cordial professional acquaintances, but they weren't quite on the level of just chatting it up in the doorway.

Had Potter just wanted to twit Draco about the howler and the Detwiler? Or had Granger said something more? Something about him. Was Potter checking in for Weasley?

The thought came out of nowhere and Draco stopped, causing a witch walking behind him to do some quick footwork as she dodged around him into the street. She muttered something, but Draco hardly noticed.

No, it couldn't be that. He hadn't given anything away. And despite his internal, er, lapses, there was nothing to give away. Nothing between them at all. Other than his annoyance at her for questioning his methods. And her clear mistrust of him.

Draco started walking again, his hand beating a tattoo on his leather satchel as he ran over the events of last class yet again. He'd have thought the differences in the spells would have convinced her. Hadn't she seen the evidence? Felt it too? That second spell of hers had been an ace—more powerful than what a lot of Aurors could produce.

His lips twisted up; he must have pissed her off to get that much zip into it.

But then his smile faded. She still hadn't quite trusted him, though. She'd still gone to her books and gotten her second opinions—although he'd have given money to see her face when Potter had backed him up.

He could picture it, in fact. The way her dark winged brows drew together over the slight downturn to her full lips. Just like she'd looked when that owl had flown in with Monique's howler. Right before she'd started laughing at him.

With him, actually.

Now that had been surprising. Shocking even. He didn't think the Granger of their school days would have found that in the least bit funny, but he supposed they'd all grown out of their youthful rigidity in their own ways…

And when she'd laughed…gods when she'd laughed.

He'd concede that point to Theo; she was stunning.

But that was neither here nor there. He didn't like her. She didn't like him. She was taken.

Draco shook his head and sniffed, punching the button for the lift in the lobby of the annex.

Except that bloody Theo kept nattering on about inviting her to drinks at his house so she could bring that older Weasley. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something. And now he had the excuse of Blaise and his blossoming thing with Penelope Clearwater to add fuel to the fire. Make them all awkwardly mix together in service to getting his cock sucked or whatever it was he wanted.

Draco rolled his eyes, flipping a swift wave to the American couple—April and Forrest (he was quite proud of himself for having memorised all of his students' names)—as he exited the lift. April gave him an eager smile that reminded him she'd invited him to post-class drinks tonight. She'd invited the whole class, in fact. Draco had an errand near the pub they'd chosen, so it wouldn't be inconvenient to drop in, although it may be wiser to give it a miss and keep his students more at arms' length. Or at least one of them. His eyes slipped to Granger's seat as he strode into Gymnasium B. Was she going? But her seat was empty, which was mildly surprising. She was usually early. He wondered if she was missing tonight's class.

Or maybe she'd finally dropped it altogether.

Bloody hell, why did that give him a pang? And why was he dwelling on her again? He had an entire classroom full of students, and he wasn't worrying about whether Marguerite from the DMLE prosecutor's office liked his teaching style or if Anthony Goldstein was satisfied with the curriculum. He looked at Goldstein, currently inhaling what looked like a squashed ham croissant and flipping through a comic book.

Wonder if he knew where Granger was…

"Good evening, class." Draco spoke a little loudly to be heard over the general hum in the room and to silence his own ridiculous inner dialogue. "We're starting an exciting area of study tonight, so let's, ah, get started."

Well, most of them were, Granger still hadn't shown— Draco swore inwardly and angled away from Granger's side of the room as he launched into an introduction to the art of attack-style duelling.

He paced slowly in front of the teacher's desk, enumerating the basics and outlining what they'd be doing over the next few weeks. "So far we've been rather British and polite, deflecting and disarming. But now we're getting into being aggressors, exploiting weakness, using timing and environment to gain advantage and disable or even harm our opponent." He stopped and looked around the room, noticing tense looks on some of the students' faces. "Are any of you nervous?"

Several heads nodded and he smiled. "Well, don't be. I'm not going to let you just fire willy-nilly at each other with slicing curses and shock jinxes. We'll be using a system that's been in place at the DMLE training academy for decades. Don't ask what they did before then—I've heard it involved a special ward at St. Mungos." He chuckled and the rest of the class did too. His eyes went to Granger's desk and then to the clock. Nearly ten minutes late. So unlike her. Maybe she had dropped out.

Bloody hell, Malfoy, pull your head out of your arse.

Draco stood from where he'd leaned against the desk and walked around to the blackboard. He took up the chalk and wrote 'Training Lights' on the smooth surface. "Anyone know what these are?" he called over his shoulder.

"A safety measure." A voice came from the very back of the room and Draco spun in surprise before he could bloody stop himself.

She was there.

Standing against the door, which she must have just slipped through. And Merlin, Circe and bloody Morgana, what was she wearing? It had been all conservative black robes since that first class, but right now she was so gorgeous (and so fucking sexy) that Draco almost dropped his chalk. His eyes ran up her body, from her very high heels to her closely-fitted tweed skirt, which skimmed her sleek thighs and hugged her deliciously curved waist. To a filmy blouse that he swore he could almost see through, and her hair, tame for once, laying over her shoulders in glossy waves. She was in more makeup than he'd ever seen her wear, eyes sultry and full mouth stained a deep berry colour that made him think of bursting sweetness—of sucking and tasting.

She lifted a brow.

"Er, quite right, Granger," he choked out. "Nice of you to join us."

He watched as she walked toward her seat, murmuring, "Sorry. Wizengamot hearing ran over," as she sat lightly and crossed her legs.

Draco swallowed. He realised he was still holding the chalk up. He dropped his hand.

"Training lights," he said. She nodded encouragingly.

Shit, he was still bloody staring at her.

He spun back to the board and wrote something. He wasn't sure what. Oh good, it was 'shielding charm' and not, 'your tits look amazing in that top.' He took a breath. "Training lights are a modified shield charm that show where you've been hit and at what intensity, but don't actually allow the spell to penetrate." He recited the words from memory and in a rush, then turned back around, looking anywhere but the second row near the windows. "So if you aim a Jelly-Legs-Jinx at me and you hit me, the spot where the spell lands will light up in a colour keyed to its intensity, but my legs will not liquify and I will not feel a thing."

Goldstein piped up, "What are the colours and what do they mean?"

Draco looked around. "Anyone know the answer?"

Granger's hand shot up immediately.

"Er, Ms. Granger again." And why was saying her name now making him half-hard?

She leaned forward and a shiny lock of her hair brushed over her left breast. Draco blinked. "Ah, green is weak, blue is moderate, yellow is strong and red is powerful?" she said, looping her hair back behind her ear, dragging it across the almost-sheer fabric of her blouse—right over what looked like a slightly peaked ni—

"Correct." Draco said shortly, tearing his eyes away and willing his attention back to more mundane topics than the various ways he could get that nipple to become more than slightly peaked. "And for those of you taking the exam, the examiners will want to see a majority of yellow and red hits during the test. They will accept a few blues, but a large part of duelling is casting your spell with sufficient strength, so we'll be working on intensity as well as mastery."

There were nods all around the room at this. "Excellent," Draco said, finally feeling himself surfacing from the pool of lust he'd fallen into at Granger's entrance. Really, he should be made of sterner stuff. He was going to chalk it up to the fact that he'd never seen her dressed that way before.

It had also been several weeks since Monique.

He clearly needed to remedy that. And soon.

"The presence of the shielding charm should actually help you," he continued. "No need to hold back if you know your spell won't actually hurt anyone." He tried to say this reassuringly, looking around at the more timid students and banishing the last vestiges of sex from his mind. He chanced a glance at Granger to test whether he had recovered from his temporary insanity.

Her head was down, and as she took a note, he saw the pink tip of her tongue poke from between her lips. Then she rubbed her calves together and the silk of her stockings made a whispering sound.

Bloody fucking hell.

Draco wheeled back toward the blackboard and took a deep breath, sort of chanting to himself that he didn't like her, she didn't like him, she was practically married, she was Granger. And Draco was her teacher. Although, no, that just made it hotter. Imagine if she stayed after class and asked for a special lesson. He'd sit in the desk chair and she'd lean over him and tell him she needed help with her form… Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply again, trying to banish all carnal images, droning over his shoulder and writing down the basics of offensive strategy until he'd chased anything other than dry, academic topics from his head.

He only turned around when he was certain his blood had cooled. And once he did, he finally became caught up in teaching, answering questions, expounding on topics and clarifying points. When they broke for the practical part of class and he began helping students with their spells, he felt back in control. Of course, he studiously avoided Granger, only allowing himself to watch her briefly from Goldstein's side of the room as they flung spells at each other. She was impressive as usual, the only one in the class to land a red hit that night. He used that as justification to not correct the slight inaccuracy in her stinging jinx motion. And he did not allow himself to be charmed by the fact that she'd taken off those mind-melting high heeled shoes and was doing her spells from the balls of her dainty, stockinged feet.

She was not for him. In any way. And the sooner his cock realised that, the better it would be for everyone.

With that thought, he turned his back on Granger and her alluring feet (bloody hell) and stalked down the line, watching April as she hurled an Incendio at Forrest's shins.

It landed yellow and Draco nodded. "Brutal," he murmured approvingly. "Set them on fire at the knees."

April laughed. "It's surprisingly easy to do."

"Thanks a lot, dear!" Forrest called.

Draco cracked a smile and April turned to him, her face bright. "Hey, are you up for drinks after class tonight? I think I mentioned it last week. Place called 'Toil and Trouble' a few blocks from here? We'd love to pick your brain over a few things. I want to use these training lights in the gym and I'd love some advice on how we could do it."

Draco noted her directness—so American—and wondered how much she and her husband had found out about him since the first class. Was her curiosity genuine or ghoulish? And who exactly was attending this thing?

"A pretty good group is coming," April said, seemingly reading Draco's hesitation in his face. She swept a hand down the line. "Marguerite and Simon. Sylvester. Aloysius. Few of the Ministry people. Joan says she'll come for one pint. Anthony's in. And, uh, Hermione said she'd be there." Her eyes were keen on Draco as she finished, and he again wondered what she knew.

Which caused him to flash back to Potter's glasses glinting in his bloody office door. Damn it, this was the third time tonight he'd felt ambushed over Granger.

It needed to stop.

"I, ah, can't promise," he said smoothly, willing his face into a mask of polite civility, absolutely refusing to look where April was looking, across the room where Granger was laughing at something Anthony had done. He could hear her laugh, could pick it out from the rest of the noise.

Fuck.

"Got a few other things on tonight," he said with a twist of apology in his voice. A lie, he had exactly one thing—picking up his shirts from the cleaners. He'd thought he might pop into the bookshop too.

What an exciting life he did lead.

April's face fell. "Well, OK. I guess we'll hope to see you there? Maybe for one?" She wrinkled her nose.

Persistent American. "Possibly. On the later side," Draco said, about ninety-eight percent certain he would not be attending.

"Awesome!" April's smile widened and Draco nodded before moving down the length of the room, correcting forms and giving a word of encouragement here or there.

Granger's laugh rang out again and he ground his teeth.

Yes, he was certain it would be best to stay away.

Chapter Text

"No, I love the idea of magical fitness! It makes so much sense!" Hermione waved her glass of wine at April. They were sitting across from each other, huddled at a long polished table dotted by flickering candles and half-full glasses. The pub was quite loud and they were crowded onto benches with a good portion of their classmates, several rounds in. Animated conversation about everything from the class to current events swirled around them and Hermione, who had felt reluctant when they'd been walking to the pub (craving her sofa and some muggle telly) was now thoroughly glad she'd come. She already felt like she knew everyone from class better, and April in particular was a lot of fun. Penelope and Ginny would love her bubbly personality. Maybe Hermione would invite her out with them sometime.

"Really? A lot of people I talk to about it here seem to think the gym idea is crazy." April looped a finger around her ear.

"Oh the wizarding world in Britain can be so insular and odd." Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed the wine bottle they'd been sharing, splashing the last of it into their two glasses. "I've spent some time in New York and there's just no comparison. But!" She held up a finger. "There are enough of us—by which I mean less archaically-minded folk—that I think you'll find success. It will catch on, I promise."

"I hope so!" April laughed and clinked her glass to Hermione's, her dark plaits swinging as she looked around the table.

"Great turn out tonight!" Hermione gestured to the others. "Thanks for arranging it."

April nodded, "Of course! I'm glad so many people showed." She set her glass down with a sigh. "I'm bummed Prof. Charming didn't make it, though. I really wanted to see what he's like outside of class."

Hermione sputtered into her wine. "What did you call him?"

April laughed. "I always do nicknames and he's so…" She waved a hand. "I mean, the hair? The clothes? The accent?" She fanned herself.

"Riiight." Hermione nodded slowly.

"I just find him fascinating, don't you?" April leaned forward. "Or—that's right—you two already know each other."

"We went to school together, yes," Hermione said. "And Anthony too." She nodded down the table at her class partner, who was drunkenly pointing at Simon and saying something to make the other man laugh.

"Right, right. Now I remember. With Harry Potter. You're close friends with him, aren't you?"

"Yeah." Hermine smiled. "He's like my brother."

"Wow. We'd heard of him even before we moved over here." April nudged Forrest. He turned quickly and gave her a kiss on the cheek before going back to the conversation he was having with Billie, the Hogwarts DADA professor candidate. "I had to look Prof Char—er, Draco—up after his comments that first night, though. "Fascinating history. He seems to have come a long way."

"He has." Hermione nodded, realising she meant what she said far more than she would have a month ago. She glanced over her shoulder to scan the front of the pub near the door, telling herself that she was relieved he hadn't come tonight. Not disappointed at all. No, this way she could relax, not have to make awkward small talk with him or explain their past to the group.

April leaned in, her dark eyes sparkling. "I see him as, like, a magical James Bond or something."

"Whaaat?" And now Hermione was wrestling with some very vivid images. She buried them in a gulp of wine.

"That air he has? The crime fighting? And the face and body?" April hissed the last part, darting a look at Forrest. "I mean, I'm happily married, but damn. I could just look at him all day. Makes the lecture part of class a lot more interesting. Was he that hot in school?"

"He… was." Hermione confessed as April crowed. "But we didn't get along that well. We were on opposite sides of the big conflict and he wasn't very good to me or people like me back then. I'm a muggleborn. No-Maj."

April's face fell. "Oh, shit. Of course. I forget sometimes how brutal it was here. And the article I read about him did talk about how his family were in league with the uh…"

"Death Eaters, yes. Although I don't think he had much of a choice." Hermione reached a hand across the table toward April. "And it's OK. It was a long time ago and we've made our peace since then." Sort of. "He's renounced pureblood supremacy publicly and was instrumental in putting some of the worst war criminals in jail. Now he's fairly dedicated to rooting out that kind of stuff. Undercover assignments and all that. He even works with Harry."

"Right. Wow." April leaned her chin on her hand. Then she smiled.

"What?"

"Just. Very James Bond!"

'Ha!" Hermione finished her wine just as the waitress plunked down a fresh bottle. "Another?" She laughed at April.

"It was me," said Forrest, leaning over his wife. "You two are having too much fun to break it up."

'Fine, twist my arm." April said with a wink at Hermione. "You want another glass?"

Hermione mentally reviewed tomorrow's to-do list and meeting schedule. It was fairly light. Today's hearing had been her big project for the week. In fact, she should celebrate it being done.

"Why not?" she said, pushing her empty glass toward April.

"Excellent!" April sloshed in a healthy pour. "So," she put the bottle down and spoke more quietly, darting a quick look around the table. "I get a real vibe between you and our fair professor."

"Who what?" Hermione froze.

April wiggled her brows.

"Me and Malfoy?" Hermione's heart had stopped beating. She wondered suddenly if everyone could see—she darted a look to the side, but they were all just talking and laughing. No one staring knowingly at her or somehow aware that she'd thought of tonight's class and this very outing (OK, that she'd thought of him) when she'd donned her tightest skirt and sharpest heel for the hearing this morning.

"It's so funny how you call each other by your last names," April giggled. "And yes, you and 'Malfoy'." She made air quotes.

"Well to be honest, I was being diplomatic earlier. We actually used to hate each other rather intensely in school. That's probably what you're picking up."

"Mmm, I don't know." April smiled. "Thin line between love and hate and all that. He really lost his train of thought when you came in earlier."

"Oh, he was just annoyed because I was late."

April laughed. "I don't think that was it. You look smoking hot tonight."

Hermione blushed and tapped April's hand, remembering the moment when Malfoy had turned around and seen her. The tic in his jaw and the way he'd swallowed. The shortness of his words and the way he'd turned quickly toward the board again. Dismissed her.

She shook her head. "Thank you, but I really don't—"

"And he watches you. I mean, you're the best student in class, so that's no surprise. But sometimes he watches you when he should be watching something else."

Hermione shook her head again, an unaccountable rushing feeling surging through her. "No way—"

"Look, I'm just telling you what I've noticed. I'm really observant. And I've got an outsider's perspective." April smiled and raised her brows. "Oh!" She suddenly hitched back and looked behind Hermione, her face lighting up.

"What?" Hermione started to look over her shoulder and was hit with a wave of familiar scent. Good linen starch and something warm, spiced, that ran just underneath. She inhaled, quite involuntarily, as a brush of fine wool slid against the sheer sleeve of her blouse.

"April, Granger."

Malfoy dropped onto the bench next to Hermione, quite close, and if he thought she'd flinch back he was wrong. Instead she almost swayed toward him, letting his arm rest against hers.

Must be the wine.

She took another swift drink of it, her soft, "Malfoy," drowned by April's excitement.

"You made it!"

"I did."

"What are you drinking? Can we get you something?"

"I ordered at the bar. They said they'd bring it over." Malfoy shrugged out of his coat and spelled it to a rack a few yards away. It was the beautiful grey one from the first night. And now the linen scent intensified. Hermione took a discreet breath and let April rattle on about Malfoy's arrival, calling attention to it down the table, which had thinned out in the last half hour. There were a few minutes of general chatter and welcome, a glass of whiskey delivered to Malfoy, followed by a burst of questions to him about the class and the exam.

Malfoy answered gamely, polite and even charming to his students. It was clear in their eager inquiries and open faces that they really liked him. Hermione even took part, her mouth saying things at the right places, studiously ignoring the looks and body language April had been throwing her way ever since Malfoy had chosen to sit right bloody next to her.

But her entire attention was focused on the right side of her body and how close it was to him. The heat she could feel from him seemed to infuse her wine-soaked mind and she was conscious of every infinitesimal brush of his arm against hers, and for one electric second, his thigh. And then it got rather warm in the room and Malfoy, while answering a long, technical question from one of the Ministry people about Confundus spells, unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves. Hermione tried very hard not to stare during the process, but wasn't certain she accomplished it.

April definitely gave her a look at that point—and then bloody disappeared, saying she needed the loo and then coming back and sitting on Forrest's other side. She called out something funny that effectively drew most of the conversation to that end of the table, leaving Hermione and Malfoy marooned on their own little island, everyone else at their end having left.

He accepted a fresh whiskey from over Hermione's head with a nod of thanks to the barmaid and sipped, moving back a little, but also turning to face her.

"How goes it, Granger?" His grey eyes rested on her face and she marvelled a little at their colour up close. So unique in nature, and especially with the platinum hair. She'd always wondered if there was a little Veela in the Malfoy bloodline. It would explain the colouring—and the unearthly attractiveness.

He raised a brow and Hermione realised she'd been staring. And not speaking.

"Uh, fine," she said, a paragon of erudition.

"Hearing went well?" Now his eyes flicked down to her outfit and Hermione resisted the urge to cross her legs.

"Yes, it was the final hurdle for some legislation I helped draft last year."

"What about?"

"Merperson rights." Hermione snuck a look at him to gauge his reaction, see if he had distaste for what she did, but his eyes brightened.

"Oh I read about this. It's similar to what your department did for the Centaurs a few years ago."

"That's right!" Hermione tried not to sound too surprised. But she was.

"Rather transformative for the population, wasn't it? Some much-needed protections and codifications?"

"Yes, exactly." 'Much needed,' blimey. Hermione hid her even deeper surprise behind a sip of her drink. It was one thing to know of the legislation, but to approve of it?

Malfoy leaned on his elbow. "And were you able to get Scamander's creature definition put in place for the Merpeople too? I know that was a sticking point last time around."

You could now officially knock Hermione over with a feather. "That's what today's hearing was about."

"Of course, and you testified." His eyes flicked over her again. "Think you carried the day?"

"I bloody hope so." Hermione let out a gusty sigh and he smiled. Damn. She took a big swallow of wine. "I mean, I worked hard enough on it. I was the primary author on the supporting position paper. They certainly deserve it."

"I quite agree."

Hermione plunked down her glass. "You do? I mean, you do! That's uh—" bloody shocking, "Great."

Malfoy gave her a look and she reached toward him. "I mean, it is. Brilliant. I'm glad to hear—" she stopped and inhaled. The linen scent was really strong now and so, so good. She closed her eyes a little, trying to pinpoint the exact note. It was fresh, but not citrus… more of a white—

"Granger, what are you doing?"

Hermione's eyes flew open to see amused grey glinting down at her, the smile from earlier looking like it was trying to emerge again. "I'm sorry," she said, a little unsteady as she pulled away from him. "You just smell, er, nice."

His brows shot up. "Do I?"

"Yes, it's linen-y." She sniffed in his direction again, the vat of wine she'd drunk dulling her sense of self-preservation.

"Oh, it's probably my shirts. I ran by the cleaners before I came here tonight." He leaned down and opened the leather case at his feet to reveal a snowy white sleeve behind a sheet of plastic. More of the scent wafted up.

"Nice extension charm," Hermione said, peering in. The spine of a book rested next to the bundle of shirts and she squinted at it. "Is that the new West Tower novel!?" She looked at him open-mouthed. "How did you get that?"

"Popped in Flourish and Blotts after the cleaners."

"But it doesn't come out until Saturday! I have it marked on my calendar!"

"I think Lafitte did an event there last night, so they had early copies. It's signed at any rate." He pulled the book out and handed it to Hermione. She flipped eagerly past its title pages. The fifth installment in the West Tower fantasy series by Morgaine Lafitte, she'd been waiting three years for this. Without really realising what she was doing, Hermione began reading the first page.

"Yes!" she hissed, pumping a fist. "I knew Sayana wasn't dead!"

A low chuckle sounded beside her and she started. "Oh! Sorry," she said, snapping the book shut and shoving it back at Malfoy, who was regarding her over the rim of his whiskey glass.

"Go ahead, Granger. By all means."

"No, sorry. I just got excited." Hermione picked up her wine. "This is a social event. We are socialising." She saluted him.

"Indeed. You like Lafitte, eh?" He gestured to the book.

"She's my favourite non-muggle author."

"Mine too. Who's your favourite muggle author?"

"Jane Austen."

"Why am I not surprised." Malfoy leaned his chin on his hand.

"Have you read any Austen?" Hermione was fairly certain of the answer to this.

"The major works."

"They're all maj— Wait, what? You've—" Hermione blinked rapidly.

"Pride and Prejudice," Malfoy held up a long finger. "Sense and Sensibility," He held up another. "And Persuasion." He waved three fingers in Hermione's shocked face.

Hermione just gaped at him and he flicked his brows up before taking another sip of his drink.

"Well, which did you like best?" she asked. "If you liked them, that is."

"I did like them. But Persuasion is the best."

Hermione kept looking at him, trying desperately to assimilate this knowledge and tamp down what it was doing to her.

"I related to that one a bit," he finally said.

"Oh. Oh. Of course." Hermione spread her hands on the table. She could see how he might understand being compelled by others to do something terrible.

"What's yours?" He shifted in his seat and looked at her speculatively.

"Mine what?" When had he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt?

"Jane Austen? Your favourite?"

Hermione tore her eyes away from his throat and gulped at her wine. "Oh Pride and Prejudice." She waved a hand. "Since I was sixteen."

"'My good opinion once lost, is lost forever?' Harsh stuff." Malfoy's eyes crinkled and Hermione almost spat out her wine. Had he just quoted Mr. Darcy to her? A vision of her theory vis-à-vis Malfoy and Darcy as explained to Penelope in the pub the other night rose in her mind like a farcical tidal wave and she tried to pour some more wine down her throat to combat it, but instead sucked it straight into her windpipe, leading to an immediate and severe coughing fit.

"Steady on, Granger" Malfoy patted her back (his hand was warm) and poured her a glass of water from a nearby pitcher.

Hermione drank gratefully. "Sorry," she gasped, looking around the table. Almost everyone had gone. In fact it was just April, Forrest and Anthony down at the other end. April saw Hermione looking and winked discreetly at her, then grabbed Forrest's arm and launched into a recitation that involved a lot of hand motions. Anthony started laughing and they were off again.

Hermione turned back to Malfoy. He was looking down and the low lights of the pub glinted in his hair. She had the strongest urge to touch it. Good, god Hermione! She forced her hand (which had actually inched toward him) into her lap and opened her mouth to say something about wrapping the evening up, when he turned back to her.

They just looked at each other for a moment, Malfoy seeming like he wanted to ask her something and Hermione trying not to notice that all the ways in which she found him attractive, compelling, seemed to be concentrated right now.

Also wasn't it funny that he'd stayed here, next to her, talking to her, the whole time?

He dragged his lower lip between his teeth and frowned. She dug her nails into her thigh.

Bloody. Wine.

Just then a raucous wave of laughter came from the bar. Malfoy broke their eye contact, looking over his shoulder as he drained his whiskey. The barmaid was at his elbow in an instant to ask if he wanted another. He agreed with thanks and then turned back to Hermione, his mien noticeably lighter.

"So Granger," he said, sounding a bit forced. "If you're doing such good work in Magical Creatures, why move to the Department of Mysteries?"

Hermione pushed away whatever fog she was in. The spell seemed to be broken anyway. And that was a good thing. Right? "I never said I was—"

He raised a brow.

"OK, fine," she said. "I'm going for a level IV Unspeakable position."

"I thought so, but why?"

"I suppose I feel I've accomplished everything I wanted in Creatures? Also, I have some long term goals and it's time for the next step toward them."

"Minister of Magic someday?"

"Possibly." Hermione shrugged and Malfoy nodded.

"Unspeakable work is hard on people, though. I've heard it compared at times to going undercover," he said. "Long hours away from home and family."

"I know, and I did consider that, but I think it's worth it for the experience." Another loud burst of laughter came from the other end of their table and Hermione turned toward it. Anthony seemed to be doing an impression, a napkin draped over his head.

"And, er, Weasley is supportive?"

Malfoy's words were quiet, but Hermione whipped back around. "What?" She was confused for a second. "Ron?"

Malfoy kind of shrugged and nodded at the same time, looking like the subject pained him.

"Oh." Did he not know? Didn't everybody know? "We broke up. In January. I live alone now." Hermione didn't know why in the world saying this felt significant. Or why Malfoy froze, the strangest look on his face.

He blinked and shook his head once. "Shit, Granger. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was necessary. Difficult, but necessary."

"But that was a long time, a lot of…everything. You're doing all right?"

"Yeah, I'm well actually." Hermione toyed with her wine glass, then bit down on a smile. "I'm taking this really great class."

Malfoy snorted a laugh, an extremely charming look of pleased surprise transforming his face. "Oh, really?"

"Teacher's a bit naff, but all in all a fair experience so far."

He inclined his head.

"And you? Are you all recovered after your—" Hermione cycled a hand, not sure why she couldn't get the word 'divorce' out and why the bloody hell she was asking the question in the first place. Chalk it up to polite reciprocation and being wine-drunk? Sure.

His brows shot up. "My divorce?" Hermione nodded. "Oh yeah, all water under the bridge. For ages now." He sat back, giving her a look that bordered on uneasy, then glanced down at his drink, long fingers spinning his glass on the table in a slow circle.

Some demon of mischief prodded Hermione's tongue. "I should hope so after that letter last week."

Malfoy froze again, then shook his head at his whiskey. Hermione let out a small snigger and saw a glint of grey flash her way. The corners of his mouth tugged up.

"You would mention that."

"What!?" Hermione was openly laughing now.

"Bloody embarrassing." He took a deep drink then looked over at her again. "No, keep laughing. It's fine, I'm sure I deserve it."

Hermione swiped at her leaking eye. "Well, I imagine you do! You must have done something to her."

"Uh, if being completely honest about my intentions and limits from the outset and then not deviating from said intentions and limits, is "something", then yes I did something."

Hermione tilted her head. "Fair enough." After what had happened with Ron, she had a strengthened appreciation for radical honesty.

And now it was Malfoy's turn to look surprised, a shrewd eye again turned her way with a sort of assessing glint. Hermione made a face back at him and he puffed a small laugh. They drank for a moment, Hermione thinking again about getting up and getting the hell out of here before the night got any more surreal. Or before she was any more tempted to do…something.

But again he preempted her. "Granger?" He rested his chin back on his hand and stared into the flickering flame of one of the many candles dotting the long table. "I think our friends are dating."

"Oh my god, of course! How have we not talked about this yet?"

"Well, we've never really. Talked." He looked full at her and heat flashed up her neck.

She started chattering to hide it. "True, but it's so strange isn't it? Pen and Blaise? What are the odds? Opposites attract and all that, I suppose."

"Quite." He turned back to his whiskey.

"But she seems very happy. Different."

"Oh?"

"She's been kind of a," —Hermione fluttered her hands— "a flitty butterfly since I've known her. Flower to flower and never in one place too long."

"That's a nice way of putting it."

"Malfoy!" She laughed and smacked him on the arm and then immediately realised what she'd done. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my. I'm sorry." She very deliberately laid her napkin over her wineglass.

But he did that sideways smile again. "No, please. Bash away, Granger. No one cares enough to hit me these days."

She laughed. A real laugh. The kind she couldn't hope to hold in. He watched her, his lips lifted, but his eyes rather dark.

Hermione attempted to pull herself together. "Anyway, what I was trying to say is that I've never seen her so happily settled on someone."

"Same for him. But I wouldn't say he's a butterfly. More of a shark."

Hermione snorted.

Malfoy leaned back and gripped the table, looking around at the now much quieter pub. Hermione tried not to stare at his forearms and failed. "But he does seem—happy—too," he said. "Quite happy. So we may be forced to socialise soon. Er, socialise more."

"Good thing we practised." God, what had made that come out so low and throaty? Hermione blinked and Malfoy, who'd looked about to say something, stopped. Colour crept into his lower jaw.

At that interesting moment, Anthony shouted down the table about getting a curry. April tried to shush him, but he kept on and Hermione took it as her cue to sit up and reach for her bag.

"I'm not hungry, but I'll walk with you as far as the apparition point," she said.

"Ace!" Anthony staggered up. "April? Forrest? Draco?"

"We live above the pub, so I think we'll just head home." Forrest slung an arm around April's shoulders.

She nodded. "I'm fried. I need to get to bed."

Hermione sensed Malfoy stand up next to her and tensed for his response. "I'll walk with you and Granger, Goldstein." He said it quietly as he reached for his coat.

A thrill ran under Hermione's skin and she tamped it down ruthlessly. Bloody wine. She'd be first out of the apparition point if it killed her.

Chapter Text

Draco's damp cape snapped at the back of his calves as he accelerated into a dive. He could barely see where the quaffle was arcing off Blaise's throw, but if he could just put on a burst of speed, he could get there and catch it before it spiralled away. He stretched out flat on his broom and felt the air whip by him fast, then faster. At the crucial moment he reached, feeling the leather of the ball just touch his fingertips, then settle into his palm. He pulled out of the dive triumphantly, pivoted, then raced toward the other side of the field, the green of the grass and the dark grey of the sky blurring by. Within seconds he was close enough to the goal to wind his arm back and throw. He watched with satisfaction, chest heaving, as the dull red ball streaked through the middle ring.

"Nice one!" Blaise's shout, never heard except on a Quidditch field, echoed out behind Draco.

Draco wheeled around. "That was a nasty fucking toss!"

"You're welcome." Blaise pulled up, a smirk on his face. "I think we're losing the light, though." He glanced at the lowering sky.

"Yeah, let's go in. I'm soaked through." Draco twisted the heavy hem of his cape and watched water drip from it.

They raced back across the municipal pitch to the changing rooms, swooping and diving around each other through the twilight. It was cold and the dark was dropping fast—nearly November, already.

"You have time for the sauna?" Blaise called.

"Yeah. Bloody need it after this." Draco swiped the wet from his face with his sleeve as they alighted near the squat, white changing-room building, its windows glowing against the dim. They went inside, already shrugging out of their capes, and after a blissfully hot shower, Draco pulled open the door to the small cedar dry sauna to see Blaise already there, lying on one of the benches with his middle wrapped in a towel and a damp cloth over his face. Draco sat on the other bench with a sigh, leaning back and breathing in the hot, lightly scented air, letting the warmth sink into muscle and bone. They were lucky the pitch and facilities had been deserted tonight. Clearly no one else had wanted to brave the shit weather.

"That may have been our last outing for the season." Blaise mumbled from beneath his towel.

"Hope not. I don't mind the cold as long as it's dry."

"This time of year it starts feeling like it will never be dry again, though."

Draco snorted and took a deep breath, again appreciating the hot drafts of air billowing from the grate of rocks in the corner. He let himself relax, melting into the bench and closing his eyes.

"Any plans for the weekend?" he asked after a moment. "Fancy Sunday lunch at the manor? Narcissa would like to see you." And Draco really didn't want to face it alone again.

"That could work. As long as it's not too early. I'm spending Saturday with Pen."

"Ah."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Well, you know my mother. Lunch will begin promptly at one."

"That should be fine."

"Excellent. I'll leave the floo open." Draco shifted, stretching out his legs. "Big plans for Saturday?" he asked. "Any more dazzling trips to European capitals in the works?" He did enjoy mocking Blaise for how over-the-top he'd gone for the first date with Penelope.

"Ha ha, no. She wants to take me to an antiques fair in Sussex?" Draco could hear the curl of Blaise's lip in his speech. "Never understood the appeal in buying other people's old shit."

"Much less gauche to inherit it."

"Fuck off, you know what I mean." Blaise gestured rudely and lazily in Draco's direction.

"I don't. I find antiques fairs charming. Especially muggle ones. Trying to figure out what all the bits and bobs are for."

Blaise pulled his towel off his face and looked over. "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

"I've grown and changed," Draco quipped. "My condolences to you, though. Even if it is nice to see you branching out and finding new interests."

"Woman's got me wrapped around her finger," Blaise grunted, but he sounded pleased. "She's so bright. Passionate about things. Can't help but go along."

Draco made a sound of assent. Bright. Passionate. And then his mind went straight to Thursday night again. Like it had a hundred times since. Granger's comments about Penelope and Blaise, her face as she'd ripped open his book. Her voice and eyes when she'd spoken of her work. So different from the women he usually—

Draco took a deep breath. But they weren't— They were nothing like that. Despite a certain thawing. Despite the fact that she was no longer with Weasley, which was incidentally another thing that had been running through his mind disturbingly frequently in the five days since he'd learned about it. "I live alone now," she'd said. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes again, the will to not think about her slipping away on another gust of warm air from the heated rocks in the corner.

He hadn't been able to stay away that night, despite his carefully thought-out decisions and well-supported rationalisations. No, his feet had still pointed toward the pub, toward the seat right bloody next to her. And after the pub (after that rather devastating conversation) he'd walked back with her to the apparition point, Goldstein tagging along and being incredibly silly. Making her laugh and double over, tears of mirth streaking her cheeks. At one point she'd clutched at Draco's arm.

He hadn't minded.

He hadn't minded any of it. 'Hadn't minded,' actually being a synonym for, 'enjoyed it more than anything in a very long time.'

Her gorgeous face in the flickering candlelight. The way she'd teased him, and he'd liked it. The playful bash on his arm. She'd said he smelled nice. And she liked his class.

He could have gone on talking to her for hours.

Bloody. Fucking. Alarming. He tapped his head against the wall.

Goldstein had insisted she apparate first and so at least there hadn't been any awkward end of night shuffling, but the whole thing had still been completely unnerving. From her entrance into the classroom to that last comment at the pub. "Good thing we practised." She'd said it with bedroom eyes, for fuck's sake, looking up from under her lashes with a tilt to her chin, causing all the blood to leave Draco's brain and rush directly to his cock.

What would he have done if they'd been alone? Reached over and brushed a thumb over those berry-stained lips? Run a hand into her hair? Tilted her head back and kissed her until they were both breathless?

He'd thought about it.

Fuck him, he'd wanted to.

But did she want him to?

Surely not.

Or maybe?

Bloody. Hell.

"I didn't know Granger and Weasley had broken up." Draco blurted it out, tossed it like a bombarda into the silence that had settled in the sauna.

"You didn't? Thought I mentioned it."

"No."

"Oh. Well, it was a while ago. Early this year." Blaise looked over, his eyes a little sharp. Draco tried to arrange his face in disinterested lines, to pretend like he hadn't been ruminating of this tidbit of information almost constantly, turning it over and over like a worry stone in his hand.

"Weasley was cheating on her with some young chick he lives with now. She's like nineteen, twenty." Blaise's disdain was clear in his voice. "It had been going on for a while, apparently. He'd kept it from Granger to the point that it was almost a double life situation. Pen was as angry as I've ever seen her about it. Was rather hard on Granger, I think."

"What?" Draco leaned forward, his faux-disinterest going up in smoke. "What a fucking git."

"I know."

"He was already punching so high above his weight—" Gods, he'd been certain it was some gentle, childhood-sweethearts-drifted-apart tale. But this was awful. He thought of Granger's face; 'It was difficult, but for the best.' Shit, he felt like hitting Weasley.

Blaise propped up on an elbow, his eyes very sharp now. Draco tried to be calm, but found himself cycling through various emotions, chief amongst them disbelief, concern for Granger and contempt for that worthless piece of—

"Bloody coward." Draco shook his head. "After all that time. They were practically married."

Blaise kept looking over. "I know. Complete arsehole move. According to Pen it's thrown a big wrench in their friend group. Potter hasn't spoken to Weasley since it happened."

"Good." Draco again imagined hitting Weasley. With his signet ring hand. A satisfying crunch of fist to bone. He looked down and flexed his fingers.

"I thought you'd have noticed. You work with them both."

"I work with Potter. Weasley's in Forensics. I never see him." Mostly by choice. Although now… Now maybe Draco would find an excuse.

"You feel strongly about this."

"Er, well. She's in my class."

"I know." Blaise raised a brow.

Draco felt his face heat. He draped a cool cloth over it. "Speaking of Weasleys, has Theo been bugging you about this drinks thing too?"

"Yes, fuck's sake." Draco could hear Blaise's eye roll as he flopped back down.

"He's going to make it happen somehow. He wants me to invite Granger, so she'll bring the Weasley he's interested in."

"The dragon-tamer, right? I wonder if he and Granger are still friends after everything that happened."

"I hope they wouldn't drop her! Just because—" Draco felt a renewed wave of something rise up his chest. 'I live alone now.' Hadn't her parents shipped off to Australia during the war? And she was an only child, like him. Was she lonely too? Although, "I'm taking this class," she'd said, almost teasingly, but he could tell she'd meant it.

Maybe he was a bright spot for her too.

"Yeah." Blaise drummed his fingers on the bench. "You know Pen thinks you should ah—"

"What?" It came out louder than Draco had intended.

"Ask her out."

"Granger?" Draco was glad for the cloth still covering his face. Did Penelope know something?

"Yeah."

Draco tried for a very bland tone, pushing away every feeling that had been roiling through his mind the last few minutes. "What a mad idea. I don't think we'd suit."

There was a pause and Draco kept himself very still. "That's what I said," Blaise spoke after a long moment and Draco really couldn't understand the affronted reaction that stiffened his spine.

"So are you going to do it?" Blaise yawned as he moved up into a sitting position.

"Do what?" Ask her out? Bloody hell, he could hardly picture it.

"Invite her to Theo's thing."

"Oh, ah, I dunno." The prospect was slightly less terrifying than the one he'd just been entertaining, but still unsettling. Could he pass it off as a casual group invitation? Or would it come off as more than that? It still felt a lot like a bridge he shouldn't cross, despite what his imagination had been serving up lately.

Granger was single. Granger was gorgeous. And more than that, she was interesting, compelling.

But she was still Hermione Granger.

Draco pushed a hand through his hair. Gods, was he going mad? He couldn't remember the last time a woman had put him into such a twist. Contrast this with Monique, whom he'd approached at a cafe in Le Marais on a Tuesday and bedded by the Thursday. No angst, no hesitation, no complications.

Well, other than the howler problem.

"Don't leave it too long or Theo will take matters into his own hands. He was making noises about that when I saw him last week."

"Mmm." Speaking of alarming prospects.

"Right. I've got to get going, mate." Blaise stood. "Dinner with mum tonight."

"Give her my regards." Draco tried to pull himself out of the morass of truly worrying thoughts he'd fallen into.

"She'd like to see you too. Maybe next week?"

"It's only fair."

"Excellent. Friday at seven?"

"I'll put it in the diary."

Blaise flipped a wave as he strode through the doorway and Draco lowered his cloth back to his face. He could hear the sounds of Blaise opening his locker and getting dressed, the clunk of his broom handle on the floor as he walked out, the swing of the door and then finally, the total silence of a completely empty building.

Draco tipped his head back against the wall and pulled in a deep breath of heated air. A few more minutes in the warmth and then he'd head off himself. Home to his empty flat. He eased down and onto his back, laying full out on the bench like Blaise had done earlier. The hot wood planks pressed across his back and into his skin, relaxing tight muscle and pulling a sigh from his throat. Draco let his eyes drop shut, resting his hands on his chest and stomach.

What did Granger do for exercise? Must be something. You didn't look like that in those tight muggle things without a bit of work. Did she climb those stair machines, or run? Swim? Did she wear the trouser-tights around the house? In the flat where she lived alone, no Weasley. No partner at all. He was sure it was neat and book-filled. Probably warm and snug in that Gryffindor way. Not like his sparse space. She'd have pillows and plants. Lamps and rugs and muggle snapshots in frames. A big, soft bed with a colourful quilt. Maybe she was lying on it now, on her stomach with her legs crossed in the air behind her, devouring the West Tower book. With her perfect, round arse in the soft, tight trousers. Her long legs and the deep curve of her waist. Hair up, but curly—not sleek like the other night—the tousled corkscrews that gave off that intoxicating scent. Swept off her neck, so he could see it, arched gently as she looked down at the page and drew her full lower lip between her teeth.

Draco's breath sped and almost unconsciously his hand slid down his stomach.

He'd come up behind her and watch her for a moment, then skim a hand up her leg. Palm her calf and trace up from the back of her knee until he got to the join of arse and thigh. Press into her bum, run his hand over it, squeeze. She'd turn in mock irritation, but with the beginnings of a sultry smile on her deep berry lips. He'd capture them and twist his hand around to her front, cup her stomach and pull her gently over, tease his tongue against her, feel hers tease back. Then he'd ease over her body, slowly, until he was between her eager legs that would twine around his hips and pull him in, close to her warmth and softness, book forgotten. He'd slide one hand up to her wrists and pin them above her head. The other would go under her tight muggle shirt, pushing it up and up until he could just see the lower curve of her sweetly rounded tits.

Draco's fingers pushed at his towel, reaching underneath. He was so hard that his breath sucked in on a sharp gasp as he palmed himself.

She'd gasp too. When he pushed her top up and lowered his mouth to her nipples. Deep dusky rose and tightly peaked—he'd suck and swirl until she was panting his name, digging her fingers into his hair. He'd graze his teeth against her and she'd cry out. Her legs would wind tighter around him, pull him against her hot core that would be pushing, melting against his rock hard...

Draco's hips bucked off the bench as his thumb dragged over the tip of his weeping cock.

She'd be frantic to get her trousers off. Pushing at them as he helped her, grabbing at his arse, begging him to sink his throbbing, rigid length into her hot, slick passage. He'd want to make her wait, tease her, but he wouldn't be able to resist, so he'd just give up and fuck her. Slow and hot, then fast and frantic, in and out, over and over, his face in her neck as she threw her head back, 'Draco!'

"FUCK!" Draco's shout echoed around the tiny sauna as he came, so hard that he sat halfway up off the bench. "Fuck," he said more softly, blinking. He listened for sound, a little dismayed with himself. But there was none, so he flopped back down, dabbing his handcloth at his stomach and chest. He was breathing heavily, but his mind was floating in a liminal space where no real thought could enter. Just impressions and slowly fading sensations. He let it stay there for a moment, utterly dazed by the strength of what had just happened.

It had taken, what? Thirty seconds?

"Fuck," he said again, bumping his head back against the bench.

This was not good.

Not good at all.

It couldn't be.

***

Class #5

Hermione tripped down the last flight of steps and into the Educational Annex atrium, passing quickly through its dingy interior as she wrapped a creamy wool scarf around her neck. It was cold tonight—crisp—and she'd decided she would walk home. Release some of the restless energy that seemed to be jangling under her skin. Maybe she'd stop and get a takeaway rather than the sad canned soup she'd planned for her dinner too. Why not? There was no pub meet-up tonight. No dinners with friends.

No stimulating encounters to leave her wound-up and bothered all week.

Shaking her head, Hermione yanked at the door to the outside. Not that she need have worried. Malfoy hadn't shown one iota of familiarity tonight. There'd been no hint at what had happened last week at the pub—the more mortifying bits of her behaviour or their heady conversation, their shared the laughter. His reaction when she told him she and Ron had split. Had he really not known? The question had been on her mind all week. Popping in on her at unexpected moments—a dull meeting or on the tube—leading her through a whole cascade of thoughts that seemed to lead inevitably to breathless, alarming places. Places she'd pull herself out of with a yank, looking around wildly like someone could see the thoughts she was having about Draco bloody Malfoy, of all people.

But he'd been all business tonight, crisp as the November air. And Hermione—who, after a truly excessive amount of agonising over how to handle this…thing, had decided it would be best to follow his lead—had made herself act the same. She'd read his cool expression and lack of eye contact in an instant and calibrated herself to be equally composed. She'd listened and looked only the proper amount, taken notes and emulated wand motions dispassionately. She hadn't let herself seek him out in any way, even when Joan-the-grandmother had likened dizzying spells to, "the vapours, like something out of Jane Austen." No, Hermione had kept her eyes firmly fastened on her notes and not at all fallen into a memory of Draco Malfoy quoting Mr. Darcy to her.

Last week had clearly been an aberration. They'd both had a little to drink (well, more than a little in her case) and been…thrown…by being thrown together. They'd made the best of it for the night and it had been fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, they knew each other a little better now, and had shown they could be cordial. Which was beneficial considering the whole Penelope and Blaise thing.

It was nothing more than that. Obviously.

So why was a lowering feeling of disappointment pushing at her consciousness? Hermione paused at the top of the stair to the street and heaved a breath. Disappointment when Malfoy had come in at six on the dot (in the grey coat again, sigh) and launched immediately into his lecture, no time for chit-chat. And when he'd completed said lecture without looking in her direction once. When he'd failed to observe or comment on her practical spellwork at all, saying only, "Keep it up," with a nod to Anthony as he'd paced by them on his way to help another student. Disappointment when he'd gathered his things with a terse, "See you next week, class," and strode for the door the moment the clock struck half seven.

She shouldn't be disappointed, she should be relieved that nothing more embarrassing had come from her over-familiarity last week. Talking about how he smelled, pawing around in his bag, hitting him, good god. Hermione put her fingers to her forehead and started down the steps. It was actually a mercy that he was being cool and distant.

They'd just give it time to die down and soon they could pretend it had never happened.

She pulled her coat closer as her laced boots hit the pavement. She'd gone full muggle-wear tonight—jeans and a jumper—which she was glad of as it really was cold. Her breath blew a cloud as she heaved a final sigh before turning in the general direction of her flat, head down and pace fast.

But just as she passed a streetlight, a tall figure straightened against it and the most distinctive drawl sounded. "Hi there, Granger."

Hermione froze, her head whipping toward the light.

The figure raised a languid hand, a cigarette in a holder between its long fingers, a curl of smoke issuing from the tip.

Hermione blinked. "Do I know you?"

The figure stepped into the light and materialised into a slim, dark-haired man with a striking, almost feline-featured face. He was stunningly dressed in a houndstooth suit and polo-neck. A fur-trimmed coat that nearly put Malfoy's to shame was slung over his shoulders.

"I'm Theo." He shrugged, the extreme plumminess of his accent making it sound more like "Thayo."

And now Hermione recognised him. Theo Nott, of course. He'd been much more buttoned-down in school, but those dark-fringed blue eyes and crooked mouth were the same.

Hermione narrowed her own eyes and flicked them over his person. "Do all of you have some special entrée with a maker of beautiful coats?"

He stopped fiddling with his cigarette holder and puffed a laugh, his mouth curving into a half smile. "It's just Savile Row, Granger."

"So muggle of you."

"Doesn't bother me." Theo picked a bit of tobacco off his tongue. He really was striking, his hair slicked back in an almost 1930s movie star style. He may even have been wearing mascara and—Hermione squinted—eyeliner?

What was he doing here, waiting for Malfoy? She knew they were friends. But Malfoy had already gone. And Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to be caught between them, anyway. Something in Theo's energy told her it would be less than comfortable.

She tilted her head then started moving her feet. "Well good night, I guess. Nice to see you."

She started to walk away, but Theo's hand shot out, brushing at her arm. "I require your presence," he said. "At a gathering next Saturday."

"Why?" Hermione blurted the first thing that came to mind, feeling the incredulity as it moved across her face.

"Bit rude to ask, isn't it?"

"Am I required to be polite to you?" He'd never sent her a bloody apology letter.

"Touché." Theo laughed softly and leaned a shoulder back against the lamppost as if it were tiring him to stand straight. He looked at her speculatively. "I like you. Will you come?"

Hermione, gazing at his elegant person, was grudgingly intrigued. What was this about? Also, she liked him a bit too. There was humour glinting in his eyes, a kind of playfulness that reached out to something similar in her. She kept looking at him, assessing.

"And if you do come, will you bring that older Weasley brother?" Theo's eyes glowed and his brows flicked up.

"Bill?"

"God, no. The dragon one. Charlie. Charles? Chuck?" Theo cocked his head. "No, definitely 'Charlie.'" He nodded to himself.

Aha. Charlie. Of course. Several pennies dropped at once. Charlie was gay too. And stupidly gorgeous, single, just moved back to England. That all fit. But where would Theo have seen him? That Prophet article about the Mongolian Mole? Or had they met somehow? They would certainly make an…interesting pair, to put it lightly. Hermione made a quick mental note to owl Charlie first thing tomorrow and arrange a coffee or lunch, so she could pump him for information.

"So—" Theo started to say something, but stopped, his eyes focusing beyond Hermione.

"Is this man bothering you?" Another voice, deeper and sending a shiver straight up Hermione's spine, came from close behind her.

"Yes," she said, half-smiling at Theo before turning around to see Malfoy just passing into the light, an unreadable look on his face.

"He does that," he said, crossing his arms and turning to Theo. "What are you doing here? You said you'd be at the apparition point."

"I wanted to talk to Granger."

Malfoy made an indistinct noise and frowned at Theo. Hermione admired the two of them facing off: Malfoy tense and Theo definitely amused about something. Also, it was like a mini-fashion show, Malfoy's gorgeous hair catching in the light and Theo's cheekbones so prominent, they made dramatic shadows on his face. And the coats; the coats were magnificent.

"I've invited her for drinks next weekend." Theo took a deep drag on his cigarette, seeming to answer a silent question from Malfoy.

"Have you?" Malfoy's look intensified and Theo became positively angelic. Or at least as angelic as a thoroughly devilish-looking man could be.

Hermione felt a prickling in her thumbs and was reminded of her earlier urge not to be caught in the middle of whatever was going on here. "I, uh, should be going," she said, slinging her bag higher up her shoulder. "Thanks for class." She nodded at Malfoy. "It was good. Uh, again. I particularly liked your point about Rameaux's law and how it applies to psychological spells."

Malfoy, who hadn't left off staring at Theo, looked over at her words, that same expression of pleased surprise from last week flitting across his face. "You did? Er, ah. You did. Excellent."

"Mmm-hmm. Very well-reasoned. I hadn't thought of it that way before, but it makes a lot of sense." Hermione nodded once, then turned to Nott. "Good night…Theo." She looked at him and her lips tugged up. "It really was…intriguing…to see you." She bowed her head and Theo's mouth quirked. He looked swiftly at Malfoy, who Hermione could tell was still watching her, and his smile grew.

She turned, giving them both a small wave as she walked away.

"Good night, Hermione." Malfoy's voice was low, but it flew straight to her centre like an arrow, making her heart thump wildly. Her name—she didn't think he'd ever said it before. She froze in her quick stride, almost turned, her face flooding with warmth.

"I like you, Granger!" Theo was calling. "Please come to my party. It will be just small. Cocktails and parlour games. Owl me for details. And make sure you bring that Weasley—and whoever else you want. You're single now, aren't you?"

Hermione did look over her shoulder at this, to see Theo had an actual handkerchief that he was waving. Draco had moved into shadow, but she could make out his gloved fingers tapping slowly against his thigh.

Merlin.

"I'll think about it!" she called to Theo, then sped her pace until she'd rounded the corner.

***

Hermione woke in the middle of the night, her sheets drenched in sweat, duvet tangled around her legs.

She'd been dreaming.

About him.

"Hermione." Her name in his voice. And he was kissing her—deeply, devouringly—those long fingers, his hands, everywhere. Then his mouth, everywhere. Nipping and sucking while his fingers went lower and her back arched and she moaned his name in return, plunging her hands into his bright hair and pushing him down until his tongue slipped over her and she was gasping, tensing then gasping louder; a hair trigger about to explode.

Mindlessly she reached a hand into her knickers and began stroking, plunging against herself, reliving the feeling in the dream when he'd come back up. His voice rasping low, his length rigid against her. "Do you want this, Hermione? Do you want me? Say it. Say it."

Her name in his voice. "Yes, yes," she'd moaned, "Please, Draco. Please." Already clenching as he'd thrust into her again and again, the most exquisite feeling. Just like she was clenching now, riding wave after wave of pleasure as she spiralled up, straight up to her bedroom ceiling, barely awake, but breathing like she'd run a race, drenched in still more sweat. Out of her mind.

"Oh my god," she gasped as she came down, looking around like she was in a foreign place, rather than her own bedroom at four in the morning.

She flopped back on her pillows and shoved her sweaty hair back from her forehead, staring sightlessly into the dark. "Oh my god."

What the bloody hell had just happened?

She closed her eyes. "Oh my fucking, fucking god."

Chapter Text

"Up or down, Crooks?" Hermione turned this way and that in her bedroom mirror, picking her hair up off her neck and then letting it fall. The cat blinked at her from the bed, but didn't make a sound.

"You're no help," she said, taking a final, critical look then spelling her hair into a loose knot atop her head. Better to show off the pretty collar of her jacket. She nodded then pulled a few curls free and studied her eye makeup. Smoky and dark with a pop of dusty peach to bring out said jacket's rich, bronze-coloured velvet? It would do.

She brushed at her sleeve and retied the silk ribbon at her waist, fiddling with the bow. Then she unbuttoned a cuff and pushed it up, frowned at her reflection and pulled it down again.

"My gods, why am I so fussy?" She whirled away from the mirror, picking up a black-edged scroll that was lying on her dresser and reading through its ornate script. "'Bohemian Cocktail Chic,' what the bloody hell does it even mean?" she muttered, throwing the invitation aside. It had come a few days ago, via a large black-banded owl, after lunch with Charlie had resulted in Hermione sending a polite acceptance to Theo Nott.

She'd been surprised when Charlie had confirmed that he and Theo had indeed met, and even more shocked at the colour that had flooded his face the moment she'd brought Theo up. Charlie didn't blush.

"You like him!" Hermione had leaned over their small cafe table with a grin.

"I suppose." Charlie said, trying to suppress his own grin with little success. "Been looking for an excuse to get back in, er, touch. Met him on an, ah, routine call when I was working the CCMC hotline."

Hermione stared at him and he rubbed his neck. She would have bet her last knut that the call had turned out anything but routine.

"Why do you need an excuse? I'm fairly certain he'd like to hear from you." She pictured Theo's glowing eyes from the other night.

"Dunno." Charlie had shrugged. "He's a bit different, you know? I wasn't sure he'd be interested in another, um..." His face had flamed even redder at this, reminding Hermione forcibly of Ron. "And I've been so busy with the move up to Harris, the new job."

"Right, how's that going?" Hermione kindly decided to let the conversation drift into the comparatively safe topic of work, which they'd chatted about for a while until Charlie had brought up Theo again, asking with an almost shy look if Hermione would accept his invitation for the both of them.

She'd agreed and now here she was, wrestling with 'Bohemian Cocktail Chic.' She looked at herself in the mirror again and then the clock. Shit, Neville would be here in less than five minutes. She'd begged him to be her plus-one since Charlie had told her he'd have to come a couple of hours late tonight.

"No way I'm going in there on my own," Hermione muttered as she rummaged through the several dishes and boxes that held her costume jewellery collection. She'd thought about not going at all, but between her own curiosity and Charlie's request, she couldn't resist. And of course Penelope and Blaise would be there. But so would Malfoy. And after that dream…and what she'd done as a result.

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed several times, chanting, "Not real, totally harmless," in the quiet of her bedroom.

But she'd clearly needed some distance after that, and been relieved when he'd cancelled their sixth class this Thursday due to a last minute work conflict.

Tonight would be the first time she'd seen him since.

She opened her eyes with a gusty sigh, frustrated with herself. She was being ridiculous. It wasn't like he was going to look at her and know. Besides, he was probably bringing someone to the party. Maybe she'd get to meet the famous French howler woman in person. She snorted, ignoring the significant twinge this thought introduced, then selected a vintage rhinestone necklace and clasped it around her neck. After another moment of rummaging, she affixed some old silk-ribboned military medals she'd found at a Paris flea market to her lapels.

"Sufficiently bohemian?" she asked Crookshanks, who was suddenly twining around her ankles. "Careful puss, you'll make my tights furry," she brushed at her black-clad legs, gave the cat a scratch, then straightened and smoothed her pleated wool shorts. She was just slipping into black velvet flats when her floo roared and she heard the sounds of Neville stumbling out.

"Hullo!" he called, and Hermione directed him to the bedroom. He appeared in the doorway and looked her up and down. "Well, aren't you lovely."

"Do you think?" Hermione glanced over her shoulder in the mirror again. "The dress code was so vague. I have no idea if people will be wearing cocktail dresses or caftans and harem trousers."

"Dress code?" Neville looked dismayed.

"Oh no, I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be fine." Hermione waved a hand. Contrary to Penelope's statements about her friends' lack of dress sense, Neville was rather keen on fashion and looked perfectly presentable in a tweedy, slim-cut suit with a narrow scarf looped around his neck. "Quite handsome, in fact." She pulled him over to stand in the mirror with her. "We'll do."

Neville took a big breath and raised his brows. "When does it start?"

"Twenty minutes ago, which means we should probably get going." Parties were the one thing to which Hermione allowed herself to be late, but she did hate turning up any later than thirty minutes after the start.

"And who will be there?" Neville wandered toward the kitchen as Hermione rushed about, checking the apparition coordinates on the invitation, slotting her wand into a slim clutch and filling Crookshanks' food bowl.

"Theo, of course. Pen and Blaise. Charlie, but later. I assume, er, Malfoy will be in attendance. He seemed to know about it when Theo invited me." Hermione grimaced and shoved away images of a tall figure in shadow.

Neville raised his brows again. "Small group."

"Oh there may be more, I don't know!" Hermione swiped on a coat of her favourite lipstick, nerves flaring again.

"Want a cheeky drink to loosen up?" Neville went into the kitchen and picked up the one bottle of liquor Hermione kept in the flat—an Ogden's Harry had brought over months ago and left.

"That is a marvelous fucking idea." Hermione joined him, reaching into a cupboard for two glasses. "Ice?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Nah, let's do it neat. Hits faster that way." Neville grinned and Hermione smiled back. He poured them each a healthy measure. "Bottoms up."

Hermione, who usually only sipped at whiskey, really did upend her glass, gulping all of the fiery liquid and sputtering a little as it blazed a trail down her throat. But soon a pleasant warmth filled her belly and limbs, the sharper edges of her thoughts smoothing out almost instantly

Neville wiped his mouth and then his eyes, which were watering. "Smooth," he gasped with a laugh.

Hermione stepped forward and took his arm, gathering her handbag and checking the apparition coordinates one more time. "I hope these are accurate because I really have no idea where we're going."

"I'm sure it will be fine." Neville looked down at her and widened his eyes. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

***

The apparition coordinates were actually quite good, depositing them on the front stoop of an extremely ornate house, all pointed towers and crumbling gargoyles. Made of dark grey stone, it was foreboding—almost menacing—under a cloudy sky. Hermione felt like something out of Brontë (Charlotte, naturally) as they started up the steps and the first drops of rain began to fall.

Neville lifted the manticore-shaped knocker and let it bang on the massive door, which swung open almost instantly, revealing the tallest house elf Hermione had ever seen. He beckoned them inside with an elegant arm and some words of welcome—which were quickly drowned out by a bustle from the opposite end of the tall-ceilinged hall in which they stood.

"Granger, we're both in velvet!" Theo swept across the black and white patterned floor, clad head to toe in rich burgundy, a fringed shawl tossed over his shoulder. He reached them and grasped Hermione's hands, kissing her on one cheek, then the other. "I'm overjoyed that you're here," he said, an undercurrent in his voice that Hermione couldn't hope to understand. "But who is this?" Theo noticed Neville with a faint lift of his brows and an appreciative once-over of Neville's tall form.

"Thank you very much for the invitation." Hermione turned. "And this is Neville! Longbottom. From school." She stepped back with a small smile just as Neville stepped forward and put out his hand. She always enjoyed it when people hadn't seen Neville in a while.

"Thanks for having me," Neville said in his sincere way, looking sweetly and intensely handsome as he leaned down.

Theo, who had frozen in contemplation, started. "Longbottom, well I never," he murmured, eyes running over Neville again. "Love the scarf." He brushed a languid palm over the fabric, then gave Neville's hand a slight squeeze.

"Now, come along!" Theo turned abruptly and started walking, the wide legs of his trousers and long fringe of his shawl making a hushed swishing sound. "Everyone's in the East Parlour having a drink."

"Oh, are we the last to arrive?" Hermione tucked close to Neville and squeezed his arm as they hurried after Theo, peering wide-eyed at the decayed gothic splendour surrounding them. Peeling wallpaper, pitted marble floors, moth-eaten tapestries, chandeliers with flickering candles, dozens of ornate picture frames—many of them covered in thick swathes of fabric. All flashed by in a feast for the senses as Theo led them through room after room toward what seemed like the back of the house.

"Well, other than Charlie. But no matter." Theo flipped a hand. "We've just gotten started." He threw open another ornate door and Hermione was hit by a wave of warmth and muted chatter, which stopped as she and Neville stepped into the room, several faces turning toward them at once. Hermione was supremely annoyed at herself for noticing Malfoy's broad shoulders first, though he'd barely turned around. She forced her eyes away from where he was standing (near the enormous fireplace with two women she vaguely recognised) and toward Penelope, who was by the dark-curtained windows with Blaise and a petite, black-haired woman whose back was also to Hermione.

"You're here!" Pen mouthed with a little wave.

"Let's get you a drink before we do the rounds," Theo said, steering them toward a bar cart. "Armand's made punch and there are crabapple Manhattans since it's so cold and drizzly outside." He gestured to the windows, now streaked with rain. "They're both rather good, but I also have wine and bubbles. Gin. Beer." He smiled a little smile.

After a small discussion, Hermione accepted a Manhattan and Neville a glass of wine. Hermione took a sip of her drink and tried to acclimate herself to the room, this party, these people. What in the hell was she doing here? Really? Almost involuntarily, her eyes slipped toward Malfoy again, just as he turned slightly to look over his shoulder. He was in another suit, but the tailoring of this one was less muggle and the colour—a muted blue-green—more vibrant than what he usually wore. As he turned, Hermione could see dull gold embroidery twining up the front of his jacket—a nod to Theo's dress requirements, she supposed. Her sip turned into a deeper drink as a flick of grey flashed at her and then took in Neville before Malfoy turned back around, throwing out a quick word to one of the women he was standing with.

"So, of course you'll know everyone." Theo took Hermione and Neville by the elbow and led them further into the room, exceedingly thick carpet padding their steps. "But maybe you haven't seen the girls in a while? Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson?" He waved an arm and the two women near Draco gave polite, if slightly cold, greetings and the petite woman with Pen and Blaise spun slowly on her heel. "Let's see, what are everyone's highlights?" Theo continued. "Millie and Trace are wedding-mad—they're getting married in the spring. And Pansy is a shop-owner these days. Like you, Longbottom." Theo's gaze flicked to Neville. "I don't need to introduce Ms. Clearwater or Mr. Zabini, and of course, Draco is your esteemed teacher, isn't he?" Theo batted his eyelashes at Hermione, his lips curling into an expression she would have called 'glee' on a less-indolent person.

Hermione murmured her responses to all of this, hearing a quick intake of breath from Neville's direction as Pansy Parkinson turned fully around, although it didn't quite distract her from the look of death Malfoy was shooting at Theo. Gods, but he was breathtaking in that colour. Hermione was so used to seeing him professional and crisp, but something in this suit's softer tailoring and fabric—he'd never looked more like a wizard than he did tonight. She swallowed hard and felt Neville's fingers clutch just slightly at her arm. Malfoy's eyes darted to the point of contact, but he gave Hermione a small nod before turning back to his companions.

Hermione blinked, relieved to see Penelope, resplendent in a satin jumpsuit, sailing their way with Blaise in tow. "Theo, you rogue. What's in this punch!? I've had half a glass and I'm already tipsy. Hello, darlings." She leaned in and kissed Hermione. Blaise gave them a slightly more subdued greeting and they fell to chatting, Hermione managing through sheer force of will to not look over at Malfoy again. Why should she, he hadn't made any move to break away and say hello. She sniffed internally, then shook herself out of it to respond to a polite question from Blaise about work.

Between Theo and Pen, the conversation continued on quite merrily, but after a while Hermione noticed that Neville was being uncharacteristically quiet, even for him. Worried, she sent him a quick look, but couldn't catch his eye. He was totally focused across the room where Pansy Parkinson was now standing next to Malfoy. Parkinson, in a sheer black top and beret, was exceedingly lovely. And Hermione thought something was different about her—she seemed softer—quite unlike the sneering, sleek girl Hermione remembered from school.

As she watched, Parkinson touched a graceful hand to Malfoy's wrist, leaning in and saying something that made Tracey and Milicent crack sudden laughs. Malfoy looked to the side at Pansy and Hermione saw his smile flash too. Her fingers tightened on the stem of her cocktail glass and Pansy, as if she felt Hermione's attention, flicked a look her way. Neville cleared his throat and Parkinson's dark eyes went to him. The corner of her mouth lifted just slightly and Hermione heard Neville breathe in. He started forward with a small jerk, and Hermione put her hand on his arm.

But Parkinson had detached herself from Malfoy's group and started across the room.

She reached them just as Theo flitted away with his elf and Pen and Blaise went to refill their punch glasses, Tracey calling something to Blaise about an antiques fair in Sussex, and Pen laughing in response, "Oh, he went, but I had to drag him!"

"Hello." Parkinson's cultured voice was clear and a bit smoky, pulling Hermione's attention to her like a string. And Hermione could practically feel Neville's energy intensify; he was almost vibrating against her side. "I like your medals." Parkinson tipped her half-full Champagne flute at Hermione's collarbone. "French?"

"Yes, I bought them at Les Puces in Paris. I was told they're 19th Century."

"I'd say so." Parkinson looked closer. "I have a shop and I sell this sort of thing—vintage clothing, some small antiques."

Pansy Parkinson with a shop. Hermione couldn't quite picture it. Even though she knew some of the pureblood families had lost everything after the war, especially the ones that weren't as ancient as the Malfoys or Notts.

"Yes, Theo said that, but where is it? I don't think I've seen anything like that in Diagon."

"Tinworth." Parkinson straightened and her lips twisted slightly. "I like the sea. And the quiet."

"Oh, I know Tinworth! It's lovely. My friends—er, Bill and Fleur Weasley?—have a cottage there."

"Of course. I know them. Fleur pops in sometimes. Looks perfect in everything." Parkinson took a sip of Champagne, her eyes going to Neville, who still hadn't said a word. "And you're a shopkeeper too." She tilted her head slightly, her bobbed hair falling across her jaw. Her face was more open than Hermione remembered, cheekbones wide, the snub nose of her youth turned into something pert, beautiful.

She was absolutely beautiful.

Hermione's gaze darted to Malfoy again, his back still to her as he talked to Theo now, while Neville stuttered out a reply, his voice sounding rusty and slow.

"Root and Vine," Neville was saying. "The, er, plant and flower shop on Moon Crescent off Knockturn."

"But I love that shop!" Parkinson leaned forward. "I've never seen you there, though. Only the girl."

"Bethany. She's, uh, my assistant. Apprentice of a sort. She runs things when I'm overseeing installations or other projects." Hermione glanced at Neville to see his cheeks aflame and his eyes such a brilliant blue that she blinked. He'd never looked better. She snuck a peek at Pansy, who had crossed her arms over her slim middle and was gazing up at him.

"My friend Daphne always has your arrangements in her flat. They're lovely. Art, really."

"Thank you, I do all of the arranging myself."

"Do you? Bethany doesn't help with that?"

"Not yet. I'm a bit…controlling…about my work." Neville smiled, his eyes crinkling, and Hermione felt the disturbance in Parkinson's forcefield, a small but audible breath escaping the other woman's deep red lips. And even Hermione could feel the net of Neville's attraction. Squinting up at him, she realised she'd never really seen him flirt or try to pull someone in.

He wasn't half bad.

She also realised she was rapidly becoming a third wheel.

"Well, if you do housecalls," Parkinson was murmuring. "I'd love to have something more around the shop than bunches of beach grass in old jars."

"Well, but that sounds nice. Apropos. We could just embellish on that." Neville stepped a bit closer to Pansy and Hermione made an excuse to drift away, saying something about another drink. Although it didn't really matter what she said because neither of them were listening.

She tossed a last look over her shoulder as she moved toward the bar to see Parkinson smiling and lifting the tail of Neville's scarf. Hermione smiled too as she poured another Manhattan from a long, narrow pitcher. Then she frowned. She hoped Neville wouldn't be hurt or disappointed. This wasn't their usual honest-to-a-fault, no-frills crowd. Who really knew how these people operated? Malfoy had certainly been a cipher. She sighed and took her drink toward the built-in bookshelves that comprised one of the walls of the room, skimming the titles, all of which were in Latin.

"Any duelling texts?"

He was very close and the tiny hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stood straight up. She was fairly certain her nipples did too, images from her dream suddenly splashing across her mind like full-colour film.

"I don't read Latin," she managed to say, noting his familiar linen scent was missing. No, tonight something different was reaching her, something that went with the un-muggle suit and the air of magic everywhere in this place. She inhaled discreetly, but couldn't pick out anything. It must just be him.

"What a surprise." His voice was low and she turned slightly, catching his profile and a glint of platinum falling over his forehead.

"Really?"

"I read Latin." He leaned past her and peered at the books. "And this is, in fact, a duelling text." His long fingers reached forward and slotted a book from the shelf. It was green and faded, with curlicued lettering and two wands picked out in tarnished gold on its cover.

Hermione ignored what he'd just done to her insides and forced herself to be calm, measured. "Not, Strike or Be Struck, is it?"

"No." He sniffed and she let herself smile.

Just then a low, musical laugh sounded from the middle of the room, drawing their attention. It was Parkinson, looking up at Neville as he watched her face with something like wonder in his.

"Is she single?" Hermione asked it almost involuntarily, then remembering her earlier thoughts, wished she could take it back. What if Penelope had been wrong about Parkinson and Malfoy?

Grey eyes went sharply to hers. "For ages, why?"

A bubble of happiness popped in Hermione's throat and she felt the strangest urge to giggle. Instead she jerked her head toward Neville and Pansy. "Isn't it obvious?"

Malfoy looked over at them, a frown drawing his fine, dark brows together. "Oh. Oh," he said, blinking. He was silent and still for a long moment. "She'll eat him alive," he murmured almost to himself. They watched Neville take Parkinson's arm and lead her toward the bar, her lithe figure swaying close to his. "Or maybe…"

He turned back to Hermione, eyes pure silver and mouth tilted up. He was so beautiful that her breath caught.

"Do you want to see a real duelling text, Granger?" he asked, light and almost teasing.

"All right," she said slowly, wondering at the sudden change in his mood. She looked at the books again, up the shelf to where the rows of spines reached almost to the ceiling.

"Oh, it's not here," Malfoy said as he shoved the book he was holding back into its slot.

She frowned. "Where—?"

His brows flicked up. "Would you like to see the library?"

***

It was almost comical how much her face lit up at the word, "library."

Almost as comical as how much the realisation that she wasn't here with Longbottom had made Draco's heart (and other parts of him) leap. He'd been keeping a very tight lid on any leaping parts since that episode in the sauna. Doing a fairly thorough job of it too.

He'd managed to maintain rigid control last class, and noticed that she'd given nothing away either. No looks or little challenges. It seemed fairly clear that she wanted to button up the night at the pub and put it away. Which was fine with him. Just fine. It obviously hadn't meant anything to her. She'd just been being friendly since they now had friends in common.

Cordial acquaintances and nothing more? He could do that.

Of course, Draco didn't usually notice the moment his acquaintances walked into a room or keep minute tabs on what they were doing every moment after. He didn't become fixated on the way a wisp of a curl brushed their neck or the glow of their skin against a ruffle of creamy blouse. He didn't listen for their pretty laugh or notice their wee velvet shoes. And he didn't feel a stab of something angry, thorny, when they appeared to be with someone else.

But Granger wasn't with Longbottom. And Longbottom seemed quite taken with Pansy (and she with him, shockingly). Pansy, who had known something was afoot with Granger almost the moment she'd arrived. "Granger is stunning, what a surprise," she'd said, slanting a look at Draco. "I'd sell that jacket." Draco had dug his nails into his palms to stop from spinning around, but he had chanced a look and Pansy knew him too well. Her brow had gone up and she'd leaned close to his ear with one of her cat-like smiles, "And here I thought Theo was exaggerating."

Draco took a long breath as he led Granger into a dim hallway, candles flickering moodily in sconces, keeping silent as they walked, asking himself what the bloody hell he was doing. He'd decided after the sauna incident that he was getting stupidly out of control over this…thing…that shouldn't, couldn't go anywhere. His recent behaviour was alarming and not at all in keeping with his usual neat and compartmentalised life. Since Astoria, he'd eschewed all commitments and entanglements. He didn't want them. What he did want was to do his work, relieve his needs in no strings-attached mutually beneficial ways and live quietly—no complications.

He'd had enough of those to last a lifetime, thank you.

Granger didn't need his type of complication anyway. She'd been through enough herself.

Which begged the question of why, as soon as he was able, he'd led her away from the party so that they could be alone? Pansy would have so many irritating things to say. And so would bloody Theo.

And so would the rest of the world should they ever really try to—

Complications to spare. Fuck.

"How far is it?" Granger broke the silence, a slip of humour in her voice. They'd been walking for a while; Nott House was obscenely large.

"Just around this corner. All the best rooms are at the back."

She huffed a laugh as they came to an opulent doorway, where the laugh turned into a sigh—almost a moan—that had Draco looking sharply at her.

"Oh my," she breathed, delicate fingers pressing into the door frame and eyes glazing over.

And Draco supposed it was impressive to the unjaded. A grand library in the true Gothic style; if pressed he'd admit it outdid even Malfoy Manor's facility, which was a couple of centuries newer and much neater. Here, the rows of bookshelves stretched crookedly away over a cavernous distance and up into a shadowy second floor, framed by acres of dark, elaborately carved wood. Faded Persian rugs covered the polished planks at their feet and magical items from fantastical to macabre dotted the room, displayed on pedestals or behind glass cases. Oil paintings adorned the brocade walls and several reading tables were scattered about. Two massive fireplaces, both burning, flanked either end of the space and large, dark windows with deep window seats—wet with rain or, Draco squinted, possibly sleet now—made up the outer wall.

Granger was just staring at it all, not moving or speaking. The excitement radiating from her was palpable (and bloody adorable).

"Come on," Draco said, a little gruffly, having to stop himself from taking her arm or even her hand. "He's got an illustrated first edition of Crossed Wandes."

"A first edition from 1334?" Granger looked at him, eyes wide.

Draco quirked a brow. "It's over here." He led them down a narrow corridor to where Nott House's oldest books were kept, touching Granger's elbow lightly and muttering the incantation Theo had taught him many years ago so they could both access the stacks. Granger floated toward the rows of books, her lips uttering titles and her fingers brushing spines.

"He has the 1625 Foundations of Arithmancy—there are only three known copies of it!" She turned to Draco excitedly. "And that's a version of Potions Moste Potente I've never seen before. With a blue cover!"

"Mmm-hmm." Draco scanned the shelves for the text he wanted, remembering it was somewhere near the top left of the section.

"Oh my god, an original Maiden's Grimoire." Granger sounded stunned as she pulled a book from a shelf and sat directly on the floor to open it and start reading. Draco leaned against a ladder and looked down at her, very much reminded of the way she'd manhandled his West Tower novel at the pub. He watched her fingers stroke the text and flip the gold-leaved pages gently. "I'd always wondered at the difference in the passages, but this explains it," she breathed. Draco had no idea what she was talking about, but he could have gone on watching her for ages.

He did watch her for some time before shifting into a more comfortable position, which caused her to look up. "Oh! But you were going to show me something. Sorry, I got— I get—" She blinked and shook her head, colour flooding her face.

Draco's lips tugged up. "It's fine. Lot of interesting stuff here. I wouldn't be surprised if I lost you for hours."

She tilted her head, the sweetest expression crossing her features. "Thank you. That's so refreshing—" Her brow wrinkled and she shook her head slightly. "But I do want to see the first edition." She nodded at the book under his arm.

Draco put out his hand. "Well. Come on, then."

She reached up and her palm was warm, her small fingers strong. Draco didn't think he imagined the current that pulsed between them. Especially when she stumbled a little on stiff legs and came up quite close to him, her curls almost tickling his chin and her fingers just brushing the fabric of his suit in a steadying way. She should have pulled them back, but they lingered, almost caressingly, on a spray of embroidery. Draco took a small but sharp breath in.

"This is so beautiful." She hadn't looked up yet and Draco had the damndest urge to reply, 'No, you're beautiful,' like some kind of trite idiot.

Instead, he cleared his throat. "My mother. Ah, likes to see me in things like this."

She finally looked up and she was beautiful, all dark eyes and curving smile. "But you prefer crisp. Structured."

Draco dearly wanted to ask her what she preferred, but instead he just nodded once.

"I think you look nice in both." Her smile faded and Draco thought, 'That's it, I'm fucking kissing her.' But something held him still, and in that second she stepped back, turning quickly and looking up at the opposite shelves.

"What a marvellous place," she said, much louder, and he wondered if she was trying to break the spell that had woven in the air around them.

"Yes. Ah. If you want to look at the book we should take it to one of the stands." He gestured to the main library and she nodded quickly, then passed him to walk toward the bigger part of the room. Draco followed and displaced a magical atlas to put the duelling text, huge and a bit worn, on one of the tall wooden stands.

Casting a quick preservation and protection incantation, he opened the cover carefully and they both leaned in. Draco had looked at this tome many times, most recently after his first class for a refresher, but it never failed to impress. The entire thing was hand lettered and illuminated with accompanying illustrations that were brightly coloured and extremely mobile—even after nearly 800 years. Draco had never seen better representations of wand motions in any text, historical or modern.

"Exquisite." Hermione breathed a sigh as she looked closely at a rendering of a Confundus jinx, the illustrated wand moving crisply across the page. "This is incredible." She glanced up at Draco and shook her head once.

"I know." He turned a few more pages as she exclaimed over the spells and then spent several minutes studying a series of full body illustrations demonstrating shielding charm positions.

"It's astonishing," she said, leaning back.

"Hmm?"

"That it hasn't changed. In centuries. The spells are exactly the same. Magic." She shook her head. "Still amazes me every day." She looked up at him a little sheepishly. "You know, because I wasn't born to it. You probably don't—"

"No. It amazes me too. Every single day." He nodded and saw in her face something he couldn't quite name. She looked back down at the book and he flipped another page.

Binding spells, ha.

"Aha," he murmured, a hint of laughter wanting to sneak up his throat.

The wand motion they'd disagreed on was looping in full colour before their eyes, clearly demonstrating Draco's version of things.

"Yes, I see it." She ruffled up a bit and he caught a flash of dark eyes over her shoulder. Then she bit her lip. "But really, Draco. How did Detwiler get it so wrong?"

She looked around fully as they both realised she'd said his given name. First time for everything. Gods. Draco felt his jaw warm and saw her blink. Remembered his slip the other night under the streetlight with Theo. At least they were even now.

"Ehm." He cleared his throat. "My suspicion is, er, initial carelessness and then an attempt to mask said carelessness by pretending it was intentional." Draco tried to answer cogently, but he was muddled, excited.

"Quite." She blinked some more and then focused back on the text. "Gods, this is museum quality." She looked around. "A lot of these things are." She wandered away, toward a magical globe, a little sea monster undulating through its tossing oceans. Her fingers slid over a portion of Asia which appeared to have chipped away. "Everything's so worn, though." She frowned.

"Age." Draco shrugged. "And the Notts have always been rather careless of their things. Ours are in much better nick."

She raised a brow at him.

"It's true. I can't change who I am." Draco's words came out strangely intense and she stepped forward with a quick movement.

"No, you don't— I didn't—" She frowned again and brushed her hand over a chair back.

A silence descended in the room, but for the pop of the fire and the rush of rain hitting the roof high above them. Draco really didn't want to go back to party just yet and he feared she was about to suggest it.

"Theo's got some old brandy in here too. Would you like some?"

"Yes, please." Her quick answer contradicted Draco's surmise and caused that heady feeling from earlier to surge again. He walked swiftly over to a sideboard and picked up a crystal decanter.

"Seats in front of the fire are best," he said as he poured, watching out of the corner of his eye as she made her way slowly toward the far end of the room, examining paintings, books and objects as she went.

What was it about her tonight? Draco wasn't drowning in the visceral reaction he'd felt at the pub. He wasn't slavering over her. But she looked so sweet and lovely in her trim little jacket and short trousers. Captivating. He found himself wanting to pull her down into his lap, wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her neck while she read ancient texts. Undo that cunning little ribbon at her waist and run his hands over the filmy softness of her blouse. Distract her until she touched her lips to his and they—

"Damn." Draco swore softly as the snifter he was pouring overflowed and brandy sloshed onto the finely worked silver tray below it. Fine, maybe he was bloody slavering. He muttered a quick spell to clean up the mess and move some of the liquid into the other glass, then took a moment to collect himself before walking toward the fire and the two deep club chairs that sat in front of it. She'd dropped into one, curly head tipped against its low back and eyes closed.

Merlin, but she was breathtaking. Her eyelashes a dark fringe against her smooth cheeks.

Draco cleared his throat softly and those eyelashes fluttered. She peered at him unfocused. "You look like you're from another time," she murmured with a soft smile.

"It is entirely possible the Nott House Library old and rare books section is also a wormhole," he said, handing her a glass.

She snorted and sat up. "How do you know about wormholes!?"

"I read."

"But that's so—"

"Muggle?" Draco settled himself into his seat.

"Yes. Yes it is."

"What you were saying about magic earlier?" He leaned toward her and rested his forearms on his thighs.

"Mmm-hmm." She took a delicate sip of the cognac, watching him over the rim of her glass.

"It's the same for me with muggle things. I didn't grow up with them." He shrugged. "And I find them rather fascinating now." He frowned into the fire. "At least some things. I don't much like muggle sport. Or politics. Or reality television."

Granger snorted again. "God, don't make me inhale by brandy," she laughed, holding her glass away.

"What's so funny, Granger?" He tried for his most irritating drawl.

"You. Muggle television. Just—watching Love Island in horrified fascination." She giggled again.

"Oh that one is such rubbish." He sniffed and her giggle turned into a laugh.

"It's not all like that! We're not all like that."

"I know." He widened his eyes at her.

Laughter surged from down the hallway too, and Draco cocked his head. He really didn't want to go back there. Not yet. He was, what was the term? Oh yes, 'enjoying it more than anything in a very long time.' Or at least since that night at the pub.

Bugger.

But Granger wasn't making any moves to get up either, so Draco let himself relax back into his soft seat. The sleet began to really rush against the windows and he took a healthy nip of the brandy. It was very old and very good, slipping down his throat on a wave of mellow warmth. They were just talking. There was no harm in talking, was there? He'd brought her in here to show her a book and nothing more.

"Well this is surreal." Granger crossed her legs ankle to knee and held her snifter to the firelight.

"What?" Draco looked at her sideways.

"I'm sitting in Theo Nott's library having a friendly drink with Draco Malfoy," she said.

"Well, I'm sitting in Theo Nott's library having a friendly drink with Hermione Granger."

"Touché." She smiled and they were silent for a moment. Then, "I read some more about the psychology of spells." Her eyes darted to his.

"Did you?" A pleased feeling flowed through Draco's chest.

"Yes, I told you, you piqued my interest."

"Mmm." That's not all he would have like to have piqued. Draco crossed his legs.

"Besides, I had to do something since you cancelled class."

"Ah, sorry about that. Last minute work thing." The stakeout hadn't been mandatory, but it had been a convenient excuse to create some additional distance after the, er, sauna. And, no, it had not escaped his notice that he'd cancelled an entire class because of her—and that he was undoing all of that careful progress at this very moment.

"Totally understand." She waved a hand and sat up, tucking a small foot under her leg. "I've got to go away for work loads. I may even miss a class myself." She frowned. "Not sure how I'd make that up, actually…?"

Draco looked over. "Oh, we'd figure something out." She stared at him for a moment before sitting up straighter.

"Right. Right." She said, as Draco tried unsuccessfully to prevent his mind from going in several inappropriate directions.

A silence stretched between them until she cleared her throat. "I, ah, re-read your letter."

Draco straightened. Bloody hell. "My letter? The one from—"

"I don't think you've sent me any others." She peeped at him from over the arm of her chair, in which she'd sunk quite low again.

He held her gaze, several things going through his mind, chief amongst them a sort of nervous dread. He'd sent those letters off what felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn't expected replies—hadn't gotten any either—but he'd always wondered. How they'd been taken, what people had thought. If he'd indeed been forgiven. Especially now. By her.

"And?" He asked it quietly, gripping his snifter so hard that he set it down.

She sipped meditatively. "It was quite good. Well-structured. Touched on all the pertinent points. Struck the right tone." She nodded.

Relief sagged at Draco and he snorted.

"What?"

"I just. Wasn't expecting a literary critique." Gods it was refreshing, though. The way her mind worked.

"Well the content was good too. I appreciated what you said."

Draco felt something loosen inside. He picked up his drink again. "I meant it. I do mean it. I am sorry." He held her gaze. She looked a little surprised at his gravity, but he ploughed on. "I've apologised to many people over the years, some more willingly than others. But you were always high on my list."

"List?" She frowned.

"Of people I actually felt bad about. You and Katie Bell. Longbottom." He jerked his head back toward the parlour.

"Not Harry?"

"Eh," Draco waved his glass. "Potter always gave as good as he got. That was more a mutual animosity. Athletic rivals, vying for attention and all that."

"Harry never wanted attention!" She sat up.

"And yet he always got it. Still does." Draco shrugged.

"That is true." She said it quietly, and Draco could tell there were wheels turning in her head.

"Are you still vying?" she asked after a moment. "At the DMLE?"

"No, no. We're very cordial. Hasn't he told you?"

"He has. You know he took your side with the whole binding spell thing." A grudging smile lifted her lips.

"Yes, and I think you'll agree you've been thoroughly debunked there. By an original 12th century source, no less. You and Detwiler."

"Don't class me with him!" She pointed a mock-angry finger and Draco cracked a laugh, trying to pinpoint the feelings coursing through him. Relief and delight. She was fucking delightful and he was so relieved that she'd forgiven him.

She was also watching him. Quietly, her lips just parted, glass halfway to her mouth.

"What?" he asked swiping at his eye.

She shook her head and took a breath. "Nothing—er, how do you like your work?" she asked. "I—I'm really curious about that."

He paused for a moment, wondering at the conversational pivot. "I love it, actually," he finally said.

"What do you love about it?"

"Oh, the variety and excitement, I suppose. The way I can become totally engrossed in it and forget everything."

"Mmm," she nodded, understanding in her face. "I'm the same. I mean, you saw me back there with the books. I'm like that with work too."

"Admirably single-minded, yes. Those for whom you advocate are lucky to have you." Draco smiled and she looked away, her cheeks bright. He settled back in his chair and regarded the intricate cornicing edging the library's vast ceiling. "I suppose I like giving something back too. After all the shit I pulled." He glanced over. "Try to even up the columns, you know."

"Well, but I don't think you should—you were so young. Did you really have a choice? Did you know any better?" She was leaning forward again, eyes bright.

"Toward the end? Yes, I knew better. Did I have a choice? That's debatable. Punishments for dissent were severe and meted out quite creatively." Draco took a deep drink of cognac, picturing Hermione herself writhing on his ballroom floor. "It wouldn't have been me they tortured and killed for my disobedience." His mother's drawn face ghosted across his mind. "Not sure if that makes me any less of a coward, though."

"I'd say it's a major mitigating factor." She held his gaze. "Also the fact that you were a child." She looked into the flames. "We were all children. Pawns in their game." She glanced back over. "But I did always assume… After your testimony and your activism. Your work. That there must have been some earlier break."

He nodded once and took a breath, a lightness warring with the heaviness this topic always introduced. She understood.

"And what about your work?" he asked after a slight pause. "Department of Mysteries path to the Minister of Magic's office is a little more winding than the DMLE. You don't want to be a prosecutor? You'd be bloody good at it."

"Ehm. I don't want to work in the department." She shook her head quickly. "You know what happened? Between, uh, Ron and me?"

Bloody hell, of course. Draco's fingers dug into the arm of his chair. "Yeah, I— Blaise said..." He stopped and shook his head. "Of course you don't want to fucking work there." He couldn't keep the anger out of his words and looked down, trying to collect himself but also thinking about what he'd do to that fucking cunt if he had the chance. "I'm sorry that happened to you. It wasn't right," he finally said, looking over to see her face averted, eyes on the inky darkness beyond the windows.

She slipped out of her chair and walked over, touching the wavy glass. "It's really coming down."

"Positively Gothic." He got up and moved to where she was standing before a single thought crossed his mind. As surely as if she'd drawn him there.

Her delicate finger traced a raindrop. "Have you read Brontë too?"

"Which one?"

She gave a little laugh and shook her head.

"What?" He could see them reflected in the dark glass. Her figure framed by his. He wanted to bend to her, watch his lips touch her neck in the reflection.

"You just—keep surprising me." It was little more than a whisper and her eyes met his in the glass.

And then Draco was bending, his hand just beginning to reach out, when a deep voice sounded from the doorway across the room.

"Monsieur would like all guests in the Red Parlour for a game. Whisky and chocolates too." Theo's house elf, Armand, bowed once and departed.

Granger whirled around. "A game?" She looked at Draco in consternation and he had a sudden intense wish to be somewhere else—away from friends and parties and stupid parlour games—so they could continue whatever it was they'd been doing. Talking? Spending time together?

Creating complications.

But they weren't somewhere else, so Draco attempted to collect himself, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. "Your friend must have arrived. Theo was on about playing muggle poker when he got here."

"Ah. Yes. Charlie's quite good at it."

"And apparently I'm not." Draco met her questioning eyes with a quick shake of his head, wondering if his poker tell would make an appearance tonight in one way or another. "Come on. Armand was the advance guard. If we dawdle any longer Theo will come and…make remarks."

Understanding flashed in her eyes and she laughed. "OK." She started toward the doorway, and Draco again had to prevent himself reaching for her arm. "And ah. Thank you. For showing me Crossed Wandes. And this place." She looked up and shook her head. "Truly marvellous. Both of them."

Draco meant to say 'you're welcome' and lead her her sedately out of the room. But instead he said, "I've got a few older first editions in my library at the manor. And a massive, hand-lettered Charms text from the 14th century that puts Crossed Wandes in the shade."

"Oh, are we comparing book sizes now?"

Draco's shoulders crept to his ears at the sound of Theo's drawl. Shit. He made himself turn slowly, removing all expression from his face as his eyes met Theo's, which were snapping with delight and mischief.

"Come on, Granger." Theo pivoted to Hermione and tucked her arm into his, no qualms or hesitations. "Draco's monopolised you for long enough and Charlie's asking for you."

"Oh no, Draco hasn't— Ah. I was quite—" Granger let herself be led, but threw a glance over her shoulder at Draco, who had frozen again at her casual use of his first name. He noted that she'd also started and coloured.

He could tell bloody Theo had noticed too.

"Besides." Theo spoke over her stuttering words. "He's completely neglecting to mention my Flamel Folio, which is the oldest volume in this library and quite outshines anything at Malfoy Manor. It's the only one in existence." He looked back at Draco. "Tsk tsk."

"A folio of Nicholas Flamel's?" Granger leaned toward Theo, her mouth round as Draco rolled his eyes and followed them. "But, but that's priceless. That's, that's…"

"Oh, I know! And there are scads of other interesting things. You'll have to come up again and have a wander on your own. Anytime, really." Theo steered her down the hall and back into another parlour, where the rest of the party was gathered. They all looked up at the trio's arrival, an interesting mix of expressions on their faces. Draco zeroed in on Pansy, who was still next to Longbottom and whose brows were very high.

"Thought we'd lost you two," she murmured as a good-looking man with dark red hair and a familiar cast to his features stood and grinned.

"Charlie!" Granger rushed forward and kissed him on the cheek and Draco faded back toward the drinks cart, where he poured himself another stiff measure. He was drinking a little more than usual tonight, but it felt warranted. He was off-balance from that whole encounter, and the knowledge that the moment he'd had a chance to get Granger to himself again, he'd jumped at it, then made it last as long as he could.

He took a deep drink and surveyed the room as Theo tried to get everyone together at a large, round table. In highest flutter tonight, he was breezing around and laughing, his fingers often trailing across the Weasley—Charlie's—arm or shoulder. Draco hadn't seen him this way over anyone in a while. Not that Draco was spending much time watching Theo. No, his attention was back on Granger. Her easy familiarity with Charlie and Longbottom. The gorgeousness of her natural, unaffected smile as she chatted with Penelope.

What would it be like to be on those terms with her? To be able to look across the room and catch her eye, have an entire silent conversation that they'd each understand? Know exactly when she wanted to go home and then go? Home with her.

Together.

Would he ever know?

Could he?

At that moment, Draco did catch her eye. Just as Theo said something that made them both laugh.

And he thought for second—just maybe—yes.

Chapter Text

Draco yanked on the shop door just as the rain really started sheeting down. He ducked in quickly, shutting the wooden panel behind him with a swift pull that made the brass bells looped around its handle jingle.

"Be right out." A voice filtered from the shop's backroom as Draco looked around the small space. Cream walls, dark wood fixtures and a polished floor. Candles in votives. Some muted muggle paintings. The shop name, Bygones, stencilled on the window in spindly gold.

Draco walked further in and thumbed an ancient fashion magazine, then peered into a case of glittering jewellery. A dress from the last century adorned a mannequin in the corner, swirls of beading edging down to its pleated skirt. He lifted the hem and it fanned out like some exotic butterfly.

"What in the world are you doing here?"

Draco dropped the dress and it swung around the mannequin's ankles. "Visiting? You're not busy, are you?" He looked pointedly around the deserted shop.

"No, a half-hour before closing on a Tuesday when it's pissing it down isn't my busiest time." Pansy leaned on the counter and put her chin in her hand. "But what are you really doing here?"

"What I said." Draco picked up a ceramic dish and put it down, then rubbed at a spot on a small brass frog figurine. He noticed a scarf, artfully arranged around the neck of a hat form, and moved toward it. It was beautiful, fine silk printed with an abstract blend of muted pinks, creams and browns. He picked it up and ran it through his fingers. Something about it made him think of—

"That's vintage Hermès."

"Mmm."

"The colours would look beautiful on her."

"What!?" The scarf slithered from Draco's fingers to the floor. He bent to retrieve it.

"Oh come on, Draco." Pansy narrowed her eyes. "You spirited her away for almost an hour on Saturday, then spent the rest of the time trying not to stare at her."

Fuck.

He glared at Pansy and she blinked back.

"Was I that obvious?" he finally said.

"To me." She straightened. "But I've got practice with you. To everyone else I expect you're about as obvious as a glacier."

Draco frowned at her and turned to the window. The small, cobbled street outside descended steeply to a bluff that rose over the steel grey sea, choppy and tossing in the blustery wind.

He hadn't apparated all the way to Tinworth on a Tuesday evening just to visit, it was true.

He heard Pansy walk out from behind the counter, heels clicking on the wooden floor. She joined him at the window. "Why don't you just ask her out?" she said. "I'd approve. We had a nice little chat. She's interesting. Much different than I thought she was in school. Less rigid, more funny. She suggested a perfect venue for Millie and Tracey's reception, too. I was pleasantly surprised."

"Oh?" Draco looked over. Pansy was in blue, another vintage dress he supposed, in beautifully tailored wool with a white lace collar.

She looked back at him and lifted a shoulder. "So why not?"

"A million reasons." Draco let a little of what he was feeling into his face and Pansy's head tilted.

"Cup of tea?" she asked. "I'll shut early. No one else will be in this evening."

"All right."

She locked the front door and went into the back room. Soon he heard the boil of the kettle and the genteel clink of silver on bone china.

"Tell me one of the million," she called.

"What?" Draco had been staring out the window again, the scarf still sliding between his fingers.

"Reasons why not." Pansy poked her head out from the back room.

Draco turned and walked to the counter. "Emm, she's her and I'm me?"

"So?"

"You know what I mean. Our history."

"And you've apologised for that, haven't you? Ages ago? All your little letters?" Pansy floated two ornate cups in saucers to the counter, brows raised.

"Yes, but is that enough?" Draco took his tea with thanks, relinquishing the scarf to Pansy's imperative hand ('give it here, you'll wrinkle it') and sitting heavily on the stool that she indicated. "It would be in the papers," he continued. "People would talk. Have opinions." He sipped carefully. "And she's been through a lot this year already."

Pansy's dark eyes fixed on his, slightly wide with surprise. "Well. I'll be." She shook her head once. "Despite your frankly shocking level of concern for her, isn't she the best judge of whether or not she could handle all that?" She took a drink of tea. "So that one's not good enough. Give me another."

"Hmm?"

"Reason."

"Ahhh." Draco looked up at the ceiling."I usually keep these things casual since Astoria? I don't want to get wrapped up. Get in a situation where... Or, er, I'd rather not become ah—

"Interesting." A small smile flitted over Pansy's face.

"What?"

Her brows went up. "You're just further gone than I thought."

Draco put down his cup. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You're overly-concerned about her well-being and you don't think you can keep it casual." She looked at him like he was an idiot and Draco tried to challenge her gaze, but then gave up with a sigh.

"Right. Fuck. That might be the crux of it." He scrubbed at his hair.

She reached over to smooth it absentmindedly and they both drank their tea.

"And what about you?" Draco said after a bit. "You looked rather infatuated yourself the other night."

She shifted on her stool and looked to the side. "Yes. And I've bloody gone and seen him again."

"Really?" Draco peered at her, his lips lifting.

"Popped round to his shop yesterday. Popped all the way up to bloody London. He was potting. Up to his elbows in dirt." She closed her eyes and swallowed. "We went for a coffee. It was lovely." She sounded angry with herself.

"So, what's wrong?"

"He's really nice, Draco. Sweet, kind, caring. Smart and creative."

"And?"

"He's rather obviously besotted with me."

"Yes, I noticed. And what are your feelings?"

Pansy drummed her fingers against her arm. "Worrying."

Draco eyed her for a moment. "But why not let yourself have something…nice?"

"I think you know."

"Tell me anyway."

"What if I do what I always do?" It burst out in a rush, very unlike her usual unruffled calm. "What if I run cold and ghost away?" She wiggled her fingers. "I don't want to do that to someone like him." She frowned.

"Well, I think the fact that you're concerned about it is a sign," he said. "I've never heard you express worry over anyone before. You've never cared enough."

She put down her teacup and looked at him for a long moment. "I suppose that's a good point." Then she bowed her head. "But I can't shake this conviction, Draco, that I'm not fit for nice people."

"Right. That's fairly close to exactly it." Draco sighed and they both drank again, staring past each other into the quiet room.

"But." Draco sat up straighter. "To throw your own words back at you, maybe he should be the judge of that."

"Right. And I'm not entirely certain I can stay away." She flashed him a look and he privately acknowledged that he knew what she meant. She bustled up and started faffing with tissue paper and a box, so Draco got up too, pacing a few times around the shop until he found himself at the window again. The light was fading, but he could just make out a small boat struggling against the frothy waves of the dark sea.

Fitting.

"So you're worried about the fallout and you think it could be serious if you start something," Pansy said, hands busy behind the counter. "Those don't sound like real problems, Draco. They sound like excuses. Fear based, you know. I just read a whole book about how you're not supposed to let fear rule you."

"But then what else is there?"

She snorted.

Draco kept looking out the glass. "I suppose the real problem is that I don't know if she feels at all the same." And he didn't. No idea at all. Despite her warmth and willingness to talk to him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so uncertain of a woman, yet still so drawn.

Maybe he never had.

"She did go away with you for nearly an hour the other night." Pansy pulled out a length of ribbon and clipped it.

"Yes, but we were in a library—I'm sure she was there for the books."

"Were you reading the whole time?"

"No. We were talking mostly." Draco's mind went back into that warm half-hour in front of the fire. He could almost feel the flames, hear her soft laughter.

"About?" Pansy's eyes flashed up as Draco turned from the window and walked back toward the counter.

He picked up an old book and riffled its pages. "Everything." He smiled at the memory. "Our conversations go all over the place."

Pansy's low whistle pierced the quiet space.

"What?" Draco put the book down.

Pansy tied the ribbon she'd been working with. "I just did not realise the extent of what's going on here."

Draco gave her a look.

"And." Pansy gave him one back. "If I didn't realise, you can bet she doesn't. You need to give her a sign, Draco. Feel her out. Unfreeze a bit."

"I have! I've really let my guard down with her." He shook his head. "Not entirely intentionally, either. It just happens."

"Yes, but she's used to all that feelings everywhere, heart-on-the-sleeve stuff. They're all like that. It's intoxicating. The warmth, you know? The care." She shook her head once, fiddling with what Draco now saw was a package. She placed a sprig of dried flowers and a bit of lace in the ribbon and tied it into a smart bow. "A person could get addicted to it."

Exactly. Draco flicked a glance to her and sighed. Resignedly. "What should I do?"

"Tip your hand and see how she responds." Pansy shrugged. "My suspicion is that she's gagging for you, anyway."

"Really?" Draco leaned on the counter, but then pulled back again. "Uh, I mean. Why do you say that?"

"Oh, just instinct. Reading the room. Also, she gave me the funniest look the other night when she first arrived and you and I were standing together. Before I—uh, connected, with Neville."

"What kind of look?"

Pansy arched a brow. "Like she thought we were together and she didn't like it."

"Oh?" Draco had leaned forward again.

"Mmm-hmm." Pansy gazed at him, then puffed a little laugh.

"What?"

"Just. The pair of us." She shook her head. "Lost causes all around."

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it. "Tip my hand, eh?" He squinted at her.

"Yes. Let her know you're interested." Pansy handed him the package. "You know how."

"What's this?" Draco took the slim box. It was almost weightless in his hands, weightless as a slip of patterned silk… "Oh," he said.

"Christmas is coming, Draco. And it really will look beautiful on her."

He tried to stare her down, but it didn't work, so he finally tucked the box under his arm.

"How much? I didn't bring—"

"No matter," she said. "I'll bill you."

***

CLASS #7

Hermione straightened the papers in her in-tray and glanced at the clock. Shit, only a half hour until she had to leave for class.

Class.

Bugger.

Firelight on bright hair and long fingers brushing pages. A glint of white teeth. A tall figure reflected in dark glass.

The images and thoughts wanted to escape, run riot in her head like they had been since Saturday, but Hermione tamped them down and bent to the expense report she was working on.

She needed to file it and send Penelope her draft of the Erumpent memo before she left.

She also needed to stop being silly about a couple of conversations.

He'd be brisk and efficient tonight, anyway. Just like he'd been after the pub. Nothing to see, nothing to read into. Especially the way he'd looked at her in the reflection of that window. Standing behind her, close behind her, like he'd been about to—

"Damn it!" Hermione pulled the sheaf of receipts on her desk toward her with a mighty frown and began checking them off against a long parchment. Three days away on a training in Bristol had wreaked absolute havoc on her to-do list and tomorrow was packed with meetings. She would finish this report and she would put all ridiculous thoughts out of her mind.

Except that expense reports were mindless, and her mind was soon wandering again.

Right back to Saturday night. It had all been so pleasant, interesting people and conversation. After the short-lived poker game, Hermione had ended up talking to Pansy about vintage clothing for quite a while. Then she'd chatted with Millie and Tracy about their wedding—she and Pen had even suggested a venue: a gallery belonging to a friend of theirs that Pansy knew and couldn't believe she hadn't already thought of. And Theo had been such a laugh as well as a lovely host—it had been fascinating to see him and Charlie together. Opposites indeed. With a lot of attraction. Hermione was having dinner with Charlie tonight and meant to quiz him thoroughly about what was going on there.

And Draco.

She'd called him by his first name and seen him notice. She'd caught his eye (or had he caught hers?) from across the room. The Latin and that suit.

And the library. God.

Hermione's quill lowered back to her desk. His eyes when he'd apologised. His real, true laugh. His obvious anger when she'd mentioned Ron and what had happened. And twice, twice, she'd had a wild suspicion that he was about to kiss her.

Before she'd shaken herself out of it and told herself to stop being stupid, that is.

Hadn't he stayed away the rest of the night? Barely spoken to her in the group setting? Not been in touch since.

She was sure it was all in her head. Or at least completely one-sided. She was reading way too much in to a few shared interests and friends in common. Contrast it to Blaise and Pen or Theo and Charlie—or even Pansy and Neville, who she knew had a dinner date tonight.

No one had asked Hermione out.

A slam of a distant door made her sit up straight, eyes whipping to the clock, which showed that she had less than ten minutes to get to class. "Shite!" She grabbed at the unfinished report and the memo, shoving them both into her bag and cursing her disordered mind. She'd have to take them home now.

She hurried the distance between the Ministry and the Educational Annex, arriving breathless to her seat with three minutes to spare. April and Anthony waved to her and Hermione waved back, noting that Draco hadn't yet arrived.

He'd probably come in at six on the dot and not look at her all class again. She blew out a sigh and started digging through her bag, intent on finding a pamphlet about muggle Larping she'd picked up for Anthony.

"Where is it?" she muttered, practically putting her whole head in the bag and scrabbling at a distant corner. Her extension charm had really gotten out of hand. She could feel an entire binder down there and was that where her black court shoe had gone…?

"If you fall any further in, we may have to mount a rescue mission." The light words yanked Hermione up like a chain and she stared, wide-eyed into amused grey.

"Uh, hello," she sputtered.

"Hi." He smiled and sat on the corner of her desk.

Hermione blinked several times, noting the surprising openness of his manner and the blazing intensity of her attraction to him—which led to a realisation that though she'd been dreading the cold shoulder, this was going to be much, much more difficult to play off in a classroom full of people. She could practically feel April's avid stare.

"Um, I have something for you," he murmured, reaching into his own bag, which was obviously far more organised and less cavernous than hers, and withdrawing a book. "A book. Or more of a journal, really. I believe it's a field study of a French centaur herd near my family's estate in the Loire Valley. One might even call it a 'folio.'" He lifted a brow. "It's from the mid-1700s. I saw it in the library on Sunday and thought it might be interesting or useful since I understand these types of sources are rare."

Hermione looked at him in surprise as she gently took the book, which looked more like a hand-bound set of notes. "Vanishingly rare," she breathed, running a finger over the frayed fabric of its cover. In fact, she could think of only four similar things in existence, and none of them so old. She flipped the book open to see a finely drawn illustration of a centaur herd in a meadow, accompanied by text that seemed to be recording habits and behaviours. "This is amazing," she said, turning several pages before tearing her eyes away to blink up at him. "Thank you. A primary source like this could change what we know—how we classify…"

He inclined his head. "Glad to share it. And there's something under it too." Amusement crept back into his expression.

"Oh!" Hermione realised she was holding two books. She slid the smaller one out from under the folio, her eyes widening as she read its title and took in its apparent age. She looked up at him, a delighted smile tugging at her lips. "Emma! Where did you get it? Is it a first edition?"

"I believe it is." He nodded. "And I also found it in the Manor library. Can't imagine how it ended up there. Clearly some Malfoy rebel from 200 years ago." His smile glinted again. "At least the entire family tree isn't rotten."

"Draco!" She touched his hand, long fingers splayed casually across the scarred wood of her desk, before she'd realised what she was doing—but the contact and his first name jolted them both and his smile faded into something more intense.

"Er." At that moment, Hermione noted that the classroom, previously filled with chatter, had become totally silent. She shot a glance around at the faces turned toward them and then at the clock, which showed it to be a few minutes after six. She also saw April giving her a very knowing look and Anthony frowning at them abstractedly.

"Keep those," Draco said in an undervoice. He tapped the books, then pivoted away before Hermione could protest. "Ah. OK, class!" He clapped his hands and launched into some introductory remarks.

Hermione didn't hear much of it over the rushing in her ears and her thundering internal dialogue, (He'd been friendly! He'd given her books! He'd leaned and smiled!) but she could tell he was a little rushed and disjointed compared to his usual style—although eventually he slid back into ease and command, pacing back and forth in front of his desk and writing a few things on the blackboard.

Looking bloody fit doing it too. Had she ever seen him in muggle jeans before? And that black jumper was gorgeous against his hair. It looked so soft. Like one could stroke it or even rub a cheek against—

Good god, Hermione! She went ramrod straight in her seat and made a concerted effort to hone back in on what he was saying.

"So, a good tactic for stunning spells is to use them as a precursor. Cast the stunner to knock your opponent off-balance, then come in quickly with a second spell to fully incapacitate." Malfoy strode around to his desk, then rifled in his bag and picked up his wand. "I'd like to demonstrate," he said over his shoulder. A ripple of sound went through the class. "I mean, on me. I'll be the stunned one." His quick smile flashed, catching Hermione as he glanced around the room. He held eye contact with her for just a beat too long before looking away.

"Uh. Anyway." He cleared his throat. "What you'll, uh, hopefully see is that a stunning spell can hit anywhere on the body and still have effect." He walked to the far end of the room. "Unlike a targeted spell like a leg-lock or similar. This again makes stunning good for a quick strike in a tight spot. Although of course, a head shot will render your opponent unconscious in one—and if the hit is good enough, they'll stay down. In fact, someone who's taken a stunner to the head can usually only be revived with a waking spell. And it's always advisable to administer chocolate after any stunning spell, just like you would for other types of draining grey magic. I have a bar on my desk for after." He pointed, then glanced around the room, which had gone utterly silent. "Well, who wants to stun me?"

No one spoke and Hermione, who usually would have raised her hand instantly, felt unaccountably shy at the thought of facing off against him. All that eye contact and energy flying back and forth… Although, it was too bad he hadn't asked her to do this the first class. She'd have happily stunned him into the ground then. She gave a little snort and his eyes went to hers.

"Hermione." It wasn't a question and he blinked like he hadn't realised he'd said her name aloud. Hermione felt her face begin to warm. "Uh, would you, ah, like to come up? Be the other half?"

Unfortunately for her equilibrium, he accompanied this very provocatively worded request with a disarming smile. All she managed to do in return was nod slowly and unfold out of her seat.

Facing him was just as nerve-wracking as she imagined. His tall form and broad shoulders. The slim hips and pushed up sleeves. She had a quick, vivid fantasy of closing the space between them, class be damned, and running her hands up his chest and around his neck, into his hair. They made eye contact and she could feel her face get hotter.

He cleared his throat and she noticed a slip of colour staining his jaw too. "Gather round, everyone." He motioned with his wand and the students all stood out of their seats and formed a loose circle around them. He watched for a moment and then turned back to Hermione, who was trying to perform calming breathing exercises. "So, I want you to hit me with something light. And I mean light, Granger." The corner of his mouth lifted. "Below the shoulders. Preferably my wand arm or a knee. Surprise me." He smiled again, and butterflies fluttered like mad in Hermione's stomach. She was so wound up she was worried about her ability to keep the spell from hitting too hard, and snuck in some more deep breaths as he explained a few last things to the class.

"All right. Duelling, er, positions." His eyes ran over her and Hermione's face flamed even more. She was sure she resembled a tomato right now. And she suddenly felt every inch of the slim black trousers and fitted polo neck she was wearing. She tried not to think about what her body was doing under her clothes. She swallowed and saw him swallow too.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," she managed to say, pointing her wand and feeling desire pool in her centre. She was ready for something.

"OK g— Oh, and one more thing." Malfoy held up a finger and pivoted just as Hermione's spell arced off her wand, going high since she tried to pull up at the last minute. She watched with horrified eyes as it flew straight toward his head and hit his temple with a crack.

A fizzle of spent magic threaded through the completely silent room.

He crumpled and Hermione shrieked, "Draco!" crossing the floor in a few quick strides. She was by him in seconds, kneeling and cradling his head, which lolled in an alarming way. She checked his pulse, thanking Merlin that it was fast but steady, then began issuing commands to the rest of the students, most of whom were standing gormlessly by, mouths open and eyes wide.

"Back up and give us some room!" she barked. "Someone open a window! And grab the chocolate off his desk! Bring it here!"

"Shit, shit, shit," she whispered to herself, aiming her shaking wand at his temple, noting that he was paper-white as she whispered a wake-up spell. God, she hoped she remembered it properly. If it didn't work, she'd have someone to go for a Mediwitch. But the magic streamed from her wand and he stirred the tiniest bit, so she put her ear to his lips to make sure he was breathing.

"Cool." She could hear the faintest whisper. "Like water. Spilling over my mind. Feels nice. Smells nicer." The words were soft, so soft she could barely make them out, but she could feel the faint puff of his breath on her cheek and then his hand alighting on her waist. She froze.

The hand tightened and he reached up, lips just brushing the skin below her ear. "Come back to bed, Granger. I miss you." These words, uttered low and in a voice she would later describe to Penelope as 'fucking lethal,' Hermione heard very clearly. She tried valiantly to manage her reaction to them (basically complete internal combustion), while dearly hoping no one else had.

It didn't help that his hand had moved down from her waist and was now sliding very deliberately over the swell of her ar—

"Here's the chocolate, Hermione!" Anthony shoved a half unwrapped bar into her hands. She straightened with a jerk, causing Draco's hand to drop, and hurriedly broke off a square of the confection, noting that it was dark and very fine. She swung around to prop Draco's head on her knees and fed him a small crumble, trying not to dwell on the softness of his lips as her fingertips brushed them.

"Eat a little," she said gently. "It will make you feel better." She resisted an intense urge to brush his hair back from his forehead.

"Feel bloody fantastic," he sighed as he accepted the chocolate. But as soon as he swallowed, he tensed and his eyelids fluttered. He tried to sit up and his eyes, now open and wary, flicked to Hermione's. It took everything she had to hold that eye contact in a calm and neutral way.

"What happened?" he asked, his hand going to his temple.

"I, er. My spell hit you in the head on accident." Hermione grimaced, trying not to think about what had just transpired, but also wondering with every fibre of her being if he remembered.

"Oh fuck." He dropped back down and his eyes closed again. "Stunning spells. Right." His brow arched. "You were supposed to aim low."

"I did! But you moved at the last second. I tried to pull back!"

"A likely story." But his lips lifted slightly. His eyes opened again and she couldn't help smiling down into them.

She started to say something, but someone coughed and she remembered with a jolt that they were surrounded by all of her classmates. Draco seemed to realise at the same moment too, because his smile dropped and he looked from side to side.

"Oh, hello everyone." He gave a weak wave.

"You OK, Prof?" It was Forrest, stepping forward with a crease between his eyes.

"Yeah, need more chocolate?" Anthony chimed in as Draco sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm all right." He scrubbed the hand over his face. "Thanks, Anthony." He sat fully upright, resting his elbows on his knees and shifting to accept another square of chocolate. He popped it in his mouth and chewed slowly, and it was almost unbearable to sit there and watch him and not know what he was thinking.

"Come back to bed, Granger."

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

Had it been real? Or just the product of a stunned delusion?

Hermione rocked back on her heels and stood, grabbing the corner of a desk as she did so. Even if it was a delusion, it had come from somewhere. And if he'd been thinking it at all…her hand floated to her throat.

She turned and attempted to push these alarming thoughts away as strictly for later examination. She bloody had to, if she was going to have any chance of getting through the rest of this class.

But the thoughts would not be pushed.

"I miss you."

Hermione's blood heated and she chanced a look at Draco to see him watching her, his expression puzzled. He actually looked as if he were trying to remember something.

Hermione coughed and felt several pairs of eyes swing her way.

"I'm, uh. I'm really sorry, Malfoy," she said lamely, sliding into her desk chair.

He held her gaze, his eyes narrowing the slightest. "Not to worry, Granger," he finally said, springing to his feet with a slight stagger. Hermione started up and several others moved forward to help, but he waved them off. "I'm fine." He rubbed his temple again. "A solid red hit." He nodded at Hermione. "Nice one, but there'll be no lasting effects. Seen it a hundred times in the field." He offered a quick smile. "Did the chocolate take care of it? Or…" He shook his head a little. "You gave me some help, didn't you?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Uh. Yes. Reviving spell. Like you mentioned before. I applied it to the same temple as the uh, stunner. But I think the chocolate was what really did the job."

"Mmm." He was still staring at her and Hermione fought the urge to squirm. Please, please don't remember. At least not right now.

Finally, his eyes crinkled into a slight smile. "Well. Again, a great hit. Just uh, don't do that to the Ministry examiner."

His brows went up and Hermione laughed in spite of herself.

A laugh rippled through the class too and Malfoy turned back to them as if he'd forgotten they were there again. "Ah, everyone get in your lines, please." He made an ushering motion. "Time to try landing your own stunning spells. With training lights, of course. Don't have enough chocolate for all of you." He winked and everyone chuckled again.

Hermione scrambled up with the rest of them, giving a quick nod to Anthony, trying not to look at Draco, and telling herself she wanted his forgetfulness to hold.

***

"Hermione, wait!" Shit, it was April. Hermione punched the button on the lift vigorously, darting a a look at the stairs to see if she had time to escape down them. But it was too late, April was already huffing and puffing next to her.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked between breaths, a slyness tugging at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

"I have a dinner with a friend in Knockturn Alley. Just, ah, trying to get there in time." Hermione's smile was bright and fake.

"Awesome, I'll walk with you! Forrest has to go to the store." April smiled back as the lift arrived and they held it for several of their classmates. No Draco, though. Hermione fought the urge to crane her neck and look for him. He'd been kept busy by the other students for the rest of class and deep in conversation with Joan when she'd left, although she'd caught his eyes on her as she'd slipped through the door.

The lift dinged and Hermione spilled out with the rest of the students, letting their chatter bubble around her. April grabbed her arm as they walked down the steps to the street and leaned in close.

"So, things have progressed since we last talked," she said in a breathless undertone.

"I don't know what you're speaking about!" Hermione sang, waving to Anthony as he walked off and darting a look over her shoulder as if Draco might have materialised to listen in.

"Right." April laughed. "Anyway, I give myself full credit. I was the one who nudged you two on drinks night, after all."

"Still have no idea what you mean." Hermione picked up their pace. Knockturn was close and she didn't want to prolong this encounter.

"Oh, come on. You two silenced the whole room with your flirting before class."

"We were not flirting—"

"What did he give you? Some books? That was so cute. And what did he say to you when he first woke up?"

"Nothing!" It came out a bit strident and Hermione closed her eyes, forcing herself to be calmer. "Nothing. Just gibberish."

"Uh-huh. Some gibberish. You turned about as red as my sweater." April held out a sleeve and laughed again. "It was adorable."

"I again have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione said frostily, seized with dread that everyone else in class did.

"Fine, don't tell me." April's smile glinted in the dim between streetlamps. "But I'm calling it right now," she said. "Sometimes you just know about these things. When people fit? You two fit." She clapped her hands together and rubbed them. "I'm never wrong about this stuff."

"Well, you are this time," Hermione muttered, finally finding her words.

"Why?" April stopped and shook her head, causing Hermione to stop too. "He's clearly into you. And you're obviously attracted to him—I mean, who wouldn't be—so why wouldn't you go for it?

"You sound like my friend Penelope," Hermione grumbled, wondering if she could dare ask herself this same question. She'd been avoiding examining it, mostly because until today she'd been convinced Draco didn't feel any of what she did. But now…

"Come back to bed, Granger. I miss you."

Of course, it could just be purely physical and nothing more—the idea forked through Hermione's mind like lightning. He'd told her how he'd dealt with that French girl, been very up front about it. And there were all the girls in the papers. He clearly didn't like to get emotionally involved. Maybe he'd been sending a signal, feeling Hermione out.

Could she do that? Just…fuck him because she wanted him, no strings attached? The idea was tinged with both excitement and disappointment. Because she did want him. Rather badly. And the idea of succumbing to that was intoxicating. Especially now she had confirmation that at least some part of him wanted her too.

But—she thought of him laughing in the firelight—it might already be too late for no strings at all.

"Well, this Penelope sounds smart!" April laughed and nudged Hermione, bringing her back from her tangled whirl of thought.

"She is. Very. You two would get along." Hermione gave April a grudging smile and started walking again. "Come on, I'm going to be late meeting my friend."

"OK, but please tell me you're not going to pass this up with Prof. Charming."

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh my god, you are a tough nut to crack!" April shook a fist to the sky.

Hermione laughed, but felt a distinct heaviness inside.

***

"Why won't you tell me what Theo had in the garden!?" Hermione dug her fork into a decadent slice of chocolate tarte and eyed Charlie.

"I don't want to implicate you."

"Implicate me!?"

"Or him. Also, it's none of your business." Charlie's eyes danced with a humour that took the sting out of his words.

"Fine," Hermione laughed. "Although I could just go look up the case record."

"I think you'll find there isn't one." Charlie took a giant bite of their shared dessert.

"Charlie!"

"Hermione!"

She held his gaze and he grinned and raised his brows. "Oh, whatever," she finally said. "But it's a good thing I'm leaving the department soon. And that I like you so much. And Theo."

Charlie chuckled down at the table, a lock of his dark red hair slipping from behind his ear. He tucked it back with a half-shrug that felt very familiar, then glanced up at her with a brilliant blue gaze that was also familiar. Hermione blinked a little. It wasn't that Charlie looked so much like Ron; he clearly took after Molly's side of the family, while Ron was on his way to becoming a carbon-copy of Arthur. But there were certain things—gestures, expressions—that gave Hermione a keen sense of something akin to déjà vu, a sometimes painful déjà vu.

She picked up her wine. "And how is Theo? Have you seen him lately?"

"A fair bit, yeah." Charlie's lips tugged up. "I've been staying at his place the last few nights. He's on me to bring him to the sanctuary, though."

"Oh, really?" Hermione took a sip. "I can't quite see him there." She pictured the windswept, barren crags of the property on the Isle of Harris. The dragons loved it for the endless sky, but it was a bit austere for most humans.

"I know. I told him about the bunk beds and that he's only allowed one piece of non-extendable luggage and I think that gave him pause." Charlie laughed.

Hermione put her chin in her hand. "But I like him for you. You're very light around him," she mused, thinking about when she'd gotten to know Charlie a few years back during a six-month research stint at the sanctuary in Romania. He'd been at the tail-end of a long, rather toxic affair with another tamer who had made him anything but light, and they'd bonded over their similarly dysfunctional relationships—albeit tacitly due to the awkwardness of Hermione's partner being Ron. She was so glad to see Charlie out of that period, just like he'd been fully supportive during her split.

"Am I?" He smiled again. "Yeah, I guess that's right. I feel happy. For the first time in a long time."

"I'm so glad to hear it." She took another bite of tarte.

Charlie sat back and squinted at her. "And what about you, H?"

"What about me?"

"I just wonder if there's anything in the air." Charlie's eyes were keen and Hermione immediately wondered if Theo had said something about, er, anything.

"Oh, no. At least nothing I—" She twirled her wine glass on the table, her mind zooming back to the night's earlier events. "Charlie, do you know anything about stunning spells?" she asked.

"Um. Yeah." Charlie's alert look turned puzzled. "Use them a lot when you work with dragons. You know that."

"Of course. But have you seen their effects on humans?"

"Yes, definitely. Lots of ricochets off the dragon hide."

"Seen people take them to the head?"

"Yesss." Charlie was now looking at her like she was fully insane.

"Mmm. And do they…hallucinate or imagine things when they come out of them?"

"No." Charlie was looking at her very askance now. "People can be unbalanced or confused—less inhibited in what they say and do. Kind of like being drunk, but not like a break with reality."

"Oh." Hermione stared at the candle flickering merrily in the middle of their table. "And do you think someone would remember what they did or, ah, said when they were first coming out of the spell?"

"I don't know. Possibly. Why are you asking me this?"

"Er. Just something in class." Alarmingly, Hermione felt her face heat.

"What happened in class?"

"It was nothing." Hermione shrugged and looked away.

"OK, you're definitely going to have to tell me now." Charlie folded his arms and cocked his head. "Did it have something to do with Draco Malfoy?"

"Why do you say that!?"

"Wild hunch."

"Well, no!" Hermione looked to the side. "Maybe."

"Spill, H." Charlie picked up his fork.

So Hermione reluctantly told him the whole stunning story, and by the time she finished he was laughing. Hard.

"Why is that so funny!? It was just nonsense, like you said."

"I didn't say it was nonsense. I said people become less inhibited. No doubt in my mind he meant every word." Charlie chuckled again. "Especially when I put it together with Saturday night. And certain remarks Theo has made."

"What has Theo said!?" Hermione leaned forward.

"Just asked if you'd mentioned Malfoy—with a lot of eye rolling and suggestive looks." Charlie shrugged.

"Do not tell him what I just told you!"

"I won't, I won't." Charlie held up a placating hand. "But Is something going on between you and Malfoy? I wondered the other night when you two were gone for so long."

"No, nothing!" Hermione waved her fork.

"Hmm." Charlie squinted. "Then why would he ask you to come to bed? And he gave you those books, which sounds…almost sweet."

"I don't know!" Hermione shook her head. "Maybe he gives books to all the girls." Charlie snorted, and Hermione cracked a smile, but wondered again about Malfoy's, er, intentions. She took a deep breath. "I think it's just that—we have this class and we've been thrown together because of that, and because all our bloody friends are starting to date, but I can't really imagine that he'd— how he'd—"

"Are you joking?" Charlie shook his head. "I can imagine and I'm your gay almost-brother-in-law. Come on, H. You're gorgeous and brilliant and wonderful. And I definitely caught a current between you and Malfoy the other night."

"There were a lot of currents," Hermione muttered. "It was a heightened atmosphere."

"Please." Charlie drained his beer, then his look turned more gentle. "Do you like him? If you do, why are you fighting it so hard?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but sighed instead. "I don't know. I do like him. And I think— I really don't know if he's interested or more precisely, to what degree he's interested. From what I understand he usually keeps things casual. He told me that himself. And I just— I've never really done that."

"Ah, of course you haven't." Charlie nodded. "But are you sure that's all he wants with you?"

"I don't know." Hermione flashed again on the conversation by the fire. "But then, even if it weren't, er, casual—could we really get out from under the weight of our history? Of who we are?"

"You're asking the Weasley who's dating Theo Nott that?"

Hermione barked a laugh and Charlie smiled.

"But seriously," he said. "I don't see why not. Unless." He looked down. "Can I be honest?"

"Always."

"I hope this isn't about Ron in some way."

"What? No!" Hermione went into instant-sputter mode.

Charlie raised his brows.

"How would it be about Ron?"

"Just, I know how much Ron hates Malfoy. He had quite the reaction when he found out you were taking a class from him. Almost ruined a family dinner."

Hermione reared back. "That's total shite! How dare he—"

"I know."

"He has no right!"

"That's what Ginny and I bloody told him. And mum." Charlie's eyes snapped, then he took a breath. "But I just hope he doesn't have influence anymore. He's my brother and I have to love him, but what he did to you was fucking wrong. You don't owe him anything. Loyalty or friendship or anything at all."

"I know that!"

"Good" Charlie held her gaze. "But there's also the fact of what he did to you. Are you still getting out from under it? Are you maybe just not ready?"

This last was said gently and took all the fight out of Hermione. She thought of the pain of last year and the careful rebuilding. She thought of Malfoy's face when he'd apologised and his voice earlier tonight when he'd whispered in her ear.

"I think I'm out from under it. And I think I'm ready for something," she said slowly, Charlie nodding along. "I guess I just have to figure out what."

Chapter Text

Draco backed through the door of his flat, floating his leather duffel and a case of Bordeaux. He eased both to the floor before pointing his wand and uttering soft lighting and heating charms. The dark space instantly became more inviting, although with its spare lines and sparse furnishings, it would never be what one called 'warm.'

Draco sighed. Maybe he should try doing something about that.

A photograph or two, a plant? A knick-knack?

He shook his head as he moved across the glossy expanse of the sitting room to his much-smaller kitchen, all gleaming black and brushed nickel. He'd of course eaten before he left France, but a whisky was definitely in order after the last few days. He reached for one of the heavy-bottomed crystal tumblers he kept neatly stowed in a glass-fronted cabinet and carried it back toward the living room, loosening his tie and shedding his Auror robes as he went. A quick flick of his wand lit the minimalist fireplace as he approached his sideboard and selected a muggle single malt, then dropped onto the low, white sofa that faced the plate glass windows. Twinkling city lights, the river and several bridges spread out before his eye as he sat and sipped, letting the liquor make a slow, warm track down his throat. The reason he'd purchased this flat several years ago, this view really did argue against the need for further decorative embellishments. Although maybe a table lamp…?

Knick-knacks? Table lamps? Gods, he must really be exhausted.

Draco tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He'd gotten the call from the Ministère des Affaires Magiques about the Olson matter on Friday morning—a co-conspirator they'd given up on finding had been nabbed at the port in Gibraltar as he'd tried to make a break for Tangier—and they'd needed Draco for the interrogation in Aix.

He'd gone immediately and without question. Spent the whole weekend in small rooms redolent of cigarette smoke and stress until they'd broken the perp and gotten a full confession. Then he'd taken an extra two days in France, ostensibly visiting his great-aunt and picking up some wine, but in actuality trying to figure out what he was bloody doing.

With his life. With her.

The aftermath of the last class still made him cringe. He knew he'd said something off as he'd come out of that stunner. Knew it in his bones. Something only she had heard. Her shocked and frozen face as he'd come to consciousness, waking as if from a dream of being somewhere warm and content. Somewhere he desperately wanted to stay.

Fuck, if he could just remember what it bloody was. Although, from the way she'd acted afterward—wide-eyed and mechanical for the rest of the lesson and then practically sprinting out of the classroom—it must have been bad.

He'd driven her off right as he was trying to get closer.

Draco took a large swallow of whisky; what a smooth fucking way to tip his hand. And after the books had gone over so well.

How could he fix it? He returned to the question he'd been chasing around every moment he hadn't been actively interrogating the suspect. Was it possible? Or should he just give up on this idea of getting involved with Hermione Granger of all people? Go back to his life before he'd walked into that classroom and seen her frowning up at him from the second row.

Being in France had certainly brought up memories of the way things had been. Astoria, Monique, other times and other women. Post-divorce he'd had a system, a protocol of distance and control. And it had worked! For a long time. In fact, he probably could have owled Monique when he was in Aix and relieved at least some of the tension he was feeling.

But the idea had not appealed. Not in the slightest. And not just because he didn't want a resurgence of the drama.

No, every time he'd tried to picture actually doing anything—with Monique or any other woman—Granger's face floated before his eyes. Laughing up at him or absorbed in some book. Tilted down as she gave voice to an interesting thought. In beautiful profile as he gazed at her. And her mind too—meeting his with a snappy reply or an interesting opinion. Her body.

Gods, if she were here right now, climbing into his lap, straddling him and taking the glass out of his hand as she leaned down and slipped her tongue between his lips…

Draco's eyes closed again and he blew out a long breath.

Everything else had somehow paled in comparison.

But if she wasn't interested there wasn't a lot he could bloody do about it, was there? Other than package up whatever this was and stow it away. They only had four more classes to go—although with all of their friends partnering he was going to be seeing a lot more of her, which might be a real problem if he couldn't control his feelings.

How the hell did he get to this point of not having a choice?

Fuck.

Draco finished his whisky and stood. He was too bloody tired to be thinking about this. But he also had to see her in class in two days so he'd better fucking figure himself out.

He moved off toward the bedroom with a sigh.

***

"I found out why he hasn't been in touch!" Penelope burst through Hermione's office door Wednesday after work, gym bag slung over her shoulder. "I'll tell you all about it on the walk over." She looked down at the open scrolls and notes on Hermione's blotter. "Aren't you ready? Come on, kickboxing in fifteen!"

She made a little jab as Hermione glanced up and blinked, the reference section for the erumpent memo she was working on still primary in her thoughts. "What? Shit. I'll be ready in two." She scrabbled at said scrolls and papers and summoned her own gym bag from the corner. "And what are you talking about?"

"Huh?" Penelope had picked up a page of Hermione's notes and was scanning them.

Hermione looked around her empty office as if a spy were lurking behind her fiddle leaf fig plant. "About Malfoy," she mouthed, pulling the page from Pen's fingers and shoving it in her bag.

"Oh! Why he hasn't owled. He's been out of town. For work." Penelope lowered her voice as they emerged from their department into the corridor toward the lifts.

"I mean, I'm not entirely convinced that's why he hasn't owled, but OK."

"Come on, after what he said? I think we can move past the whole, 'i'm not sure if he likes me,' bit." Pen gave Hermione a stern look.

"Can we, though?" Hermione nodded at a colleague who was rushing by in the other direction. "We have no evidence other than an addled statement as he woke from a mind-altering spell."

"Which Charlie explained was not all that mind-altering. Plus there was the party and the pub. And the books!" Penelope put a triumphant finger in the air.

"All circumstantial. And weak once you weigh them against the fact that he hasn't actually consciously said anything." Hermione jabbed at the lift button a bit roughly. She'd been over this herself a thousand times since Thursday. She'd had a lot of time to do it with all the lack of communication from anyone. Although if he'd been out of town… "Did Blaise say something?" she asked with a sideways look at Pen just before they stepped into the lift.

It was crowded so Penelope just gave her a significant look, leaving Hermione to wonder as they plunged downward. Wonder about herself and what she had become. In a complete spiral over a man. And not just any man, but Draco bloody Malfoy. The thought still had the power to shock her when it came upon her unawares. But there was no doubt she had been spiralling—at first completely wound up over what had happened last class, then deflated over not hearing from him, and then pissed off with herself for caring.

But it had been nearly a week, and business trip or no, Hermione had to take that as a sign that he wanted to let the whole thing die down. Or maybe it just hadn't affected him at all. Maybe he'd simply had a brief vision of her based on proximity when he'd been waking up from the spell. It was probably nothing more than that.

The lift hit the ground floor and they swarmed out with the wave of witches and wizards leaving the Ministry for various after work activities. Laughter and excited chatter swirled in the air, which was crisp and very cold. Hermione couldn't believe it was almost December, almost bloody Christmas.

"Blaise said Draco had to go to France. Unexpectedly. For something urgent with a case. I'm surprised Harry didn't mention it." Penelope spoke quickly and quietly since they were still amongst groups of their co-workers.

"I haven't seen Harry all week," Hermione murmured. "And to France, blimey." Immediately the in-class howler flashed through her mind—and the woman on the other side of it.

Maybe that explained things.

"He just got back last night," Pen said, grabbing Hermione's arm as they hurried through the barrier and into muggle London. "Anyway, I was thinking."

"Uh oh."

"Stop!" Pen shoved her. "But I was thinking that maybe we need another activity to give you two a chance to reconnect! Something with the group—to dispel any awkwardness, you know."

"Penelope."

"What!?"

"Look I still have no idea what's going on in his head. Or frankly in mine. I mean, I could have reached out to him too and I haven't! And I'm not entirely sure why." Charlie had raised some good questions there, and honestly Hermione was still wrestling with their answers. "But I'm definitely sure that manufacturing some naff event so that you can throw us together will create awkwardness, not dispel it."

Penelope opened her mouth, a mulishness playing about her chin, and Hermione dug in mentally, ready to fight.

But instead Pen blew out a breath. "OK," she said.

"OK?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." Pen waved a nonchalant hand. "I agree that doing some big build-up would be odd."

Hermione shot her a look but Penelope just shrugged and blinked. "Ready to get your high-kick into high gear?" She indicated the door to the kickboxing studio, which they were rapidly approaching.

"I guess so." Hermione still couldn't quite believe Penelope had let the subject of Malfoy drop so easily. She squinted, but Pen just gave her a bright smile and stepped inside.

"Let's get kebabs after!" she said. "It's been a while."

***

Draco pulled his coat tight around him and hailed Blaise as he stepped away from the apparition point. Blaise waved a gloved hand and jogged over, his breath white in the damp night air.

"Sorry I'm late," he called. "Bloody second portkey malfunctioned and I ended up in Monaco instead of Munich. Took an hour to sort it."

"Not a bad place to be stranded." Draco smiled. "And no worries. How's your mum? How was the big concert?"

"Fine and fine. Sold out crowd, which always makes her happy. And on my end things went off without a hitch. That was the last show until New Year's Eve too, which means I'll get a break. Other than your mum's party of course."

"Right. And that will be small." Narcissa's annual winter charity event had shrunk significantly over the years, although the addition of a selection of songs from Diantha Zabini would certainly pique interest and open wallets this holiday season. Draco made a note to check in with his mother and see if she needed any help with planning.

"Where is this bloody place?" Blaise squinted down at a piece of paper in his hand. "Pen said it was halfway down the crescent. The Wenlock Arms? Never heard of it."

Draco looked up the street. "Think I see the sign." He pointed at a swinging shingle and they began walking. "What exactly are we doing?" he asked, puzzled. He'd gotten a hastily scribbled message from Blaise yesterday and agreed to have what he'd thought would be a quiet drink with him after class tonight. He hadn't realised Penelope would be involved.

"Oh just a drink with Pen." Blaise stuffed the paper back in his pocket. "Few others too, I think."

A few others? Draco's mind instantly leapt to Granger. Would she be there? She hadn't been in class tonight—Goldstein had relayed something about a last minute work emergency in the North—and her absence had really thrown off Draco's plan (carefully considered after a good night's sleep and a dose of being back to his real life) to stop being a maudlin idiot and instead use this class to act casual and friendly, then base his next move off how she reacted. Her not being there had put him back into his original quandary of what to do next, if anything. He'd even been considering confiding in Blaise over this drink. Maybe ask him for some advice.

But the fact that that wasn't going to bloody happen became clear as soon as Blaise opened the door to the pub and Draco spotted not only Penelope, but also Potter and Ginny Weasley—the three of them sitting at a huge booth with pitchers of beer, several stacked glasses and what looked like scorecards and quills.

"What the—?" Blaise frowned at Penelope, who had spotted them and jumped up with a vigorous wave. Draco glanced at Potter, who was frowning back at him, and Ginny, who was shooting Penelope a look. He also became dimly aware of someone using an amplifying charm to project a crackling voice throughout the pub, and caught Blaise's similarly confused eye as Penelope bounded up.

"Welcome to trivia night!" she sang.

"Babe, what?" Blaise accepted her kiss distractedly.

"I thought it'd be a lark!" Penelope included them both in her wide smile. "Our group of friends does it every other week. Thought it was about time you came." She tapped Blaise on the nose. "And Draco will be a welcome addition." She took both of their arms and started leading them toward the table. "I think Nev might be bringing Pansy, too." She smiled encouragingly at them.

Draco and Blaise shot identical looks of incredulity at each other. Draco was sure Pansy hadn't stepped foot in an establishment that served beer since their Hogsmeade days.

"Shove over, everyone!" Penelope sang, sliding into the booth next to Harry and Ginny and towing Blaise with her, leaving the row across from them very obviously empty. Draco slid in with a dawning sense of the inevitable, so it almost wasn't a surprise when Granger came bustling up in a muggle suit with an official looking C&CMC badge sewn to her lapel.

"Sorry I'm late!" she was calling. "Grindylow infestation at a muggle beach in Newcastle. Field agents got in over their heads, so I had to go onsite. Neville not here yet—? Oh!" She broke off almost comically as she spotted Draco in the corner of the booth, her eyes darting to Penelope and her lips thinning as Penelope pointedly ignored her in favour of an exchange with Blaise about the bungled portkey.

Granger looked across at Potter and then down at the seat next to Draco, who cringed inwardly. Wonderful. He just loved being the object of awkward manoeuvring. He shifted against the wall, narrowing his eyes at Blaise and already manufacturing an excuse for why he couldn't stay for more than one drink. Blaise gave the slightest shrug as Granger magicked her coat to a hook then slid in next to Draco, bringing an intoxicating wave of her familiar scent and a quick hello. Draco tossed her one himself, then went silent as the table started discussing what was in the pitchers and something called the 'picture round,' which seemed to revolve around a page of grainy photos laying in the middle of the table.

Blaise asked what it was and Penelope stared at him and then Draco, who put up his hands. "Wait, have you seriously never done pub trivia?" she asked. "Either of you?"

Blaise answered in the negative and Draco shook his head. "What is it?" he asked, peering around the rapidly filling bar, patrons coming in from the cold and divesting themselves of coats and scarves as they called out to other groups and arranged themselves around similarly large tables.

"It's a contest." Granger's clear voice came from Draco's side and he finally let himself really look at her. Her hair was pinned up and she'd stuck a quill through it. Adorable. She glanced at him and their eyes held. "Er, the uh bloke up there, the quizmaster," —she pointed to the front of the room— "asks questions and we have to answer them as a team. There are several rounds and whichever team has the most points at the end wins."

She kept holding Draco's gaze as she finished talking and he didn't look away. How had he never noticed the sweet sprinkling of freckles across her nose?

"There are categories too," Potter's voice sounded a little loudly, and Draco blinked over at him. "Music round, sport round, current events. General magical knowledge. Picture round." Potter ticked his fingers, eyes penetrating behind his glasses.

"And what do you win?" Draco asked.

"Usually drinks for the table. And bragging rights," Ginny said.

"Fascinating activity," Draco murmured, hearing the faintest snort from his side. He glanced over quickly to see a slight smile on Granger's lips.

"What does everyone want to drink? Should we get another pitcher? Er, Malfoy?" Draco looked over again to see Ginny staring at him as if he were an exotic animal in a zoo. "Do you like beer? Cider?"

A discussion ensued in which Draco said very little and tried not to be too distracted by Granger's proximity. Tough bloody business, though. Especially when Penelope mentioned that Neville would be arriving soon and they'd need to make room. Granger slid closer to Draco with an apologetic look.

"Sorry I missed class tonight." Her quiet voice created a little circle around them, the rest of the sound and motion of the pub fading to background noise.

"Don't worry about it." Draco smiled, his casual and friendly strategy front of mind—although part of him wanted to take her to a private corner and ask her what the bloody hell he'd said last week and then apologise profusely for whatever it was. He could tell she was still a little nervous around him.

"Did I miss much? I had a last minute emergency." She grimaced.

"The Grindylows, right," he nodded. "And no, you'll be fine. Your technique is advanced enough that we can cover everything in a few minutes after next class."

"Perfect. I really didn't want to. Er, miss." Her brown gaze held his. "But I'm the only one in the department who can do a proper Grindylow lulling spell, which you need when there's more than two or three of them. There were over a dozen today. So off to Whitley Bay I went." She took a deep drink of the frothing brew Potter had just plunked in front of her.

"Sounds like a dangerous departmental precedent." Draco tilted his head. "Whatever will they do after you leave?"

"That's what I keep telling her," Potter broke in. "Got to pass on that knowledge, Hermione. Let them make a go without you."

"I know," she groaned. "It's just difficult to teach them properly."

Potter rolled his eyes and turned away to respond to something Penelope was saying and Draco lifted a brow at Granger. "I quite agree," he said. "Especially if they don't come to class."

"Oh my god! I'm sorry!" She laughed, touching her fingers to her forehead.

Draco smiled and sipped his pint. Cider, thank gods. He really did hate beer. "No, no, it was nice not to have to worry about being stunned in the head," he murmured, deciding to take a chance.

She looked up and opened her mouth, then seeing his expression, closed it. "You," she pointed at him and Draco let his lips tilt up. She smiled back at him quite enchantingly until a furrow appeared between her brows.

"But I really am sorry. About all that." She looked down to fiddle with the bar mat beneath her drink and Draco wondered if the pink in her cheeks was from the memory or the booze. "I meant to tell you, but I had to rush off." Her eyes flashed to his. "I just hope there were no, er, lasting effects."

Interesting question. Draco just looked at her as he considered a response, watching the pink deepen to red.

"Oi! There's Nev! Finally," Ginny shouted, startling Draco out of some very inappropriate thoughts, and the familiar feeling of a memory just out of reach.

He looked up to see Longbottom's lanky form hurrying through the crowd, one hand stretched out behind him and towing a very sceptical looking Pansy, who when she saw Draco blinked rapidly and tilted her head.

He tilted his back at her. What had they become, indeed.

"Ace! The team's all here!" Ginny waved them over. "Nev you two go in next to Hermione and er, Malfoy." She looked as if she'd tasted something funny as she said their names together, but Draco was hardly paying attention. No, he was noting Longbottom staring at him while he went white as a sheet.

Fucks sake, Draco knew this wasn't usually his scene, but was it that shocking to see him here? He noticed Granger also looking at Longbottom.

"Nev?" she said as he sat down woodenly and stared at her, Pansy throwing Draco a confused glance as she alit gingerly on the edge of the bench next to him.

"Shit." Longbottom shook his head at Granger. "Shit, Hermione I didn't think. I thought it was time," he said nonsensically as Potter gave him a very sharp stare, then looked toward the door, his face taking on a colour and expression Draco remembered well from their various Hogwarts skirmishes.

"What the bloody hell. Fucking git." Potter muttered, looking very much like he was reaching for his wand. Draco saw Ginny freeze and her eyes narrow to slits.

Hermione started to look over her shoulder, but Draco already knew before he heard the Weasel's cocky tones ring out.

"Hiya chaps, it's been a while!"

Granger froze and Draco had the oddest urge to pull her against him and shield her with his arm…or his wand hand.

He glared up just as Weasley stared down. "What the bloody hell—?" Weasley sputtered. "What is he—" His eyes darted from Draco to Blaise and Pansy, then back to Draco, where they held. Draco stared at him steadily, although he could feel the muscle in his jaw twitching.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Longbottom was hissing. I had no idea we'd have, er, anyone else here and I just thought. He overheard me talking about trivia earlier and I thought it would be OK. That you would be OK…"

But Granger had half-risen in her seat, like she was going to push past Longbottom and leave.

No! Draco's inner voice shouted and he reached for her just as Potter's hand shot out. "You're not going anywhere," Potter said, his voice laced with fury. "You have just as much a right to be here as he does."

"More," Ginny stated, staring at Ron, who had resumed his cocky stance.

"These seats for us?" he asked, pointing to the chairs at the end of the booth. And that was the first time Draco even noticed the woman standing slightly behind him. Not surprising he'd missed her; she was exceedingly unremarkable—young, petite, with brown-blonde hair and giant blue eyes, which were sweeping over the table with something akin to fear in them. She had a vise-like grip on Weasley's arm and reminded Draco forcibly of a small, brown mouse.

A girl like that after Granger? Draco made an entirely involuntary noise. He saw Granger's hand twitch on the table.

He wanted to cover it, bring it to his lips while he stared Weasley down. He wished he had the right. Anger flashed over him just as Weasley caught his eye again.

"What's he doing here?" Weasley snapped to Penelope.

"What're you?" she said cooly.

"I was invited," Weasley hmphed as he sat down. He looked around challengingly. "Everyone know Lorna?" He pointed a lazy thumb at his companion, who had sunk into the seat next to him and was looking around, her nose almost twitching.

A very unenthusiastic wave of 'hullos' greeted his statement and then the group seemed to be looking at Potter and Granger, awaiting their cues. Draco watched a silent communication pass between them before Granger cleared her throat.

"Any ideas for the picture round?" she asked, her voice cold but steady. "We're stuck on numbers two and eight." She flicked the page toward Weasley and he caught it, his eyes surprised and then just the tiniest bit chagrined.

"Oh yeah, give us a look," he said gruffly and the chatter around them slowly resumed.

Fucking cunt. Draco's fingers curled into a fist under the table. And Longbottom, what the hell? Draco shot a look at him to see him still staring down at the table, Granger muttering something into his ear as he shook his head. Pansy, stroking his arm, caught Draco's eye and grimaced.

But eventually, with the help of booze and the first live round of the contest, the wound of Weasley's arrival closed over and Draco was able to almost forget he was there, focusing across the table on Blaise and Potter and keeping an attentive ear on Granger too.

Then he heard Weasley's voice break through a lull in the conversation. "Tinworth? Yeah," he was saying to Pansy. "I know it well. In fact, we'll be holing up there soon. My brother Bill and his wife Fleur have a place there, but they're going to France for a bit. Something to do with her mum. Asked us to house sit." He threw an arm around the mouse's shoulder. "Be nice to have the place to ourselves, if you know what I mean." He grinned across at Longbottom, and Draco felt Granger tense next to him, saw her pint stop halfway to her mouth.

Draco fought a very real urge to grab his wand and just curse the red-headed arsehole into a smoking hole in the ground, instead quickly angling toward Granger and lowering his voice.

"Say, did you have a chance to review that centaur folio?" He leaned on an elbow and looked down at her, trying to draw her toward him and away from the pain he could see in her eyes.

"Centaurs?" She blinked at him. "Oh! Yes!" Her face cleared. "Yes, it's amazing. Absolutely fascinating. I read the whole thing through three times and then a fourth with notes. There's so much." She shook her head. "The commentary on foal-rearing alone. There's nothing like it in the literature." Her colour came back and she started gesturing with her hands. "The coming of age ceremonies and the rituals around bonding pairs? I've never seen them documented, let alone illustrated."

"Right," Draco leaned further in. "I found the descriptions of triads rather fascinating too. Was that a surprise to you?"

"Total surprise." Granger nodded vigorously. "As far as I'm concerned—and I'm probably one of the world's foremost authorities—the fact that centaurs create mating bonds beyond pair units is de novo information. Changes everything." She waved her pint.

Draco pulled at his collar where heat had bloomed at the words 'foremost authorities,' and 'mating.' "Riveting," he murmured, pleased at the success of his bid to take her attention away from Weasley's thoughtless posturing.

"I'd like to have it copied, if you don't mind. And I scheduled a meeting with Rolf Scamander to show it to him. Is it OK if I keep it for a while longer?" Granger's eyes sparkled, her enthusiasm intoxicating as always.

"Keep it as long as you like." Draco held her gaze. "In fact," he stretched, noticing her eyes following the motion. "It would probably do more good as part of the department's permanent collection rather than gathering dust in my library."

"Oh, but that would be— That's entirely too generous. Something like that is— It's priceless." Granger shook her head and Draco shrugged.

"Precisely why it should be where it most belongs." He leaned back on his elbow and smiled at her.

"But Draco, that's too—" Her hand shot out and touched his, just gently, but it was like a shock to his system. He dropped all attempts to be subtle and just stared at her mouth. If they were alone. She swallowed. "I can't thank you enough. For, um, the department."

Not for the department, for you. Draco wanted to say it, but at that moment the Weasley's buffoonish tones intruded again.

"I think Lorna's got it for number six. 'Food', 'Life', 'Money', 'Soul' and 'Knowledge'. Those are the five exceptions to Gamp's Law."

"Mmm, I don't kn—" Longbottom reached for the scorecard in Weasley's hand and Penelope opened her mouth with a frown.

"No, that's wrong." Granger spoke crisply.

The Weasel started to say something, but Lorna's slightly protuberant blue eyes swivelled in Granger's direction. "But, I thought—" Her voice was as mealy as her appearance.

"Soul and Knowledge are wrong. A soul would be part of the "Life" category and knowledge can be acquired magically." Granger wasn't quite looking at Lorna, but she spoke dismissively in the woman's general direction.

Good on you, Granger.

"Well, then what—?" Draco couldn't believe the mouse was persisting in arguing with Granger, who put down her pint.

"Health." She cut through the mouse's words. "As most of us learned in first year Transfiguration." She swung to look full at Lorna and Draco saw the mouse flinch, her face twisting as if she might cry. "And Love," Granger continued, her voice like acid. "Love is immutable. Or at least I used to think so." She directed this last at Weasley, who had the grace to go red to the tips of his ears. "Excuse me, Nev," Granger was pushing out of her seat. "I need to—"

There was some shuffling as Pansy sprang up and Longbottom slid out too. Granger scooted down the bench and it was almost instinct for Draco to follow her, standing and catching her elbow as she stood rather uncertainly. "Some air?" he murmured.

She put a hand to her temple. "Yes, that would be—"

He nodded once and swept them through the crowd, not speaking until the door of the pub whooshed shut behind them.

"Are you all right?" Draco matched his steps to Granger's as she turned and began walking up the street. It was cold and they went quickly, her strides nervous and fast.

"Fuck! I told myself I wouldn't— That was uncalled for. I wanted to be bigger than that. Rise above." She slapped a closed fist into her palm, muttering the last like she'd been repeating it to herself all night.

"I don't see why," Draco said.

She stopped dead. "You don't? But I was so rude!"

"From where I stand you had no obligation to be nice." Draco shrugged. "She was the er, other party, wasn't she?"

"Yes." She folded her arms across her middle and he could see anger back in her face. He welcomed it; she certainly had the right.

"Then I think it's big of you to even tolerate socialising with her."

"Thank you," she said. "I found it…less than easy." She started walking again, turning them around a corner onto a smaller side street.

"Understandable." Draco kept up, touching her arm as they jumped over an uneven spot in the cobblestones. "Also, it's like asking a falcon to be friendly to a mouse."

She shot him an incredulous look. "I don't know how I should take that!"

A smile tugged at Draco's lips. "Like the compliment that it is?"

Abruptly, she laughed. "Well, thank you." She squinted around. "Where are we going?"

"Don't know. I'm following your lead." In more ways than one. The casual and friendly plan seemed to be working and Draco wasn't going to push after what had just transpired. He glanced at the sky as the wind picked up, bringing with it the scent of rain, then muttered a wandless warming charm.

Her brows flicked up. "Impressive."

"I am a ministry-certified Adult Education instructor."

"In duelling."

"Quite." He snorted a laugh and was gratified to see her smiling too. He felt absurdly pleased to have cheered her and kept looking down at her rather stupidly until he felt a raindrop. And then another. Then another quite quickly after it. And then roughly three hundred more all at once.

"Shit," he said as the heavens opened.

"We don't even have our coats!" Granger cried.

Draco briefly considered a repelling charm, but knew it wouldn't be much use against this volume. He shielded his eyes and saw a glow coming from across the street. "That place looks open!" he called over the rushing of the wind. "Come on. It's closer than the pub."

He took her arm properly this time and they darted across the slick cobblestones, Draco just catching a gleam of candlelight behind a thick-paned window before they pushed through a heavy door into a small room, dripping and heaving.

"A wine bar?" Draco shoved the damp hair off his forehead. "I didn't know this was here." He peered around at wooden tables, exposed stone and an entire wall of wine racks.

"I think Pen was telling me about this place." Granger turned in a slow circle, then glanced at Draco almost shyly. "Shall we stay?"

Draco looked outside at the pouring rain and then again at the room. It was an incredibly romantic atmosphere, couples huddled at the tables and hushed music playing. He didn't know if he should, if they should— Especially after what had just happened.

But she'd bloody well suggested it, hadn't she? And a host was bustling up, a sheaf of menus in his hand.

"For one glass?" Draco said quickly. "Until it lets up? Then we can go back. Finish the, er, trivia."

Her beautiful lips quirked. "It's the Sport round next, anyway."

***

Hermione watched Draco as he consulted with the host, poring over a wine list as long as her forearm. She'd conceded the choice of drink to him, still too addled from what had happened earlier and their quick flight through the rain to do much more.

He was beautiful in the low light of the tiny oil lamp set on their table, her hastily applied drying charm (which she knew had done nothing to reduce the volume of her hair post-drenching) having put him back fairly close to his usual flawless state.

He was in light colours tonight, another slim jumper, the softest oatmeal this time, and with a deep vee over a crisp, open-collared shirt.

She'd been staring at his throat all night.

That is, when she hadn't been distracted by his eyes in close proximity. Silver. They went silver when he laughed.

Come back to bed, Granger. I miss you.

She took a breath and looked down at her hands. Did he bloody remember? He must not. He couldn't. Not even his sangfroid could support— Or could it? Hermione truly didn't know. Just like she didn't know quite what she wanted, or what it meant: being in this romantic place with him.

The scent of beeswax, hushed music and her knees just brushing his under a small table. God.

But he'd just been rescuing her, hadn't he? Getting her out of the rain in more ways than one. Being chivalrous. It didn't mean anything that they were here. He hadn't chosen it. Although he had rescued her. And not just when he'd brought her outside after her…lapse. No, he'd been distracting her all night, asking questions about the game, bringing up the centaur folio, helping her with that intolerable situation.

Fucking Ron.

Fucking Neville and fucking Penelope too! Fucking Lorna. Ugh. What had Draco called her? A mouse?

The mouse who'd gnawed a giant hole in Hermione's life.

Although that wasn't really quite fair, was it?.

Hermione sighed, her ear picking up the fact that Draco was now speaking French. Wonderful; her destruction would be complete. She watched him laugh with the host, the man's head bobbing as he said something quick and idiomatic that Hermione couldn't make out.

She raised her brows as Draco turned back to the table, the smile fading from his face and his hair gleaming in the warm light.

"Champagne," he said. "It couldn't be helped. I saw a '97 Pol Roger Blanc de Blancs on the menu and I had to."

She laughed softly. "I don't know what any of that means."

"Means it's really fucking good. Rare." The corner of his mouth went up. "Don't be alarmed, but I had to get the whole bottle."

She laughed again. "I'm sure we can show restraint."

"Speak for yourself."

And now she was blushing. Brilliant. She looked around to hide her reaction. "Glad this place was here and open. Pen told me it was cosy."

"Right, I think she and Blaise were here a couple of weeks ago."

"Ah." The couple at the next table kissed and Hermione looked down at Draco's long fingers resting against blond wood. He had beautiful hands. Of course he did. A silence stretched.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Oh, fine," Hermione shrugged, pushing her emotions toward their usual neat compartment. "I was just taken by surpri— I was—" She took a deep breath and shook her head, suddenly tired of always trying to play it off. Be strong and carry on.

Draco's gaze remained steady and Hermione let out her breath. "I just hate being the cuckolded one," she finally said. "It makes me feel so bloody cliché. Not to mention like an idiot."

"You're not the idiot in this situation." His words were quick and caused her heart to give a little leap. "And all romance is cliché," he continued with a slight smile. "The good and the bad. There's no shame in it. It's just patterns that humans repeat over and over. Falling in love, falling out."

He stopped talking as the host arrived with their bottle and performed its presentation. Hermione mulled over his words. Interesting. And very real, honest. Surprisingly so.

She accepted her glass and sipped, the wine like biting into a tart apple on a cold day. She exclaimed over it and he agreed before they lapsed into silence again.

"Which ones have happened to you?" she ventured, eyes on the bubbles travelling up her glass.

"Hmm?"

"Which patterns? Er, love?" She bit her lip and he blinked.

"Oh. Well, I fell out of love with my wife. But she'd never fallen for me, so it was fairly bloodless at the end."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He lifted a shoulder. "It was for the best."

She took a long drink. "I suppose mine was, too. For the best. We'd grown apart. And of course there were eight months of cheating, an entire forensic training program invented to conceal it, all the lying." She shook her head. "I was so busy I never questioned it. Never even asked. I only found out because we landed at the same apparition point in Manchester on a random Thursday afternoon. He had no plausible reason to be there, so he just broke down and told me it all. Right there on the platform."

"Fucking coward." His eyes flashed like dull steel. "Eight months. And you were together for what, eight years?"

"Nine. Or more if you really look at it. We grew up together." She stared away out the small window behind him. "Our lives were one life. One fabric. Our families, friends. Ripping that apart and in that way was, is—" She shook her head.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

She opened her mouth to brush it off, but instead just said, "Thank you," focusing back to see his fine dark brows drawn together.

She cleared her throat. "And how did yours come about? Your divorce?"

His frown deepened and he toyed with his glass. "She left after the wedding and then kept leaving until she was away more than she was home. Gstaad, Paris, Capri, New York—rinse and repeat. "

"Was she having an affair?"

"No, she just didn't want to be married. Like I said, bloodless." Gray flicked up at her.

"But that's still—I'm really sorry." How achingly sad. Maybe this explained the rules he seemed to play by.

"Eh," He rolled his neck. "Work's been a good spouse. Little unstable and demanding, but ultimately fulfilling." He cracked a smile and Hermione smiled too.

"That I understand."

"Bit like teaching, actually."

"You're a good teacher."

"Thank you." He looked down and colour touched his jaw. Extremely fetchingly. "I have thoroughly surprised myself by enjoying it. Quite a lot."

"What do you like about it?" Hermione was glad to be moving away from heavy topics—and very interested in what he had to say. Just like she was always interested in what he had to say. Bloody. Hell. She polished off her wine.

"Well," he removed the champagne bottle from its ice bucket and held it over her glass with questioning eyes. She nodded and he poured. "I guess I like imparting knowledge about something I, er, know a lot about. I enjoy seeing people improve, learn. And I uh, just like getting to know them too?" He topped up his own glass and ducked his head the smallest bit. "My life can be fairly, er, lonely at times. Only child, dwindling family, you know?" She nodded. She certainly did. "I have a few close friends but not a huge circle," he continued. "Work is all-consuming, but not particularly social. So it's nice to hear about Joan's grandson's Quidditch try-out or Anthony's latest hobby."

She smiled and nodded, watching as he looked down at the table, his face transforming with what she could only call a signature Malfoy smirk.

"And I do," —he looked up and the smirk deepened— "quite enjoy being in charge." His brows flicked and Hermione felt a flash of heat right in her—

"Quite," she sputtered, choking a bit on her Champagne. She gulped more. "Quite. Heady. To be the one at the front of the room."

"Exactly."

The host bustled up at this interesting moment, depositing a small dish of almonds on the table and asking if they needed anything more. Hermione took the opportunity to attempt to regulate the pictures roiling through her mind and feelings pulsing through her body. Or at least stop herself from breathing too obviously heavily.

It didn't help that Draco stretched his arms over his head as the host walked away. She could see a fine dusting of gold hair on his forearms. She wanted to touch him.

She gulped again at her wine. "What you were saying about love," she blurted. "Do you not believe in it?" Shit, where had that come from? Maybe from nearly two glasses of Champagne drunk in quick succession on an empty stomach after a pint of cider? She grabbed a handful of almonds and shoved them in her mouth.

He tilted his head and took a single almond, sliding it between his lips and chewing slowly. "Love? No, I do. Believe in it." And there was that colour in his jaw again. "I just don't think there's anything original about it." He flashed a quick smile. "Part of the beauty, actually—that we're all somewhat the same."

Hermione squinted at him.

"What?" He laughed a little.

"How amazing to hear you say that."

"Is it?"

"Yes." Hermione felt her whole face heat while he just looked at her for several beats.

"And what about you?" he finally asked. "Do you believe in it? What you said earlier—you used to think it was immutable."

"Well, I was out for blood when I said that. But I suppose—" Hermione frowned. "If you'd asked me that three years ago I'd have had a very pat answer," she teased out her words. "Now I suppose I wonder if it can last. Truly last."

He nodded slowly, his brows drawing together again. Hermione fought the very real urge to reach over and smooth them.

She looked down to see her glass almost empty. Hell, the bottle was almost empty and it was getting late. They'd definitely missed the rest of trivia and she felt a pang, hoping she hadn't worried her friends by not returning.

What should she do now? Invite him to her flat, caution be damned? Ask him out? Play it safe and stop all of this? Let it fade away.

What did he want?

She still didn't quite know, although she thought…

Come back to bed, Granger.

She thought she could have that.

She looked up to see him in profile. Beautiful profile, the light casting shadows on his face. And she opened her mouth to ask or say…something. But there was motion in the window behind him. A swish of long red hair and a glint of glasses as someone peered in.

Ginny and Harry. Harry looking worried and holding Hermione's coat and Ginny pulling at his arm. And Blaise and Pen standing behind them, Blaise clearly uncomfortable and Penelope with her arms crossed.

Then Harry spotted Hermione and waved vigorously. A little puff of surprise escaped her lips and Draco turned to look over his shoulder just as Harry pushed through the door.

"There you are!" Harry said, his gaze a bit befuddled on Hermione, then flinty as it flipped to Draco. "Pen guessed you might have, um, ducked in here. We've got your, er, coats." He gestured to Blaise, still outside and with Draco's elegant camel trench folded over an arm. Ginny made a face through the window and twitched her head at Harry's back. Pen rolled her eyes mightily.

"Do you want to walk with us?" Harry pressed, and a flash of annoyance lit through Hermione. She glared at him and he reared back a little. Although, she really shouldn't be angry with him; he didn't know. How could he? Hermione didn't know herself and she'd certainly never talked to him about any of this— Of course she hadn't.

He probably thought he was rescuing her. Probably felt bad that he'd let Draco do it earlier.

Her anger drained away and Hermione opened her mouth, but Draco's crisp tones preempted her. "Ace idea, Potter," he said, sliding off his stool. "I'll just pay. Rain stopped?" He nodded and moved off toward the counter at the back of the bar.

Hermione fought a pang as she turned to watch him, her gaze then whipping to Harry, who looked like several things were occurring to him at once.

"Er," he said, going red.

"Quite." Hermione put out her hand for her coat.

Chapter Text

"Meeting's starting in five. You told me to remind you." Junior Auror Xing's Liverpudlian accents jerked Draco out of the depths of the procedural section of the report he was drafting.

He blinked up. "Right. Thanks."

Xing nodded. "I'll save you a seat," he said as he left the doorway, his robes billowing behind him.

Draco sat back and stretched, drawing his mind from the intricacies of magical search and seizure to the present: his office and this odd, all-hands meeting Robards had scheduled for early on a Monday morning. The rumours that had hatched after the notice had gone out Friday afternoon hinted that the department head was going to announce his retirement. Draco thought it far more likely he was going to give the team a bollocking over expenses.

He heaved to his feet and shoved his arms into his Senior Auror robes, the triple silver bands on their sleeves indicating his rank and placement in the Major Crimes unit, and walked out of his office to join the stream of similarly robed individuals making their way toward the largest conference room on their floor.

At least the existence of an unusual and slightly worrying meeting had created a good alternative to thinking about everything else this weekend (which Draco had spent at Malfoy Manor, where his mother had summoned him for party preparation and he'd gladly gone, deeming it much better than sitting at home and wondering about what exactly had happened with Granger Thursday night).

"Sorry, no seats left," Xing whispered as Draco slipped into the indeed standing-room only conference room. Draco raised a brow and leaned against a wall, noting with a faint snort that, as always, the divisions had grouped themselves roughly together: Major Crimes arranged against the west wall, Theft and Smuggling against the south, White Collar and Administration mostly sitting down at the table and the Forensics and Crime Lab types against the east wall.

Forensics.

Draco slowly raised his eyes from an examination of his neatly trimmed fingernails to see Weasley already staring at him, his height and flaming red head hard to fucking miss. The belligerence in his stance was even more apparent and Draco settled further against the wall, letting his own body language convey, "Fuck off," as explicitly as if he'd uttered the words themselves.

Weasley shifted, making a quick, angry remark to someone next to him, his eyes never leaving Draco's.

Fucking cunt. He had no right.

Draco still couldn't believe what Weasley had pulled Thursday night—the arrogance and carelessness. Granger's sadness afterward. The way she'd described the fabric of her life and how this fucking twat had ripped it apart.

He'd like to rip fucking Weasley apart.

Draco realised he'd palmed his wand and was tapping it against his thigh. He saw Weasley notice and he let himself keep staring at the arsehole for a few moments before slowly slotting the slender cylinder back into its holster. It wouldn't do to start a full-on duel with a Forensics desk jockey at a DMLE all-hands, even though Draco liked his odds rather a lot. He lifted one corner of his mouth and let his eyes flick disdainfully over Weasley's overlarge frame. Clumsy, hot-headed, less than skilled, he'd signal every move like a fucking trumpet before he made it. It would be an easy takedown. And Draco would make it nice and humiliating too. He let his lips lift further, and from the way Weasley's cheeks flamed, he seemed to understand exactly what Draco was thinking.

Weasley started to push away from the wall just as a rushed voice sounded in Draco's ear.

"I miss anything? Fucking floo malfunction at Grimmauld."

Weasley froze and Draco tore his eyes away from him to see Potter, hurriedly buttoning his own silver-banded robes, his hair standing up in tufts and his glasses catching the bright light of the conference room overheads. Potter glanced up at Draco and something in his expression made the last time they'd seen each other flash through Draco's mind. A rather dismaying charge of—embarrassment? chagrin?—pulsed under Draco's skin.

"Er no." Draco resisted the urge to pull at his collar.

"Good." Potter spoke just as Robards started the meeting, launching into what Draco quickly realised was not a retirement announcement, but the suspected bollocking—although it was over closed case timelines and not expenses.

Draco, knowing this wasn't a particularly problematic area for him, quickly tuned out in favour of a vague sense of unease over being caught between Weasley (still glaring from across the room) and Potter (vibrating with tension next to him).

How did he bloody get here?

Granger's devastatingly beautiful face brushed against his consciousness. In the candlelight Thursday night. The way she'd bitten her lip when she'd asked that slightly awkward and extremely fraught question about love and its patterns in his life.

She'd been interested in that. And he'd opened like a ruddy book for her, talking about his divorce and his loneliness. The way he was married to his work and how he'd come to love teaching.

Private things.

Things he didn't share.

Things he'd never told anyone. Not even Pansy or Blaise.

And then he'd asked her too. About love.

Because that's where this thing was going, wasn't it? Draco balled a fist and tapped it against the wall. Not to a few frolics in bed followed by a neatly executed goodbye, but something more. Something bloody frightening, to be honest. For him, yes. But especially for her. She'd just been devastated by love. Draco's eyes flicked to Weasley again—he was looking down and shuffling his stupid feet—fucking cunt.

She'd said she wasn't sure it could truly last.

Maybe that was why Draco had let her peel off with her friends Thursday night. Why he'd left Blaise and Penelope and walked home alone. Why he'd holed up in Wiltshire this weekend.

That and Potter's face when he'd looked at Draco in the wine bar.

Draco darted a glance at Potter's profile.

I don't want me to hurt her either, mate.

Potter rolled his neck and the movement brought Draco out of his frankly alarming reverie. He coughed. Robards seemed to be wrapping up, red-faced and animated as he enumerated the percentage increases he expected from each division.

Finally the meeting was over and everyone began filing out. Draco motioned Potter ahead of him and they shuffled toward the door. A bunch-up in the crowd meant they had to wait, and Draco counted backwards from ten to try and rise above the scent of bad coffee and body odour that had concentrated in the air.

That was probably why he didn't notice that Weasley was right next to him until the shithead spoke.

"I don't see why we're all here wasting our time when we know the real problem is undercover operatives spending months in the south of France or whatever poncy place wasting time and resource," he sneered to a nodding Forensics colleague.

Draco felt an iciness chill his veins. He stopped and turned.

"Go fuck yourself, Weasley." He enunciated very clearly. "Try leaving your desk and doing some real work before you speak about things you don't understand."

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Weasley was suddenly right in Draco's face and Draco's hand had gone straight to his wand.

"Come one step closer," he breathed. "I dare you." He shoved his wand tip in Weasley's solar plexus and watched his stupid face turn a deep maroon.

"You fu—" Weasley started. But a strong hand pushed him back as another forced Draco's wand down.

"Break it up," Potter hissed, eyes flashing green fire behind his glasses. "Now."

Draco came back to himself, realising people were staring. He forced his face out of twisted lines into coldness, putting his chin up and turning away—but not before muttering, "Twat," under his breath. He heard the resulting kerfuffle behind him, and more hissed words between Weasley and Potter, but he was too busy walking away to react.

He was also busy punching down a wave of anger that was almost breathtaking in its intensity. He wanted so badly to go back and hex that ginger fucker. Something that would put him in the infirmary for a few days, something embarrassing—possibly genitalia-related. But getting sacked probably wasn't the best course of action. Granger wouldn't thank Draco for acting like an idiot, even if it would be incredibly satisfying.

He was almost to his office, imagining the various jinxes he could use and breathing a bit more steadily, when he heard quick footsteps behind him.

"Hey!" Potter sounded out of breath.

"Yeah?" Draco looked halfway over his shoulder but didn't turn around. He wasn't about to fucking apologise. And he wasn't going to ask Potter's permission for anything either.

"Um. I just wanted to, ah." Potter moved around to Draco's front and made Draco look at him. Draco was surprised to see that he didn't seem angry. "Thanks for defending the, er, team back there," he said.

"Eh. Lost my temper," Draco muttered.

"Understandable, um, provocation, though." Potter pushed his glasses up his nose. "And it reminded me. About the demonstration duel for your class. You and me, that is. Not you and him." He smiled.

"Right." Draco frowned. This was really not what he'd been expecting from this encounter.

"I'm free this week," Potter said and Draco started, realising he'd been staring gormlessly.

"Right," he said again. "OK. We can start this week's class with it."

"Ace." Potter smiled. "Six o'clock. No training lights." He started to turn down the hall then stopped, looking over his shoulder a bit slyly. "I'll get Hermione to walk me over. If she's back, that is."

"She's away again?" Draco's mouth spoke entirely without his permission and he immediately wished to seal it closed.

"Yeah." Potter's glasses glinted. "Damn Grindylows." He waved a lazy hand before continuing on.

***

"Fuck me, I love glühwein!" Ginny took a long slurp of her steaming mug as she looked around at twinkling lights, pine boughs and faux snow. "Almost as much as I love a Christmas market."

CREDIT: Bookloverdream

"I'm so pleased there's a magical one now." Hermione sipped her own spiced brew and ducked as a tiny quidditch broom came whizzing out from a toymaker's stand. "Such a good import from muggle culture."

Ginny nodded. "Which row is Nev's?" She craned her neck to look down the line of stalls, all of which appeared to be selling fragrant food and drink.

"I believe he's in the last one in the far corner. All the growing things are in one section."

"Well, let's make our way slowly. I haven't seen you in a while."

"You saw me Thursday!"

"Did I really, though?" Ginny raised her brows.

Hermione looked away with a little laugh. The memory of Thursday night was so mixed; on the one hand incredibly painful and on the other…sigh.

If she hadn't been back in Newcastle—knee deep in mud and Grindylows—since Friday, she'd probably have combusted from all the wheels turning in her head.

"So what's going on?" Ginny slurped again, her warm breath visible against the black sky.

The question of the hour. "What do you mean?" Hermione hid her face in the steam coming from her own mug.

Ginny made an exasperated sound. "I mean, what's Draco Malfoy doing showing up to our trivia night and monopolising you with sexy smiles and quiet conversation, then practically armed-escorting you outside after my brother's extreme display of wankerdom, then whisking you off to a romantic wine bar and looking very pained when interrupted?" Ginny blinked rapidly. "And I won't even go into how annoyed you seemed when we found you." She stopped walking. "Spill."

"Is, 'I don't know what's going on,' going to satisfy you?"

"No."

Hermione groaned.

"Look," Ginny held up a finger. "I didn't say anything Thursday night in deference to Potter's shocked sensibilities, but it's just you and me now and I want to know!"

"Was Harry really shocked?" Hermione grimaced sideways. She'd been worried about this and frankly not keen on actually talking to Harry about it.

"Erm, I don't know. We haven't spoken about it. Had some stuff going on this weekend. Couple stuff." Ginny waved a dismissive hand at Hermione's concerned sputtering. "Nothing to worry about and it's sorted now. But regarding the ferret, I think Harry was more—" Ginny squinted at the sky. "Jolted into awareness of something he already suspected? Something he said last week, actually…"

"What did he say?"

"Just an offhand remark how you and Malfoy would suit. He was laughing when he said it, but then he stopped and did that 'struck by a thought' thing he does? When he's about as subtle as an Erumpent?" Hermione nodded. She knew the look well. "He was talking about that book series you like. I guess he saw one of the books on Malfoy's desk."

"Oh yes. He's reading it too."

"SEE!?" Ginny stopped and pointed at Hermione.

"What!?"

"How do you know that? How are you so, I dunno, familiar with him!?"

"We've just had, er, opportunities to talk a bit lately. In class. And other places. And we do, um, share some interests," Hermione hedged. "Ooh, look at that wooden clock. I love the little sprouting mushrooms!"

"You aren't going to distract me, so stop trying," Ginny said flatly. "Have you snogged him yet?"

"What!? No!"

"Oh, don't sound so shocked. Especially after the way you were looking at each other over that candlelit bottle of Champagne. And why haven't you?" Ginny stopped at a spiced nut vendor and bought a bag, which gave Hermione a moment to think.

"I mean, he just…hasn't snogged me, I guess," she finally said in response to Ginny's raised brows and aggressive shaking of the bag of nuts. A heavenly scent rose from it and Hermione breathed in appreciatively, trying to distract herself from images of potential snogging that had crowded her brain.

"Why don't you snog him?" Ginny said unhelpfully through a mouthful of nuts. "Looked like he'd bloody welcome it." She offered the bag and Hermione took a few.

"You think? I mean—" Hermione held up a hand against Ginny's incredulous expression. "I get that he and I—we have an attraction. I can admit that. I just— Why hasn't he owled me or tried to see me at all outside of class and these things where we're sort of thrown together?"

"I have some ideas. But first, why haven't you owled or tried to see him?"

"I want to hear your ideas."

"The price is answering my question."

Hermione snorted. "OK. Um, I guess if you boil it down to its essence, I'd say fear of rejection?"

"I don't think he'd reject you."

"OK, then maybe fear of what would happen?"

"A delicious shag with a beautiful man? Terrifying!" Ginny shook the bag of nuts like Marley's ghost.

"But what if— What if that's not all I want?" Hermione said in a small voice.

Ginny stopped. "Oh. OK."

"I mean, I don't know! I barely know him, really." Although that wasn't strictly true anymore, was it? She was getting to know him. And the more layers she pulled back, the more she wanted of, well, everything.

"And you think that's all he wants?"

Hermione shrugged and they started walking again. "I answered your question. You owe me some ideas," she said.

They reached the end of the row and turned up the next one, immediately running into a wall of noise. The end stall appeared to be selling potted christmas trees, each of which sang a different Christmas carol when one tugged on its branches. The cacophony was a bit much and they covered their ears as they hurried by.

"I don't know about before," Ginny shouted over the din. "But after the other night, I'm sure he's feeling cautious."

"Cautious? Why?"

"About hurting you." Ginny's usual rallying tone softened. "You're so strong, but you've been through a lot, Hermione. Most of the time you hide it, but you let it show on Thursday. And rightly so. Fucking wanker Ron," she muttered, balling a fist. "And her, showing up there like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth; I'd like to slap her face." Something like a growl rumbled from her throat. "Anyway, unless they were a really shady fucking character, anyone who saw that might be hanging back a bit."

Hermione digested these words as they walked. Interesting, hmm. "So you don't think he's a shady character?" She glanced at Ginny's rosy profile.

"No." Ginny half smiled. "Surprise of fucking surprises, I quite like him. I like what he did for you Thursday. I saw it."

"Me too," Hermione said softly, stopping to stroke the leaf of a deep crimson Poinsettia.

"And he's fucking gorgeous. Like—seriously? How did that pale, pointy little ferret grow up to be so… so…" Ginny just shook her head and blew out a gusty sigh.

"I mean, that happened before we were out of school. Admit it." Hermione's mind travelled to the long ago Potions class.

"Fine, I admit it. Fuck." Ginny loosed her raucous laugh. "At least he's reformed now and I don't have to feel guilty about it."

"And what about Harry?" Hermione could see Neville's stall up ahead, swarmed with a crowd of patrons.

"What about him?"

"He was weird the other night."

"Hermione, you were huddled intimately at a table for two with Draco Malfoy." Ginny threw up her hands. "It's a little bit weird—I think we can all agree on that. But we'll come around. Harry will come around. I think he's already started. You know he offered to come to your class tomorrow. Do a mock duel."

"Oh, is that happening?"

"Yes, and Potter approached the ferret to suggest it."

"Harry approached Draco?"

"Mmm-hmm." Ginny swallowed the last of her wine and raised her arm to wave at a tall figure in the distance. "Hey Nev!"

Neville waved back from behind the high counter of his stall, which was gorgeously festooned with pot plants, wreaths and wintery bouquets. He looked to be doing an extremely brisk business. "Hiya! Be out in a mo!" he shouted.

"No rush, you look busy!" Hermione called as she and Ginny wandered off to browse a few of the neighbouring stalls, her mind whirling with all the information she'd just gotten—and her stomach swooping at the thought of seeing Draco again.

Soon Neville bustled up to them, brushing his gloved hands on a long, leather apron.

"Blimey!" he said with a grin, kissing first Ginny, then Hermione, on the cheek. "Had no idea it would be this mad!"

"Your stall is beautiful. I'm not surprised it's attracting business." Hermione said. "And don't let us keep you long. We just wanted to stop by."

"OK." Neville looked down at Hermione, a deep crease furrowing his brow. "But I just wanted to quickly say—I"m so sorry for Thursday, Hermione. I had no idea he'd bring her and no idea it would be more than just us. And I meant to get there early to warn you, but we had a big order come in just before closing. And then Pansy turned up and er—" He went red and the words rushed from his mouth. "Anyway, I just feel awful for how it all happened. How public it was, with you blindsided and then feeling like you had to leave—and with Malfoy, of all people." He shook his head.

"Nev, Neville, it's OK." Hermione put her hand on his arm. "I understand. I'd already figured it was probably Ron's idea to bring…her. And I know you had the best intentions, but next time definitely run it by me first. So I can make the choice for myself."

"I know, I know. Gods." Neville scrubbed at his hair. "I know that was the worst part. Pans certainly thought so."

"She did?" Hermione sent a surprised glance at Ginny, who raised her brows.

"Yeah. She said you were a lot nicer to Lorna than she would have been, but 'impressive all the same.' I think those were her words. Although—" Neville blinked down at Hermione— "when I wanted to go find you, she stopped me. Said to leave it alone. Was that the right thing?"

"Considering Potter couldn't be prevented from haring off after them, it didn't really matter," Ginny muttered, crossing her arms.

Hermione shot Ginny a look. "It was fine, Nev. Draco and I had a…nice time."

"You did?"

"She definitely did." Ginny's grin was smug.

"Oh. Oh!" Neville peered at Hermione, who felt her face getting warm. "I did wonder after Theo's," he said slowly. "And that's why he— and why Pans—"

A smile stole over his face. "Sparks?"

"Er, possibly." Hermione put a hand to her hot cheek.

"I'd say absolutely," Ginny grinned.

***

Class #9

"I'll just—" Harry did a quick step in front of Hermione and opened the door from the ministry lobby to the street.

"How chivalrous." She threw him a surprised look as she stepped through. He'd seemed a bit jittery since she'd looked up from her Grindylow case notes to see him standing in her office door, tapping his wand on the frame and asking her if she was ready to go to class. He'd been doing an odd, tuneless humming as they walked, too.

"How goes it in Auror land?" she asked, looking sideways at him.

"Fine."

"That Croydon case giving you any more trouble?"

"No. All good." He was tapping his wand again.

"Everything else OK?"

"Yeah."

Hermione turned and squinted at him. He'd now started whistling the tuneless tune. Did he look a little pale? Was his hair even more untidy than usual—like he'd been pulling at it?

"Harry, are you nervous about the duel?"

"The duel? No!" He laughed, coming out of whatever state he was in to shake his head at her as if she were going mad.

"I just know— Well, I presume Malfoy's a fairly strong dueller."

"He is. Very. But nothing I can't handle." Harry shot her a lopsided smile, which slid rather quickly away to be replaced again by the humming.

"Have you sparred with him before?"

"Sure, loads."

"And who usually wins?"

"Me."

She opened her mouth to ask why when he suddenly stopped in the middle of the pavement and faced her.

"Hermione, I'm going to ask Ginny to marry me."

"What!?" Hermione's mouth gaped and she blinked at him for what felt like a lifetime. "I mean, that's fantastic, Harry! But I thought you two didn't want that."

"We didn't. At least I thought we didn't. But we were on Diagon on Saturday and she saw some wedding robes in a shop window and got teary-eyed. She tried to hide it, but I wouldn't let her. We had a long talk." He nodded. "Bottom line is I want to spend my life with her and I want her to be happy, so we're getting married. And I'm fine with it. Happy too. But bloody nervous." He laughed. "I picked up the ring today." He patted his work bag. "Going to propose on Christmas morning at the Burrow. In the garden, I think."

Hermione just stared at him for several seconds before lurching forward and wrapping him in a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you!" she said, tears wetting her eyes.

Harry's arms went around her too. "Thanks, Hermione." He squeezed her and she heard a catch in his voice. "Of course I'm going to want you to be my Best Woman." He pulled back with a smile.

"Of course! Of course I'll do it!" Hermione swiped at her eye.

"And Ginny will want Charlie for her attendant."

"Right." Hermione took a deep breath. "And what about Ron?"

Harry looked away for a long moment and then met her eyes. "I can't imagine him not being there. But how would you feel about that?"

How did she feel about any of this? It was a lot to take in. "I don't know." Hermione said. "Have you two really talked yet?"

"No."

"You probably should. Maybe even before the proposal."

Harry groaned and they started walking again. "I'm still so angry though. After what he did— And the other night?" His glasses flashed at her.

"Look, I'm the last person who wants to defend him," Hermione said. "But I know him—and you know him—better than anyone. Don't you think the other night was about him feeling insecure?"

Harry snorted dismissively.

"And lonely?" Hermione continued. "It must have been rather awful, to lose all of us like that."

"Well, he should have fucking thought of that when he—" Harry's voice had risen, but he closed his eyes and blew out a breath. "Yeah, that did occur to me."

"I think in a way Neville was right," Hermione said. "It's time. Unless we don't want him to be part of our lives anymore."

"To be honest, I don't see him ever having the same place," Harry said. "Which makes me really fucking sad. And angry."

"I know."

"But, I also don't see him cut out completely."

"Me neither."

"I guess I'll try to talk to him, then." Harry scrubbed at his neck and then kicked at the kerb. "Or he could start—by fucking apologising."

"To?"

"You, Hermione!"

"Oh. Right." She laughed a little. "I guess I was thinking bigger picture."

Harry snorted and elbowed her lightly in the ribs. "Hey," he said, sounding sly—or at least Harry's version of sly. "Speaking of bigger pictures, maybe old friends aren't as essential now that there are so many new people in our lives."

Hermione shot him a quick look as they turned up the Education Annex stairs from the street. "Um, are we speaking generally or specifically?"

"Generally!" Harry coughed. "Or er, maybe a little bit specifically?"

"Is there something you want to say?"

"No. Er. Just that I, um, respect your choices."

"Good."

He laughed. "Is that all I'm getting?"

She pushed the button for the lift. "For now." She flicked her brows, but then relented. "I don't want you to worry about me, Harry."

"Oh. Well, that's never going to happen."

She rolled her eyes. "Look, I'm doing well. Excited about…what's to come in my life professionally and um—"

"Personally?" The lift doors opened and Harry tilted his head very obviously toward a harried-looking Draco Malfoy, who was perfectly framed in the aperture.

A totally involuntary, completely devastating smile lit Draco's face as he spotted Hermione. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said back, a tingling starting low and extending to her fingertips. She rubbed them on the fabric of her long, flowy skirt and saw his eyes follow the movement.

Harry cleared his throat and Draco's smile flickered out. He looked at Harry and blinked. "Ah. Potter. Forgot the chocolate. Just going round to the shop before we start."

"No need, mate. I always travel with chocolate frogs." Harry held up his bag.

Draco's lip curled faintly.

"What, too plebian for you, Malfoy?" Harry clapped him on the shoulder as he left the lift. Hermione raised her brows at the friendly gesture.

"Since we're no longer children, one might hope for a slightly higher class of sweet, yes." Draco hooked his fingers over the lift door and held it open as Hermione walked out under his arm. She laughed and the corners of his mouth went up.

The tingling intensified.

"Quit loitering!" Harry called. "I have to leave by 6:40 or Ginny will have all our heads. We've got a reservation at The Charmed Radish tonight."

"Bit fancy for you, Potter." Draco widened his eyes at Hermione and then at Harry's back. She giggled. "Do remember the salad fork is on the outside."

Harry vee'd his fingers behind his head. "I'll be taking that out of you on the duelling grounds, Malfoy."

"You can certainly try."

***

"Hello, everyone." Draco rapped on his desk to stop the wave of excited chatter that had risen in the classroom. Harry, who was leaning arms crossed on the radiator next to Hermione's desk, had been attracting furtive glances and stage whispers since the moment he'd walked into the room. It was never any different and it occurred to Hermione for the thousandth time how maddening it must be for him. He played it off well after nearly twenty years of practice, though.

"It occurs to me you may have noticed an additional person in class tonight." Draco, also leaning with crossed arms, smiled. "Harry: everyone. Everyone: Harry Potter."

A murmur rose as Draco made gestures of introduction and Anthony, who had come in late and was just sliding into his seat, called, "Hiya, Harry!"

The class tittered as Harry leaned forward to grasp Anthony's hand. "Anthony, mate! Good to see you. And hello, er, everyone else." He gave a quick wave and ducked his chin.

"Harry has graciously volunteered to be here so that he and I can show you a gloves-off duel between professionals." Draco pushed away from the desk. "A small introduction; we're both Senior Aurors in the Major Crimes unit of the DMLE and have worked together for, what? Seven years?" He looked at Harry.

"Eight in January," Harry said, and Draco nodded.

"We're both level twelve duellists—the highest level one can achieve—with nearly two decades of field experience between us." Draco turned to write on the board in his bold script, Hermione trying very hard not to just stare at his shoulders, his hands.

"And," he looked over his shoulder. "We hated each other as children, so there's a lot of rage bubbling beneath the cordial surface." Harry cracked a laugh and Draco smiled. "Not really," he said. "Not for a long time. But he does hate that my Wronski Feint is faster than his."

"Debatable!" Harry called.

Hermione rolled her eyes and Draco caught her doing it. He winked.

Jesus.

"And," he said, turning back to the class and picking up his wand. "We won't be using Training Lights." A ripple ran through the crowd. "Which will create an additional challenge as we'll have to limit ourselves to spells that will incapacitate, but not harm."

"Difficult when one is duelling Malfoy," Harry said.

"Ha-ha, Potter. But for your safety," Draco said to the students. "I'd like you all to stay behind the protection shield I've put up over this section of the room. Don't want us taking out the desks or the board either." The class stayed still. "But you can move closer!" Draco gestured. "Get right up against it and we'll be at the far end of the expansion." As he spoke, the room stretched and he walked to the far wall. Hermione got up with the rest of the class and shuffled toward the faint shimmering she could see dividing the classroom part of the room from the gymnasium. Harry, with a last flick of his brows, popped through the shield to the other side to join Draco.

April sidled up next to Hermione and grabbed her arm. "Forest is going to be so pissed that he missed this!" she squealed. "Harry Potter! A real Auror duel!"

"Oh no!" Hermione looked around. "Where is he?"

"Doing a walk-through for our gym space. Couldn't reschedule. But it gives me free rein to ogle, so that's nice," April wiggled her brows. "Harry's pictures in the history books don't do him justice."

Hermione laughed and shoved her. "April!"

"What? Oh right, he's like a brother to you. You guys totally have that vibe."

And nearly engaged. Hermione still couldn't quite believe it. Her best friend. She looked at Harry with affection as he paced to the opposite end of the wall and turned to face Draco. They were rather striking opponents in their identical black Auror robes; one dark, one light, and both radiating a latent power.

"Well," April gave a low whistle as they bowed formally to each other. "The rest of us aren't so limited. And I know you aren't immune to Prof. Charming, no matter what you say."

"What did you call him?" Anthony had joined on Hermione's other side and leaned over to laugh at April.

She giggled and started to answer, but her reply was swallowed in a loud crack of magic. Hermione couldn't tell whose wand it had come off of, because it was followed almost immediately by another. The two spells collided in air with a shower of sparks, both Harry and Draco wheeling away in defensive positions.

And then they were off: feet flying, robes swirling and wands a blur.

It was clear right away that they were both physical duellers, each making use of the space—pillars, walls, mirrors—to cast, shield and manoeuvre. At one point Draco slid along the floor under a nasty spell from Harry, and at another, Harry did a sort of diving roll behind a pillar as Draco's jinx singed his robes.

The magic was coming fast and furious and Hermione started cataloguing spells, whispering them under her breath as she saw them, shielding, binding, disarming, disabling—and more creative things too. At one point Harry was dancing uncontrollably, yelling at Draco that he really needed to come up with something better than what he'd been using since third year duelling club. At another, Draco's hands seemed to have become incredibly slippery—so much so that he had to grab his wand in his teeth and do something wandless to clean them.

It was an amazing display. The whole class was making noise—clapping for some spells and booing at others. Groaning and calling out. April had a death grip on Hermione's arm and Anthony was randomly yelling things, hopping around and waving his wand like a fencing foil.

Then there was a lull in the action, Draco and Harry each behind different pillars—breathing heavily, hair damp—when Harry called out, "Bloody boiling in here! Robes off?"

"Yeah!" Draco nodded vigorously and they both ripped their robes away and threw them in the corner.

"Lord, have mercy," April breathed.

Hermione laughed and jostled her, but she was not unaffected herself. Draco was wearing jeans and a fucking t-shirt under his robes. The shirt was black, expensive-looking (of course) and perfectly formed to his torso. She'd never seen him so casually and, er, closely clad. His muscle definition was admirable, to say the least.

And he was sweating. Just a little.

Hermione bit her lip, hard, letting out an involuntary noise as he twisted to avoid a spell and the shirt pulled up to show a swathe of bare skin and sculpted abdominals.

"I know, girl." April clutched at her arm just before both of them ducked as a spell flew toward the barrier, bouncing off and taking a chunk of plaster from the ceiling.

"Nice one!" Harry yelled with a laugh over Draco's succinct, "Shit."

Draco recovered quickly though, a spell sizzling from the end of his wand to wrap around Harry's left arm, binding it to his torso.

"That wasn't Detwiler!" Harry shouted as he aimed a quick Reducto at the glowing bonds.

Draco laughed and managed to find Hermione's eye in the crowd. The tingling raged back to life and she felt a distinct wetness soak her—

She cleared her throat and focused back on the duel.

That was the last laugh for a while. Both wizards seemed to get more serious; the spells coming faster and the sound in the room limited to the crack of magic and occasional grunt or squeak of a shoe on the polished floor. Hermione glanced at the clock to see it inching toward 6:30—they'd have to wrap it up if Harry wanted to make it to dinner on time.

Just then Draco yelled, "FUCK!" and Hermione whipped back to the action to see his wand arcing through the air to settle docilely in Harry's hand.

"What happened!?" she asked.

"Disarming spell off the mirror! Potter shot it from behind his back as Draco was feinting the other way. Bloody brilliant!" Anthony crowed.

"Always with the fucking disarming," Draco wheezed, but he was smiling as he hitched over to grab his knees.

"Hey, it works!" Harry was also breathing heavily. He jogged over and presented Draco his wand with a flourish.

They stepped back and bowed to each other before Draco turned to face the class, extending an arm toward Harry. "Harry Potter, ladies and gentlemen, teaching you a very valuable lesson that even with every creative spell at your disposal, the simplest is often best." He put his hand out and Harry shook it, then slapped Draco's back as they ambled over to the corner to grab their robes and shrug into them, Draco laughing as he lazily fixed the ceiling and took down the shielding charm.

Someone shouted a question and Draco shook his head. "No, I've never been able to beat him. Best dueller I know."

"That's not true!" Harry pointed at Draco. "The training in Glasgow last year? You got me with a binding that day." He pushed up his glasses.

"That's bloody right. My ego thanks you." Draco bowed.

"And," Harry faced the student who'd asked the question. "We're always on the same side when it counts." He and Draco both smiled.

"Oh, they are adorable," April sighed.

"I actually didn't realise they were this close," Hermione murmured, squinting a little suspiciously at Harry.

He avoided her eye and coughed. "This was a lot of fun. Thanks for having me, Draco and, er, everyone else." He gave a little wave and then walked over to grab his bag from Hermione's desk. "Chocolate frog?" he held out the sweet to Draco, who grumbled but unwrapped it and took a bite.

Harry gave Hermione a quick smile before he shouldered the bag and bit into his own frog. He leaned over to speak in her ear. "Hey, keep mum about Ginny and the er, you know. OK? I want it to be a total surprise."

"Of course!" Hermione gave him a look. He fidgeted with the strap of his bag.

"And this was great. I, uh, like him." Harry nodded toward Draco, who was showing one of the students the wand motion for a spell he'd done.

"I noticed." Hermione renewed her wary stare.

"I like him for you." Harry nodded once and stepped away before Hermione could say anything.

She crossed her arms at him and he gave her a cheeky grin over his shoulder, then called a last goodbye and went out the door.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. It wasn't like she needed his permission. Or even his approval.

But—she glanced at Draco, now laughing with Anthony—she supposed it was… nice to have it.

Chapter Text

"Thanks again everyone, and remember to mark your diaries for two classes next week." Draco stood from the desk, where he'd been perched to deliver his usual end-of-class remarks. He held up a hand. "A make-up class on Monday for the one I missed a few weeks ago and the usual time on Thursday. And then only one more after that, if you can believe it." He smiled and saw many returning smiles. There were some groans and sounds of disappointment too. Draco's eyes flicked to Granger to see her looking down, cheeks flushed.

He kept watching her as she loaded things into her leather bag, gaze running over the pretty skirt she was wearing, long and swirling around her suede-booted calves. He'd had quite a filthy vision involving it earlier when he'd seen her in the lift—it would be so easy to push up, reach under.

No need to take it off, really.

For so many activities.

"And we'll have wrap-up drinks after the last class!" April's voice rang out and pulled Draco's attention back to the present moment. He blinked and flexed his hand, which had frozen in the act of grabbing a scroll off his desk. "Toil and Trouble again. Seven-thirty!" April said as people called responses and started filing out, bright chatter on their lips, an excited energy in the air.

Kicking off class with the duel had really galvanised them. Spells had been landing yellow and red all night. If Draco taught again, maybe he'd make exhibition duels a regular feature. Plan more than one to demonstrate different things. Maybe pick an opponent he could actually beat…

He snorted to himself. Bloody Potter winning with an Expelliarmus. Nothing like being utterly humbled by a first year spell in front of one's own students. Although it had been a teaching moment and a good show up to that point. He'd gotten some wicked jinxes past Potter's guard. In fact, if that binding had gone a little to the right, it would have been ov—

A soft throat-clearing intruded on Draco's consciousness at the same time a familiar scent twined there too. He looked up, trying to prepare himself, but as usual quite unprepared for the beauty of Granger's face. The delicate jump of her nose, the full, well-shaped lips, the intelligence and kindness in her warm eyes. And those freckles he'd noticed at the wine bar—like a sprinkling of cinnamon on something sweet.

"Hello," she said. "Wonderful display tonight." She waved a hand toward the empty part of the room and gave a little laugh. "He's always liked disarming."

Her jumper, belted tightly over the flowing skirt had a low neck and unfortunately for Draco's coherence it was at this moment he noticed it revealed another freckle or two in the shadowy space between her breasts.

Kissable, traceable, with lips or a tongue.

He swallowed. "Yes, it was fun. And humbling." He tried for a smile. "Is there something I can—?" Anything, Granger. Anything at fucking all. Something about the duel and being in her presence again had keyed him up almost unbearably. The melancholy thoughts he'd been entertaining all week had fled on a tide of restlessness…and desire.

"Uh." She looked over her shoulder, where Draco noticed the last of the other students filing out the door. "You'd said. Um, last week, you mentioned that if I stayed a few minutes after this class we could go over what I missed? Due to the Grindylows?"

"Oh, right." Bloody hell. Draco stood, grateful for the concealing drape of robes. He put his mind far from freckles and desire of all kinds and tried to focus on teaching.

"I mean, if you're not busy. If it's not a good time I can—another time." Granger pointed to the door, a little frown between her brows.

No! "No, it's fine. I have time." And now Draco needed to remember what they'd learnt last class. "Ahh, let's just see." He scrabbled in his bag for his notes.

"Oh lovely," she said, gorgeous smile stealing across her face. "Can I just—?" She held up her coat and bag.

"Yeah, throw them on the desk. Massive thing." Draco flipped through his notebook. "How were the Grindylows this week?" he asked. "Potter said you were, ah, back again." He flashed her a quick smile.

"They were fine. Great." Did she seem flustered too?

"Really?" He stopped flipping and eyed her.

"No," she laughed. "They were awful. Nasty, muddy, toothy little things. I try to be diplomatic about all magical beings, but Grindylows can…"

"Fuck right off?"

"Exactly."

Draco laughed but kept scanning his notes. Truly what in the bloody hell had he taught last week? All thought had fled his brain, but how lovely it was to just chat with her, ask her about her week. And then she flipped her hair behind her shoulder and released another waft of her scent. Merlin, she smelt good. Warm, almost honeyed.

"How about you?"

"Me?"

She pulled a chair over to the other side of his desk and sat. "How was your week? I haven't talked to you since. Last. Um. Well. At the bar."

"Right, I'm sorry that we left that so— That we didn't—" Draco wasn't quite sure what he was trying to say.

"Oh don't worry about it!" She waved a hand. "I whisked off to Newcastle at literally six the next morning and didn't come back until yesterday afternoon."

He looked up again. Had she wanted him to owl her? Shit. He'd thought about it, of course. But she'd left so quickly with her friends. And it had been such a shitty night for her. He hadn't wanted to add complexity. At least that's what he'd been telling himself.

Her colour heightened. "Not that I expected— Anyway, what's on the curriculum?"

"Huh?" Draco was still caught on the idea that she may have wanted to hear from him. That he might have spent the weekend much more happily employed than helping his mother select table linens for her party...

"What did I miss?" She gestured to his notebook.

Fuck, he still didn't know. He looked down at his own handwriting, which suddenly read like Hungarian…or Welsh. A phrase jumped out at him. "Disabling jinxes!" he exclaimed. "We worked on disabling of the wand arm last week. Actually very important for your test. One of the spells is a bit tricky, although I'm sure you'll master it."

"Ooh, exciting!" She sat up in her seat.

"Yes," he murmured, scanning his notes. "It may make sense to do a short lecture first. Just an overview? And then we can practise the two spells that will definitely be on the exam."

He looked up at her and she nodded, lips slightly parted. "A lecture, yes."

Did she seem unfocused?

He certainly was.

Draco shook himself mentally and stood, going to the blackboard to write a few terms: 'numbing', 'enervating', 'damaging', 'interfering'. He also tried to collect his thoughts into coherence, reaching for the main points of the talk he'd delivered to the class last week.

"So, these are the four classes of spell that you can apply to the wand hand. A lot of jinxes and hexes live under these categories—"

"Like that slippery thing Harry used on you? Was that an interference spell?"

"Yes, bloody hell." Draco smiled at the board. "Great example." He looked over his shoulder. "That was a targeted Oleum jinx to the palm. Very hard to land properly. Show off," he muttered.

She laughed. "But your wandless counterspell was also rather good. And very dramatic—wand in your teeth and all." He looked round again to see her head tilted and her lips lifted.

"That was a dishwashing charm applied to my hand." He flicked his brows twice then turned back to the board. "At least fifty percent of duelling is creativity."

"Anyway," he continued over her answering giggle, trying very hard to focus on spells and teaching. "As I said, you'll only need to know two of these for the exam; a hand-slackening hex, and for some reason they like to see a bone-breaking jinx applied to the wand hand or arm. Rather brutal, but effective in a pinch." He wrote the spell names on the board. "And you'll need to be able to enumerate the three main reasons why wand-arm spells are useful as well as the three main reasons they're difficult to execute." He also wrote these on the board, then turned to see her head down, hand scribbling over a notes scroll. He tried not to, but couldn't help spotting the small, pink tip of her tongue emerging from between her lips as she wrote.

He closed his eyes and took a discreet deep breath.

"So that's the gist. Make sense?" he asked on the exhale.

"Yes, very straightforward," she murmured, putting an emphatic period on the end of a sentence. "But one of the spells is difficult?"

"Yes, other than aiming properly, the bone-breaker is fairly simple. But the hand-slackening jinx is a tricky bit of magic—very idiosyncratic and fiddly. You do one part of the motion wrong and you can end up actually tightening the hand, which can be a nice boost for your opponent."

"Right." She frowned and picked up her wand.

"So let's start with the easy one—Ossis Ruptor," Draco said, stepping away from the blackboard and picking up his own wand. He modelled the abrupt motion of the bone crunching hex and watched her mimic it. She got it quickly, so he turned on the training lights and let her practise on him a few times, trying not to notice the way her breasts bounced under her jumper along with the vigorous motion of the spell. Fucking hell, Draco. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how one looked at it), her spells very quickly lit up yellow and red on his arm and hand.

"Admirably violent, Granger," he called after a few minutes and a particularly strong red hit to his forearm. "I think you've got this one. Let's try the Remissio now."

"All right." She walked back over from the mirrored side of the room, her tall-heeled boots clicking on the polished floor. Draco enjoyed the multi-angled view of the sway of her hips under that slinky skirt more than he probably should have. He also registered the absolute silence of the room and building around them, the dark starry sky in the windows behind him. He knew there were other classes on other floors, but it felt like they were utterly alone here. Probably something to do with the contrast to the excitement and noise of earlier: the flurry of the duel and the chattering students.

"It's so still," she said, seemingly reading his thoughts.

"Yeah, sometimes I stay after class and catch up on work." He'd gotten very comfortable in this room, it was true.

"Mmm yes, something about it feels good for concentrating." She was close now and her voice was hushed. "So. The slackening spell is difficult?"

Draco's pulse picked up. "Yes. The motion is complicated. Here, I'll demonstrate." He went slowly through the dip, swoop, opposite swoop and diagonal slash then watched her mimic it a few times.

Her brow creased adorably. "I'm not sure I'm getting that last part right."

Draco moved to stand next to her, both of them facing the mirrors. "It's the angle. You have to hit it precisely." They did the motion together a few times and then he turned on the training lights.

"Let's try it. Close-by though, so I can see what you're doing."

"OK." She frowned in concentration, and her frown pulled further down as her first few spells fizzled as non-hits.

"What am I doing wrong?" she asked. "I think the angle is correct."

"It's the swoop to slash this time. You have to twist your wrist the slightest bit between the motions." He demonstrated.

"Damn it, that is fiddly!" She shook her head. "I can barely do it properly at half speed. How do you get a spell like this off in the heat of—something like that!" She referenced the duel with a wave of her hand toward the back of the room.

"Hours of rote practice. And a kinetic intelligence that can't be taught. The kind Potter has in abundance."

"And you too, Draco. You have that too." She was distracted, repeating the motion over and over while glaring at herself in the mirror, which precluded her from seeing how Draco started at her use of his given name in such a careless, familiar way. It was like a brush of a finger down his fucking fly. He sucked in a breath.

"You still don't quite have the wrist movement right. Here, watch me." Draco shook back the sleeve of his robe, but it just bunched under his arm. He made a sound of frustration and shrugged out of it, tossing it toward the desk. She gave a little cough and his eyes flew to the mirror. She wasn't looking back, though. She appeared to be focused on his chest, or maybe it was his t-shirt. Ha. He supposed something so casually muggle was a bit out of character for him, but he'd wanted a good range of motion for the duel.

He held his arm out. "Eyes up here, Granger." He waved his wand and she started.

He smirked. "You want to flip your wrist over and drop your hand backward like so." He demonstrated several times.

She mimicked him, but had clearly forgotten about the angle.

"That final slash should be closer to 45 degrees." He moved behind her. "Show me the whole thing."

She tried it a few times, but still wasn't putting it together properly.

"I can't—I know I'm not— This is so frustrating, Draco!" A flash of brilliant brown eyes, colour staining her cheeks and his bloody name again. Gods.

"Here." He stepped forward and almost without thinking, took her wrist in his fingers. "The wrist flip to angle part is the most difficult. I think only one student managed it last week." As he spoke he rolled her wrist, moving a little closer to angle it properly toward the floor. "And again," he said, his focus on helping her dissolving as he realised he was standing right bloody behind her, his front almost touching her back, her scent and her magic twining up to remind him forcibly of that first time, during the third class, when she'd challenged him and he'd done this almost angrily.

He wasn't angry now.

No, he was probably more aroused than he could remember. And not just in the sexual sense of the word. She inflamed him totally—her body, her mind, her essence.

He'd stopped even trying to show her the spell. He was just holding her wrist and breathing.

"What am I doing wrong, Draco?" She asked the question, but she sounded distracted too. And when she said his name again he swore she almost caressed the syllables, breathed them out, her tongue circling around the consonants and her lips softly forming the vowels.

He laughed a little, nearly dropping her wrist. He wanted to scrub at his face and shake his head. Walk away and ask why, how, what the fuck?

"What?" she asked, and he caught her concerned gaze in the mirror.

He blinked and some dam broke. He gave in. Gave up.

"Every time you say my bloody name I lose my train of thought."

Her mouth opened, then closed. She breathed in, out, in. Then she turned very slowly to face him, gently disentangling her hand from his. She was so close. He could see gold flecks in the dark of her eyes. Feel her warmth and her pull on him like a magnet.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" She spoke so softly it was barely sound.

He wanted to laugh, he wanted to bloody cry. "I don't know. It depends entirely on what you think."

She was silent for a long moment in which Draco felt himself hovering on the edge of something, like looking down from an enormous height. The room was utterly quiet around them, but for a brush of wind against the windows.

"I think." She reached up and she was whispering in his ear. "Draco. That it's good." And then he felt her lips fucking brush his skin. "Draco," she said and kissed him again. "Draco." Kiss. "Draco." The last whisper of her lips was very near his jaw and Draco jolted as if out of a trance, his arms going around her and pulling her to him, even as he stepped her backward against the nearest pillar and kissed her, ravenously, like he could never get enough.

She made a noise low in her throat and he felt her arms go tight around him too, her hands running up his back and her tits pressing into his chest. He braced one hand on the pillar, pulling her harder against him with the other, melding and melting into her, a knee between her legs and his tongue twining with hers.

She met him, tilting her head back and pushing against him and the sensations exploding under his skin were like nothing he'd— Nothing. Better than anything he'd come up with in his frequent, fevered imaginings of this exact moment. He couldn't give words to it, so he just let himself feel.

Feel her hands slide up his back and around to his chest, rake up into his hair and then back down where they pushed at his shirt, pushed it up until he felt the cool brush of air on his skin, and then her nails grazing deliciously after it. He made a sound, a hum of pure pleasure deep in his throat, and felt her lips curve up.

"You taste like chocolate frogs," she whispered as he left her mouth to work kisses down the silky column of her neck.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

She puffed a laugh. "It's good!"

"We're going to have to get you some real chocolate, Granger." He smiled against her neck.

"Oh—" Whatever she was going to say turned into a moan of pleasure that had him pushing into her, his fingers circling her waist and then moving up to brush over the heaviness of her breasts. He cupped them and ran his thumbs over her nipples, which he could feel peaked and sensitive under the soft cotton of her jumper.

Her moan turned into a little cry. His fucking name again. Breathy, catching in his ear like she was thinking about coming from just a few kisses and touches. Draco was so hard it was almost an out of body experience. He ran his hands down to take her wrists.

"Do you need some more help with your wand motion?" he breathed, pushing her right hand up and over her head, pinning it against the pillar. He felt an eager little thrust of her hips against him and he smiled, moving back to her neck.

"Yes, I— I don't think I quite have it."

Fuck, she was playing along. "You like to be taught, don't you, Granger?"

"Yes," she breathed and Draco was going out of his mind. He'd known it would be good with her. Hadn't he been thinking about it for weeks? But this? Gods. He'd forgotten where he was. Who he was. He ran his other hand down over the swoop of her waist to her hip, around to arse, which he grabbed and used to hitch her closer against him. Her hands were busy too, slipping under the waistband of his jeans and around to his stomach. He breathed in sharply as her touch there made his muscles flutter.

"Mmm," she made a sound like she was tasting something delicious.

"What?" he asked against her lips, teasing and tasting.

"This shirt," she said, twisting up the hem. "Wearing something like this and expecting me to pay attention in class…"

He laughed low in his throat. "Is that why you were looking earlier? And what about this skirt?" His hand grazed up her leg, taking silky fabric with it until his fingers skimmed the tender flesh of her thigh.

"What about it? It's long. Oh—" She threw her head back against the pillar and Draco brushed his nose and lips over the length of her throat, nuzzling and breathing her in.

"It's silky and clingy." He dropped her arm and spun her in a quick movement to face the pillar. "And I can see your perfect arse and your gorgeous legs." He raked a long, appreciative look down her body. She gave a little squeak and he pulled said arse tight against his front as he sank his lips to her neck, ravenous for her once more.

"God," she breathed. "Draco." Her fingers clutched at the wood of the pillar and he saw in their frantic grip the same exploding desire that was arcing through him. He rubbed his hardness against her and she pushed back against him, moaning his name again.

Draco started to get very focused, pushing her skirt up and feeling for the hem of her knickers. He wanted to get her off with his hands, maybe fuck her right here against this column if she was amenable.

"Yes. God, yes. I'm…amenable. Oh." Only at her staccato-breath reply did Draco realise he'd spoken what he wanted aloud.

Shit, he was usually a bit smoother than this. Especially the first time. And in his imaginings of this he'd been softer with her, even sweet. Slow. More in control. But he couldn't bloody help himself. And to be fair, she didn't seem to be objecting. He was devouring her neck now and she was arching it to give him better access. Encouraging him, bloody hell. She must have wanted this too. As much as he had. Gods. He found the edge of her knickers and stroked at it as she gasped, his other hand sliding the wide neck of her jumper over her shoulder.

"You are driving me insane," he breathed, teeth grazing across her honeyed skin. "You have been since the moment I saw you the first night of class in those yoga leggings. Every bloody night since. Do you want this, Hermione? Say the word if you don't. Or if you want me to go…slower, I will." He hesitated at the lacy slip of fabric under his fingers, considered everything—how he felt about her, how fucking good this all felt—even though he could sense eager wetness just beyond.

"Please don't stop, Draco."

His name, his name, his name again. In that breathless sobbing voice. Draco plunged his fingers under the soaking (soaking!) placket of her knickers and stroked into velvety softness with a helpless moan. He could feel his cock throb and weep and hear her shocked gasp. Every repressed shred of desire from the last two months was coursing through his blood, tingling in his fingertips and panting in his breath. He'd never let it build like this for any woman, never felt it this strongly. Not by a fucking longshot.

And he was fairly certain she hadn't either. Not with that clumsy, redheaded twat.

Mine he thought, snaking a possessive hand around to splay against her stomach. He'd make her forget everything that had come before. Everything she ever knew.

At first he thought the cry of surprise was because he'd spoken out loud again. But it was followed quickly by a laugh and then another. Hermione froze under his hands and Draco stiffened, his eyes flying to the door of the classroom and then the clock as reality intruded on this beautiful dream.

Was it the second Thursday of the month?

His brain, befuddled by raging lust, took and second to sort out that yes, it bloody well was.

"Shit," Draco hissed, taking his hands out of Hermione's knickers with great reluctance.

"What?" She flipped to face him, eyes troubled.

"Bloody magical quilting circle," he muttered. "Every second Thursday at eight. They caught me here once early on." He looked to the side and tugged at his collar. "Made me stay and sort fabric for nearly an hour."

She covered her mouth as giggles burst from it.

He narrowed his eyes at her, the corner of his mouth tugging up. She bit her lip and another laugh escaped. Bloody enchanting.

He leaned down, the urge to kiss her again overwhelming, but the voices got louder.

"Fuck. We need to get out of here. Now." He stopped and looked over his shoulder and then back at her.

Where should they go? And did she want to go with him?

Draco opened his mouth to ask (he could definitely make out the strident tones of the bossy old witch who led the group—roughly the last person in the world he wanted to encounter at this moment) when Granger whispered a quick Accio in the direction of the desk. Their things came flying through the air and Draco caught them, looking down with surprise as Granger grabbed him around the waist and apparated them on the spot.

***

They landed somewhere light green, book-filled and lit warmly by a single small lamp.

Her flat. She'd taken them to her bloody flat. Which must mean that she—

Draco looked around, his scrambled mind thinking something along the lines of, 'this is exactly how I thought it would look,' when Granger untucked her head from his chest and looked up, her gaze dark and still swimming with desire. Draco breathed in sharply as her hand reached up to skim over his jaw and into his hair.

"Draco," she breathed, smoothing it back. "Is this OK?" She darted a look to the side. "Being here? Do you still want to—"

Draco's hands released and he dropped their things—the bags, coats, wands, scrolls he was still holding falling to the floor as he reached for her, his hands cupping her face.

Was she really asking him if he wanted to stay? If he wanted to continue what had been in every way a fantasy come true?

"Yes," he whispered, an almost laugh slipping from his lips. "Whatever you're asking, the answer is yes, I bloody do. All of it." And then he lowered his head and kissed her. Slowly this time. But no less wickedly, his tongue dipping into her mouth to twine with hers. She gasped against his lips and he pushed a knee between her thighs. He remembered very well the softness and wetness there. He wanted to get back to it, as soon as possible.

He moved her against the high back of the couch they were standing near and she sat, her legs falling open. Draco moved between them, still kissing her but faster now, unable to help himself again. Her fingers were back in his hair and his went to the the buckle on the large belt that was stylishly clasped over her jumper. He undid it with a few quick flicks and it fell away. Then his hands were underneath her top, sliding over her silken skin toward her tits. He was almost unbearably excited to feel them, see them, but he pulled back for the briefest moment.

"So beautiful," he breathed, eyes roving her face. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were flushed. "What do you want? I'll give you anything," he whispered. His cock throbbed against his trousers and he pushed into her with a light groan, hitching her tight against him at the same time.

She gasped, wordless, and opened her legs wider, so he pushed into her again. He could feel the warmth, and he swore he could feel the wetness at her core. She would be so hot and slick when he sank his cock into her soft wet— Gods, she thrust against him again and Draco almost lost his mind. He could feel her booted foot sliding up the back of his calf.

"Fuck me, tell me what you want," he breathed, hands going back to the jumper to push it up further.

"I want—" she gasped, helping him pull the jumper over her head and tossing it away. They both stopped for a moment: her braced against the couch, chest heaving and him mesmerised by the perfection of the nipples he could see very clearly through her transparent net bra.

"My gods, you've been wearing this all day under that jumper. Just walking around in it." He shook his head at her.

She gave a slight laugh and her eyes fluttered shut as Draco reached out to cup the sweet weight of one breast, then the other, his thumbs skimming back and forth across her nipples.

Suddenly he ducked and pulled one into his mouth, sucking around filmy fabric to bring it to a tight peak.

"Oh!" She clutched at his hair.

"Is this what you want?" he breathed before moving to the other and teasing the bra down, then flicking his tongue over bare skin until it was hard and pebbled.

She was gasping now, her thighs tightening on his hips and Draco really didn't think he could take this much longer.

He pulled back up and ghosted his lips to her earlobe, which he bit lightly. "Do you want to show me your bedroom, Granger?"

She was panting now. "I'm still," she breathed. "I'm still—amenable."

"What?" Draco was working on the clasp of her bra now, his lips tickling at her neck.

"You said. Earlier. In the classroom. If I was amenable you would—"

Realisation dawned and Draco's desire, which had been at an all time bloody high, ratcheted up immeasurably. Almost unbearably.

"I said I was going to fuck you against the pillar, didn't I?" he purred into her ear. "After I got you off with my hands."

She whimpered and the bra fell open.

Draco took one glorious second to look, her tits jutting out, so suckable and kissable—but for later—before spinning her quickly around so she was facing the couch back, taking said tits in his hands and pulling her back tight against his aching front.

"You want to fuck here?" he asked, his cock leaping against her arse. "Like we're in the classroom—skirt up and your knickers around your ankles?"

She nodded quickly against his shoulder and he could feel her chest heaving under his hands. She was almost hot to touch and he could smell her desire.

Fuck.

"I want you to…teach me," she whispered and he saw her glance over her shoulder.

There was pure want in that glance, but mischief too—and it was then that Draco knew he was well and truly fucked.

At least it would be a good bloody way to go.

"Teach you?" he murmured, his hand now running up her leg under her skirt and his brain going to a place of acute, almost painful, desire. "What? How to take my cock?" She gasped and he sucked at her neck. "Get off multiple times in a row?" He nipped her shoulder. "Come so hard you scream?" He nuzzled into her hair. "Those are all courses I offer."

She gasped out an almost laugh. "Teach me." She rubbed her cheek against his, then turned and captured his lips. "Teach me," she sighed against his mouth. "How to forget. Everything else but you, Draco. Oh—" The last word was a cry because Draco, now officially out of his mind, had reached into her knickers and plunged his fingers against her clit, which was as swollen and slick as he'd known it would be. She jerked back against him and his cock jumped again, so he worked at his belt with his other hand, the buckle clinking as he jerked it open.

He could hear that she was climbing and he knew she was close, her hands braced on the couch back and her arse pushing against him.

"Do you want to come like this?" he breathed, increasing his pace on her clit and feeling her answering tension ratchet up.

"Please," she gasped. "I want—"

"What do you want?"

She reached behind her, fumbling at his flies, pulling at his zipper and pushing down the waistband of his jeans. "Please, Draco."

Draco took a bare second to rest his forehead against her curls before he ripped her knickers down and shoved her skirt up. He had his cock out the next second, running a quick hand over it's throbbing length and spreading the wetness leaking from his tip down his shaft.

Not that they'd need it. She was fucking dripping.

"Lesson one," he whispered, nudging against her entrance as she gasped. "How to take my cock."

She made a strangled noise.

He pushed his tip against her softness. He was big, but she was so slick it wouldn't be— "Bend over. Further," he breathed, voice ragged.

She bent and he grabbed her hips. "Open your legs. Wider." She obliged and he fitted himself to her passage, sliding one arm up to brace her stomach and cup her breast. He pushed her skirt aside so he could see her perfect, round arse and the pink of her lower—

"Fuck," he muttered. "You are so gorgeous."

"Oh—" She gave a sort of muffled scream as he pushed into her.

Eyes rolling back in his head, Draco left the mortal plane or maybe burst into flame. He didn't quite know.

"Yes," he managed to say. "Take it. Just like that. Good girl. Top…marks." He thrust as slowly as he could, wanting to feel every millimetre of sensation. But it was difficult to stay controlled, she was so wet and hot and soft and everything in the fucking world—

"You feel so good. My gods." He bent to her, pulling her against him as he moved a little faster. She was panting now, a combination of his name and and invocations of the muggle god.

He reached a hand around toward her front, wanting to touch her, wanting to make her feel good as he was bloody feeling.

"If you. I'm going to—really quickly," she gasped.

Draco sped up. "Well, then we can try for lesson two."

"Fuck, Draco!" He'd reached her clit and she did scream this time, arching her back and neck. He moved his hand from her breast to pull lightly on her hair and she sucked in a sharp breath. He could see her tits bouncing and feel her muscles clenching on his cock and it was all so much he could barely breathe.

He felt his own climax building and he tried to will it down. But no quidditch scores were going to help here, with her keening and pushing back, taking him deeper and deeper and driving him faster and faster with her cries.

Suddenly her gasps cut off and she shrieked. Draco could feel her clenching so he thrust harder, going up on his toes and pulling her tight against him, her breathy cries in his ear so sexy and bloody sweet that it almost did put him over the edge. She didn't stop either, her pleasure seeming to crest several times before she gave a final gasping moan.

Draco didn't know how he stopped himself, pulling back and out as soon as he could tell that she'd finished. She collapsed down, her whole body heaving. He thought he heard her mumble, "Oh my fucking god."

"Two lessons in one," Draco managed to say.

Her shoulders shook and he heard a snort of laughter through her heavy breaths. "Three, I think," she gasped, dipping her head then propping up and looking over her shoulder. "You didn't finish, though."

Draco still very much on a hair trigger, just shook his head. "It's all right." He pulled her up and against him, lips going to the soft skin at the join of her neck and shoulder, rigid cock pressed up against her gorgeous arse.

"No it's not." She ran a hand up his neck and into his hair then turned to face him. "You need to teach me how to make you feel good too. Lesson number four." She gave him an arch look that almost undid all of Draco's control, especially considering she was still completely bare-breasted.

"Believe me when I say you just made me feel very fucking good," he said.

She licked her lips. "I can do better."

***

Hermione took his long fingers and led him around to the front of her sofa and pushed him down. His eyes snapped up to hers from under long lashes, their colour somewhere between slate and onyx. His bright hair, (fine, so silky to the touch) was gorgeously rumpled—from her hands, her fingers. His fly was undone and that magnificent cock was pressing there. She could see it. His arousal. A possessive little thrill pulsed through her and Hermione could hardly believe it.

Could hardly believe what he'd confessed, that she'd kissed him and he'd kissed her back, that they'd gotten so heated so quickly, that they'd almost—in the classroom. And that she'd brought them to her flat. Swirled them into existence right in her bloody living room, her arms tight around his lean waist, her heart hammering.

She hadn't even thought, she'd just done it.

Instinctively. Born of an all-consuming certainty that she wanted him more than anything. With no interruptions and no second-guessing. Just him and the intoxicating way he kissed her, touched her, whispered the most delicious things in her ear.

'Those are courses I offer.' Jesus fucking Christ.

And it had felt so good. Exquisite.

He'd fucked her so exquisitely that her legs were still shaking. Like a bomb had exploded in her consciousness. When he'd told her to open her legs… God.

She'd heard whispers it could be like this—it seemed to be possible for other people. She'd just never experienced it herself.

Hermione stepped forward, between Draco's knees. His eyes went somehow darker and his beautiful mouth tipped up. Shockingly she throbbed in her centre again, desire sparking. Even after she'd just—

She dropped lightly onto his lap, straddling him, skirt billowing, and he smiled.

"Oh, hello. Are we leaving this on?" He plucked at the silk.

"Mmm, what do you think?" Hermione slid slowly against the hard length of his cock and he groaned, his hands going to her waist and his eyes fluttering shut.

"Gives it a nice…element of surprise," he said, his head tilting back.

She chuckled and kept moving, but very slowly, taking the chance to look at him, his elegant nose and high cheekbones—the dark wings of his brows. She leaned forward and kissed them one at a time and then teased at his lips.

"You are so beautiful," she whispered, continuing to pleasure herself against his cock—relishing each pulse of him against her core. She moved back and twisted her hips, letting her breasts jut and her hair fall behind her.

He sucked in a sharp breath and she saw glittering grey from between slitted eyelids. His gaze dipped very obviously below her face.

"I believe you are the beautiful one." With a sudden movement he hitched up and took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue as he thrust up against her, warm palms sliding up her bare back.

Hermione moaned low in her throat, the sensations he was unlocking truly surprising. She was building again, and she couldn't believe it. With Ron she'd always—if she'd even—well, it had strictly been one and done.

Her hands clenched on Draco's shoulders, on the black cotton of the t-shirt that may have been the catalyst for this whole thing. When he'd taken his robes off earlier and come to stand behind her? His face when he'd admitted that he found her saying his name…distracting.

She'd never felt this way before. Any of it.

"So the skirt stays on, but as much as I like this…" She smiled and his brows went up as she tugged the soft fabric up his back. He sat up to help her, pulling it over his head with a movement that created a truly impressive display of gorgeous musculature.

Hermione sighed, "Oh my," then ran her fingers across his chest and down to this stomach. She could hardly believe all this was hers to touch: the beautiful pectorals, ridged abdominals, a trail of golden hair leading down over smooth skin. And his eyes following her movements, his beautiful lips quirked. Hermione's mouth watered; she wanted to kiss it all, taste it all.

She began moving against his cock again, a little faster now, and Draco pitched his head back, a sigh escaping his lips. "I can feel you," he whispered. "Warm and wet. Soft. Fuck me." The last was a gasp as his hips lifted almost involuntarily off the couch.

Hermione felt everything in her body go soft and pull tight at the same time. She reached down and palmed him, his straining, rock hard length somehow velvety and perfect. She stroked him and he groaned.

"My gods, you'll be the death of me." He was watching her and his hips thrust up again and Hermione could hardly stand it, let alone resist. She angled herself up and in one swift movement slid over him, taking the whole of his glorious length into her centre with a shocked cry of pleasure.

He drew in a sharp breath and his eyes went wide. "Fuck." His voice was strangled. His hands went back to her hips and held her there as she found her rhythm. Slow and sensual, she angled herself and gripped the back of the couch next to him, riding his cock and slowly increasing her pace as she watched his face.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he muttered as she threw her head back and let her hair tickle her waist. "I'm going to— This will not take long."

Hermione pitched forward and took his lips with hers. He pushed up into the kiss and the feeling of being skin to skin with him was perhaps the most wonderful, most intoxicating thing yet. His fingers wound into her hair and his tongue tangled with hers. Hermione raked her nails cross his back and kept riding him, hips thrusting almost of their own volition now. She was reaching again and she could hardly believe it.

"Fuck. Granger. Hermione." His voice was a ragged shred and its rawness drove Hermione over the edge. She sped up and now Draco was clutching her against him, matching her rhythm as they both cried out.

Hermione could still hardly believe it as another orgasm ripped through her. She felt the warm gush of his release as she peaked and peaked and finally collapsed against him.

His face was buried in her hair and he just breathed for several moments, his arms still tight around her. She was still too, boneless and floating. Eventually her hands began moving quietly over his neck and and across his shoulders, stroking just lightly. He made a humming sound deep in his throat and pulled them down and lengthwise on the sofa, tucking her body against his and pulling at the blanket she kept neatly folded over the back.

"See, you're a natural," he breathed. "No lessons needed."

"Which lesson was it again?" She reached up and ran her lips over his lovely neck.

"How to make me feel fucking fantastic."

***

"Your flat is very cosy, Granger."

Hermione raised her face from where it had been tucked into his neck (the scent there, the softness) to see him gazing around.

She chuckled "I quite like it."

"Lot of books." The corner of his mouth quirked.

"Yes."

"Lovely plants." He looked back at her and his eyes were almost silver. "It's just as I imagined it would be."

"You imagined my flat?" The idea flooded her with pleased warmth.

He bent his head and brushed his lips to hers. "Among other things."

She lost herself for a few moments after that—to his lips and the twine of his arms around her. When she next came to awareness, she was under him, his slim hips between her thighs. She sighed and ran her hands up his back, skimming her palms over the silk of his skin.

He made a contented noise and she whispered, "Do you like that?"

"You touching me?"

"Mmm," she nuzzled his hair.

She felt the puff of his laugh. "More than most things, Granger."

She ran her hands up his shoulders and down his arms. "Well that's good."

"Why?" He nipped at her earlobe and she sighed a laugh.

"I quite enjoy it too."

"That's nice too hear because—"

He stiffened and Hermione's eyes (closed in a kind of contented bliss) flew open.

"Granger, I don't want to alarm you." His voice hummed against her chest. "But the most malevolent pair of yellow eyes is staring at us through that window."

"Yellow eyes— Oh shit, Crooks!" Hermione tried to sit up. "He must have gotten out. I didn't even notice—"

She Accioed her wand and pointed it at the window, which opened slightly to admit a very disgruntled-looking cat. "He has just enough magic to vanish the window temporarily when he really wants something—like a bird or an insect," she fretted. "But then he can never figure out how to get in again. Scared me to death the first time he did it."

"I remember him." Draco shifted up on an elbow. "Can't believe you still have him. How old is he?"

"At least twenty, but he's part Kneazle and they live for ages. He's in his prime. But he's a bad boy, Crooks!" Hermione shook a finger at the cat, who sat on his haunches and regarded them for a moment before getting up, very deliberately turning his back and stalking away toward the kitchen. Hermione felt Draco's laugh rumble.

"That might be a bad sign, Granger. The first of your intimates to disapprove." He pulled her back against his front and his arm slipped around her stomach.

Hermione smiled as his lips began tickling at her neck. "Oh he's just angry that I scolded him in front of you." She stretched to give him better access, hearing a distinct crunching sound from the direction of Crookshanks' food bowl. "He has the right idea, though," she murmured.

"About?"

"Food." She turned to him. "I'm starved, aren't you?"

"Hadn't occurred to me." He blinked and she got rather caught looking at his irises up close. Such a unique colour. Truly no blue in them at all. And with that darker grey rim. That must be what gave them such a charcoal cast when he was, er. Hermione rubbed her legs together. "But then I've had so much to nibble on." He kissed her. "Taste." He deepened the kiss and Hermione felt her insides go liquid again. It was really quite shocking—to feel like she could, a third time in such a short window—and after the multiple—

"Although," Draco pulled back and looked to the side adorably. "Now that you mention it, we did skip dinner and engage in some very physical activity just now."

"And you duelled." A few choice memories from the duel had her reaching into his hair and pulling his mouth back to hers. Her kiss must have been a little eager because she felt him smile against her lips.

"Did you enjoy the duel, Hermione?"

"Mmm-hmm." She moved her lips from his mouth to his jaw. "Especially once you took off your robes." He puffed a soft laugh and she smiled into his neck. "And when you put your wand between your teeth. Mmm." She bit his skin lightly and he sucked in a breath, his hands spasming on her waist.

"You still haven't shown me your bedroom, you know." His grip moved southward.

"We didn't make it very far, did we?"

"No. Although I regret nothing." He squeezed her arse and pulled her tight against him.

Hermione gasped a giggle. "Nor I."

They were occupied for a few moments before Draco stopped again. "He's back and staring. Merlin, I might turn to stone." He spoke over her shoulder and Hermione glanced where he was looking to see Crookshanks disdainfully regarding them from the doorway to the kitchen.

"Oh, he needs more food. I also forgot to top-up his bowl when I— Because we—"

"You were distracted." He placed a sweet kiss on her jaw. "But he does have the right idea. I'm bloody starving now too." Draco shifted up, a process Hermione enjoyed since he was still shirtless. She looked down—and shit, so was she. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Oh no, no no. Don't be shy, Granger." His eyes—the lightest silver now—crinkled. He did up his flies and reached for his t-shirt. "I quite like you this way. Skirt on top off. Think you've unlocked a new fetish there."

She flicked her brows up, then yanked his shirt from his fingers and quickly pulled over her head. "Perfect solution," she murmured, standing up and stretching.

"Oh, is it?"

"Yes, because now you have to stay shirtless." She put a hand out to him. "Don't worry, I'll cast a warming charm."

He took her hand and stood, quite close, looking down at her with a glint in his eye. "All right but only because I can see your nipples through my shirt, which is really— I may never wash it again."

She laughed and tugged at his hand. "Come on."

***

"Granger, how is it a grown woman of formidable capability and intelligence has only half a loaf of bread, a basket of really very borderline mushrooms and a mostly eaten wedge of cheese in her larder?" Draco looked up from the contents of her refrigerator. "Oh, and a somewhat worrying amount of yoghurt."

"I don't really cook!" She laughed. "Other than breakfast. Which is usually, er, yoghurt and toast. But I can make us a cheese toastie. With er, mushrooms? Or I'm very good at ordering in. And I have wine!" She waved a bottle of red.

"Cheese toast and mushrooms it is. But I'll make it. You open the wine. What is it?"

"You cook?"

"I cook." He raised a brow as he piled her meagre ingredient stock on the counter.

Hermione's nipples tightened. She stared for a minute at his bare chest until she realised he was staring too. At her breasts. And grinning.

She whirled away to find some glasses. "It's a blend. Grenache, Syrah and Mourvedre," she read from the label.

"Ah. Perfect with the mushrooms. Côtes du Rhône?" He set a knife to chopping and a grater to grating.

"I think so, yes." Hermione poured him a glass and handed it over. He tasted it and nodded. "Very good. I managed to find some milk and butter in there too." He nodded at the fridge. "Do you have flour?"

"I believe I do. I did make a cake once…" Hermione opened a cupboard and took down a packet.

"Ah, lovely. We'll have mushrooms mornay on toast." He began doing various things with pans on her hob.

Hermione stared a bit open-mouthed before she blinked and started. "Can I help?"

He gave her a sceptical look. "It doesn't seem so, Granger. At least not judging by the contents of this kitchen." He turned over one of her admittedly low-quality pans with a frown.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Cooking has just never been an interest, all right?" The truth was after a few disastrous meals, Ron had declared Hermione, 'completely shit at it,' and having picked up the basics from Molly, become the cook in their house. It had been source of low key resentment and contention for years, like so many things between them.

Draco walked over and stood quite close, a smile playing at his lips, but a small frown between his eyes. "Absolutely fine. I'm just teasing. Besides, your other talents more than make up for it." He leaned down and kissed her—a kiss which very quickly turned heated, her being touched by his remarks and unable to resist touching his bare skin.

He'd backed her against a counter and was moving from her mouth to her neck, when he broke off with a gasp, "Shit, my butter."

A deliciously rich scent was filling the air, and Hermione let him go to watch him pivot toward the stove.

"No more distractions, Granger. This is a tricky bit."

She walked over and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "No distractions? But maybe you can teach me."

"I do enjoy that. So much." He gave her a lethal little smile over his shoulder and then a quick lesson on browning and deglazing and something called a roux—a delightful interlude which resulted in them very quickly standing with plates of hot, delicious-smelling food, Hermione sniffing appreciatively as Draco topped up their wine-glasses.

She leaned against the counter. "Will it shock you to just eat here? No cutlery? I'm so hungry can't be bothered with setting the table."

"You'll find me highly adaptable, Granger." He lifted a brow and then his toast, biting into it and tilting his head.

Hermione attacked her food too, an involuntary moan escaping her lips at how good it tasted.

His brows flicked up again and he smiled. "You like?"

"I cannot believe you made something this delicious from what was in my refrigerator."

"All in the technique." He flicked his brows once more and she laughed.

***

Watching Granger eat his food was somehow highly erotic. Or maybe it was just that everything she did was perfectly keyed to turn him on. Maybe it was the weeks (months, really) of wanting her.

Or maybe she was just…right for him in a way others hadn't been.

Ever.

Draco indulged in a renewed sense of disbelief over what had happened tonight—and his reaction to hit all—while she ran a finger through the last of the sauce on her plate, then took a deep drink of wine, eyes fluttering shut as she sighed in a way that had his cock twitching.

She opened and saw him watching her.

"What?" Her lovely lips curved up.

Draco stepped swiftly across the kitchen and took her wine glass out of her hand, placing it gently on the counter.

"You still haven't showed me your bedroom."

***

It really was shocking that she'd—four times tonight! Hermione luxuriated on her pillows, feeling like she should pinch herself as she raised a languid hand to stroke Draco's hair. He made a sound of contentment from somewhere near her breasts, his lips moving against her skin in what felt like a smile or a light kiss.

Hermione smiled too. And he'd carried her to her bedroom. Carried her! Right out of the kitchen, her clutching at him and yelping with laughter while Crookshanks raced away from them down the hall. He'd laughed too and he was beautiful.

So beautiful.

And then he'd thrown her on the bed and mmm. Four times. Four!

"Draco?"

She felt a puff of breath as he mumbled something indistinct.

"What?" she squinted down at him and he turned slightly so she could see the lovely curve of his cheek.

"I'm still not quite over you saying my name." He kissed the underside of her breast. "Just casually like that." He moved over and kissed the other breast. "Like earlier."

She laughed. "If I'd only known I might have said it sooner."

Grey flashed up at her. "Would you have?"

"Perhaps." She smiled, pushing her tongue against her teeth.

"Oh that's not on." He moved up and covered her lips with his, pinching her lightly as he did so.

"What!?" she giggled, twisting away but returning his kiss with interest. He was gloriously naked by now so she let her hands trail down to the place where his slim hips met his truly spectacular arse.

"That tongue just peeking out." He moved from her lips to nip at her neck. "Like when you take notes in class. Drives me bloody mad."

"I didn't realise I did that!" she said, very much enjoying the idea that he'd been thinking about her, wanting her too. He'd even said something earlier about it being since the first class. And if she was being very honest with herself, she'd been the exact same. From the moment he'd whirled through the classroom door in a gust of competence and good suiting.

Improbably, she felt herself get wet again. Good god, she was insatiable. He was saying something into her neck and Hermione strained to hear.

"What was that?"

"I asked, 'when.'" He looked up and tilted his head, a lock of pure platinum falling over his brow. "When would you have said my name? How much sooner?" A slight tugging at the corners of his lips had her reaching out to trace them.

"Oh I don't know. Somewhere around the third class? When you corrected me about the binding motion?" She laughed. "I may have said it a bit angrily, though."

"Mmm, hot." He shifted against her in an obvious way, the slight smile turning into a somewhat feral grin.

Gods, it would have been. She wondered if he would have—how he would have— "Would you have…welcomed that then?" she asked, a little tentative.

"Granger, are you asking how I would have responded if you'd kissed me after our little Detwiler contretemps?" he said, raising up on an elbow.

"Yes." She bit her lip and he laughed. She widened her eyes. "Well?"

He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. "I would have bloody devoured you," he said softly, then licked across her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth and biting lightly.

Hermione's toes curled. "Oh," she managed to say before following him into another deep kiss, her hand drifting into his hair.

"But I have," —he pulled back after a few moments— "Quite enjoyed getting to know you too. I think if we'd, er, started out this way, that may have taken longer."

If it would have happened at all. Or would expectations been firmly set and everything packaged up for a neat goodbye when class ended?

The rogue thoughts chased across Hermione's mind with a trace of a chill, but she immediately pushed them away. She wasn't going to—not right now. She was going to enjoy herself. This. Whatever it was. Let herself just be. With him.

"What's that frown?" Draco was brushing a thumb between her brows.

"Nothing, I just. I've liked getting to know you too." She mustered a smile and sent it up at him. "Even if it would have been lovely if you'd kissed me the night of the pub. Or at Theo's. Or after the wine bar."

"You have no idea how much I wanted to." He nuzzled into her neck. "When you came into class that night in your pencil skirt and heels and I could barely bloody speak?"

"I thought you were annoyed with me for being late!"

"No. Just pure lust. Robbing me of my basic functions."

She laughed. "And at Theo's?"

"Almost kissed you in the library. Twice."

"Mmm, you really should have." She reached up to kiss him now. "And last week?" she murmured. "If Harry and everyone hadn't turned up?"

"I would have tried my damndest to take you home. Bloody Potter. I owe him for that one," he growled. "Although—" He looked up swiftly. "I only would have if you'd…"

"Initiated?" She twined her fingers into his nape and watched his eyes flutter shut.

"Mmm-hmm. Especially after what happ—"

"I would have," she said quickly, not wanting to think about any of that. "Initiated. You in that candlelight was almost too much." She pushed up and turned him onto his back. "I don't think I could have resisted." She didn't try to resist now, leaning down to kiss him and trail her lips down his neck to his chest. "Especially after that lovely Champagne."

"Wish we had some." His voice was a purr as she feathered kisses down his stomach. "I'd splash it across your magnificent breasts and lick it off."

She puffed a laugh, even as her nipples tightened. "There is some of the red left. Do you want another glass? I quite do."

"Wouldn't mind. Although I also don't want you to stop doing that." He stretched like a cat and she enjoyed the resulting ripple across his abdominals.

"I'll be quick," she gasped, hopping out of bed and grabbing for the dressing gown hanging on the back of her door.

"Oh no, no. Please, Granger. Do not deprive me of the pleasure of watching you walk away." Very smug tones sounded from the bed and Hermione turned to see Draco propped up on her pillows, fingers laced behind his head, a lazy smile on his lips.

Feeling reckless, she flicked her brows and bent over at the waist to retrieve his t-shirt, which had landed in a corner after he'd ripped it off her earlier. She heard his appreciative gasp as she pulled back over her head.

"Definitely never washing it," he murmured. "In fact, forget the bloody wine and come back to bed, Granger. I miss you."

She whirled around just as his eyes blew wide and he sat straight up.

"That's what I said when you stunned me— Oh my fucking gods." He flopped back and put a hand over his eyes, shoulders shaking with mirth. Hermione started laughing too.

He shot up again. "Did anyone else hear?"

"No, no!" She was nearly crying with laughter.

"How did you keep a straight face?" He shook his head and rubbed his brow. "My gods, what a wanker. What must you have thought?"

"Mmm, well." Hermione put a finger to her lips and sauntered toward the bed. "I believe my first reaction was more physical than mental." She knelt and rubbed her chin. "More of a feeling than a thought."

"And what was that feeling?" A long arm shot out and snatched her around the waist. "Enlighten me, you little minx." Draco yanked her closer as she laughed and squirmed.

"If I were pressed to describe it—"

"Oh, I'm bloody pressing you." And he did, pulling her back tightly against his front and tickling under the t-shirt.

"Lust!" she shrieked, laughing. "Pure, unadulterated lust like nothing I've ever felt. Especially—" she gasped a laugh. "Especially, in a classroom setting."

"Oh that is it!" he said, flipping her onto her back and going for her neck. "You cannot be allowed to continue like this."

"Like how!?"

"Bloody irresistible," he growled.

***

Hermione didn't remember when they fell asleep. But she did remember (would probably never forget) waking in the darkest part of night to find Draco awake too, silver and platinum nearly glowing in the bright moonlight filtering through her bedroom window.

He'd stroked her face, then moved over her silently, and what happened after that wasn't rushed or frenzied or even playful.

But it was beautiful.

His mouth on her skin, her breasts, her core—like he was tasting the sweetest nectar—as she twisted in the sheets and sighed his name.

Silent. Dark.

Tender.

***

When Draco woke he instantly knew was morning—and later than he'd like.

Shit, he hadn't meant to drift off after that last time. When he'd been watching her sleep and she'd woken with a sweet smile and he'd just had to taste her—once--before he left.

Because he'd needed to leave—had jolted out of sleep to remember that he had an early hearing the next morning. That he was, in fact, the star prosecution witness for a large trafficking case he'd worked on half the bloody year. It had completely slipped his mind in the astounding thrill that had been last night. But once he'd remembered, he'd wanted to tell her. Take his time leaving, so she'd know that he wasn't rushing, wasn't running.

But they'd gotten caught up and he'd slipped back into sleep and now, he glanced at his watch as he silently shrugged into his robes, there was no help for it.

Should he wake her or leave her a note?

He had about thirty seconds to decide. She shifted and he stilled, watching her lovely profile as a riot of curls tumbled over her pillow. Gods, he wanted nothing more than to get back in bed and cup her warm body, kiss her slowly awake.

But she stayed asleep, so he went for his notebook and dashed a quick missive.

He'd make it up to her next time. In so many ways.

***

Hermione's Birds of Britain alarm clock trilled precisely at seven like it did every morning. She reached over and pushed at it until it stopped, a sense of deep well-being infusing her limbs, her whole body.

Why did she feel so boneless, so—?

Her breath sucked in at the same moment her eyes flew open. She looked to the side and around her room, but everything was empty. Still.

She could tell there was no one else here. No one in the flat, but for the snoring cat at the foot of her bed.

She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes again. Had last night been another extremely pleasurable (and graphic) dream?

No, no of course not. She sat up and shoved her hair away from her face, looking around more slowly, eyes falling on a ripped piece of notepaper covered in a familiar bold hand just as a faint but satisfying soreness throbbed in a very strategic part of her anatomy. No, there was no way it had been any sort of dream. Maybe a dream come true, but—

She grabbed at the paper as her heart leapt to her throat, the doubts that had threatened earlier whispering at her consciousness. Would this be where the fantasy ended and reality intruded? Where exactly did one go from here?

Hermione,

I'm so sorry, but I had to rush out for an early hearing with the Prosecutor's Office. Meant to tell you last night but I was…incredibly distracted. And I've got a charity thing for my mother in Wiltshire tonight, but I will be in touch. I want to see you again. Soon.

~DLM

Hermione traced the words with her finger as she read them again, chuckling at, 'incredibly distracted.' She could almost hear him saying it—that slip of amusement in his voice. She'd been distracted too. Deliciously so. Wondrously so. She wriggled a little at the memory of his lips, his tongue, his glorious, rock-hard— Flashing all over with heat, she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Oh my GOD!" Her shout pierced the silence of her room, followed quickly by a giddy squeal. She'd done it. And so many times! She'd really done it and it had been…

"Bloody fantastic." Hermione spoke aloud again, flipping the duvet off her legs and standing up. Pulling on her dressing gown, she went to the window to see weak winter sunshine glinting off a hard frost, the sparkle like diamonds.

She stretched her arms and rolled her neck, feeling alive—sated—in a way she never quite had.

Then she paused, stepped closer to the window and touched the cold glass where her breath fogged it.

Even if it was only sex. Even if he was going to—what was it?—be, 'honest about his intentions and limits,' and walk away eventually, it would be worth it.

Wouldn't it?

She looked down at the note, still clasped in her fingers, that last time in the sweetness of the quiet dark passing through her mind, followed by a series of intense impressions: the giddy joy of touching him, laughing with him, talking to him.

Being with him.

And she knew that even if it was worth it, it would be far from easy.

Chapter Text

"Well, that's clearly because you never seem to age, Cressida." Draco bestowed a beatific smile on the older woman as he leaned over her table and handed her a fresh glass of Champagne. She tittered and he laughed, catching Pansy's narrowed eye on him from across the room.

He wheeled away with a wink as Pansy approached, waving a hand in the direction of the sleek, black-haired witch who did look more like her sister than her mother.

"Hello mummy, lovely frock," Pansy said in a carrying voice, then hissed quietly, "What on earth did you say to make her laugh? She doesn't usually like to smile. Because of the lines, you know." She pointed discreetly at the corner of her mouth, then pulled on Draco's arm and led him toward the bar. "Come with me, I need a drink before I actually have to speak to her."

Draco snorted. "She's not that bad. And I just remarked on the family good looks." He raised his brows as Pansy's beetled down. He held her gaze and took a long drink of wine.

"Good turn out tonight," he said after a few moments. "Narcissa will be pleased." The manor's grand ballroom was humming, genteel conversation and sparkling jewellery gilding the crowded space.

"Mmm-hmm." Pansy was still squinting at him, although she broke off to say a quick hello to an acquaintance at the bar.

Draco also greeted the old gentleman as he passed. "Seen Blaise or Theo yet?" He glanced toward the ballroom doors. "Hope they arrive soon. It's been an age. I'm looking forward to catching up."

Pansy was now openly staring at him.

"What?" Draco smiled. "He wants your drink order." He nodded at the bartender and Pansy turned slowly, still keeping one eye on Draco.

"Gin and tonic, please. With cucumber." She turned back as Draco waved enthusiastically across the room at Millie's father, who lifted a rather limp hand in return.

"What are you doing?"

"Socialising?" Draco tilted his head at her. "Spreading holiday cheer?"

"You hate Ranald Bulstrode. You hate the holidays. And cheer."

"All right, then trying to make some galleons for the childrens' hospital?"

"Hmph." Pansy accepted her drink and drained half of it in one swallow. "Line up another?" she gasped at the bartender. "My mother is here."

Draco threw his head back and laughed at the quip, and Pansy put down her (now empty) glass with a thunk.

"All right, do you have something to share with the class, Draco?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"What? Can't I be happy to be in this lovely place?" Draco gestured expansively. "On this lovely evening?"

"How highly suspicious." A drawl sounded from behind Draco's left shoulder and he spun.

"Theo! Mate!" He stepped forward, arms out, and Theo stepped back, a look that was half-amusement, half-alarm flitting over his face.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Theo said, tapping his chin and taking a glass of Champagne from a passing waiter.

"Exactly," Pansy cut in.

"I just had a good week, all right? And I'm happy to see the both of you." Draco shrugged.

Theo blinked. "When did you and Granger finally consummate?" he asked. "Last night after class?"

Draco choked on the swallow of wine he'd just taken.

"My gods, of course!" Pansy said, slapping his back. "Can't believe I didn't think of it." She shook her head at Theo, who raised a brow in return.

"Didn't think of what?" Soft tones came from behind Draco again and he spun, still coughing, to see Blaise, formal in silver-trimmed dress robes.

"Draco and Hermione finally shagged and he's giddy as a spring lamb about it," Theo said. "Tried to hug me hello."

Blaise's brows shot up. "Mate," he said to Draco.

Draco sucked in a gasping breath. "Oh fuck all of you," he said, but the corners of his mouth were pulling up.

"Mate," Blaise said again, a trace of his own smile warming his cool features. "That's ace. Pen will be pleased."

"How did it happen?" Theo asked. "Did you finally get up the courage to make a move of some sort?" He brushed at the sleeve of his tartan tuxedo jacket.

Images from the night before flashed extremely pleasurably through Draco's mind, along with more of the singing happiness that had been putting lightness in his step all evening. Then he caught Theo's avid, but slightly mocking, expression and coughed again. "Fuck off. I'm not telling you anything."

"So she initiated. How interesting!" Theo smiled at Pansy, who snorted. "No, no, I love that for you," Theo said, holding up a hand at Draco's highly annoyed face. "And for her. So modern. Refreshing. You a little less in control for once."

"I was trying to be respectful," Draco said tightly.

"I know and I think that's lovely," Theo said, rare sincerity in his voice. "I really am happy for you. Branching out so delightfully." His eyes flicked toward Narcissa, who had appeared in the ballroom doorway, glowing and almost happy-looking in pale blue.

Draco glared at Theo. "Do not tell my mother."

"Of course not. You think she won't take it well?"

"I don't bloody care how she takes it—I just don't want anything mucking it up at this early stage."

"Fascinating," Theo said. "Is that why Hermione's not here?"

"Uh, none of them are here tonight, mate," Blaise said, a hint of humour in his words.

They all looked around at the stuffy, mostly over-50 crowd—the somewhat meagre remnants of pureblood society a decade after the war.

"Wouldn't subject them to it, at least not yet," Pansy muttered. Draco laughed as Blaise smiled and Theo snorted. "Speaking of," Pansy said with a grimace. "Looks like my mother is up and circulating."

"Oh, Cressida's here?" Theo turned eagerly. "Gorgeous dress. And who is she talking to? Pretty girl—I noticed her when I came in. She's been looking over here quite a bit."

Draco glanced over and froze. "Shit," he said at the same time Pansy spoke.

"That's Monique Rosier," she said, shooting a quizzical look at Draco, who felt the blood drain from his face. "Wait." Pansy glanced at Monique and back at Draco. "Your Monique is Monique Rosier?"

"She's not my Monique," Draco said irritably, still glaring at where the rail-thin, perfectly coiffed witch was gesturing gracefully at Pansy's mother. As he watched, Monique looked over and caught his eye.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Whatever. Why didn't you say?"

"I didn't know you knew her."

"Of course I know her, Draco. She was a deb the same year I was. In our year, but at Beauxbatons."

"Does it really matter?" Draco gritted out, noting Blaise's round eyes and Theo's smirk.

"I should say it does, because she's coming over to say hello." Pansy pasted a social smile on her face and cut her eyes at Draco.

"How nice do I have to be?" he asked softly.

"Considering the howlers and showing up here unannounced? I'd say just this side of polite," Pansy murmured. "Monique, hi! What are you doing west of the channel?" They air kissed and exchanged hellos. Pansy introduced Blaise and Theo, then turned to Draco. "I believe you two know each other?"

Draco, still cycling through the several reasons Monique might have come to his mother's party and liking none of them, greeted her with a quick word and a flat look. She had the grace to colour. "I am here with my aunt," she said, her lilting accent and soft voice very much at odds with the screech he'd heard from that last howler.

The one he'd opened in front of Hermione.

With the knickers.

Shit.

"She is on the board at the hospital." Monique flicked a lock of long, straight hair over her shoulder and nodded toward a tall witch in black. Draco recognised her—she was a Montague by marriage and he thought she ran some sort of investment firm.

He frowned. But what was Monique really doing here? And how long was she staying? He felt the slightest nudge against his side as Pansy said, "How lovely. And will you be in England for the holidays?"

Monique's blue eyes flashed to Draco before going back to Pansy. "Yes and a little longer, I think. My aunt has offered me a position and I would like to try living in London."

Draco's hand tightened on his glass. Excellent. Just what he needed. Not that it should have anything whatsoever to do with him. But it was a complication—an annoying one. More than annoying, actually. He fought down a pulse of anger as Theo asked Monique about her job and Blaise shot Draco an unreadable look.

"Oh Draco—" Pansy's voice jolted him out of his teeth grinding thought loop. She craned her neck and gazed across the room. "I think I see your mother signalling. Looks like she needs something." She gestured in the direction of Narcissa, who was speaking to the Norwegian ambassador and didn't look like she needed a thing.

Draco nodded, not missing Theo's subtle eye roll. "Ah yes, probably the, ah, music. I'll just—" He nodded and turned to walk away, noting Monique start toward him and pull in a breath.

"I'll come too." Blaise stepped neatly between them. "Make sure mum's got everything she needs for the performance. Nice to meet you." He nodded at Monique before touching Draco's elbow and steering him away.

"Thanks," Draco breathed once they were halfway across the dance floor.

"Probably a temporary fix." Blaise nodded at someone as they passed.

"I know. Fuck." Draco directed a silent curse at Monique (and himself) for the loss of his ebullient mood.

"You don't owe her anything, you know."

"True, but I have a feeling I'm going to have to reiterate that to her at some point."

Blaise grimaced over. "Indeed. Bit naff of her to show up here. Not a great sign."

And worse timing. Draco shook his head as they reached the opposite end of the room and passed through a doorway to a smaller anteroom. Panelled in dark wood with a deep-pile rug and scattered sofas and chairs, it was calmer than the main salon—with just a few witches and wizards in quiet conversation around the space.

Draco went to the bar cart and poured them each a whisky from a crystal decanter. He drained his and refilled it before handing Blaise his glass.

"Cheers," Blaise said, brows high.

"Cheers." Draco drank again, feeling the warmth of the second whisky smooth out the sharp edges Monique had raised.

"So what did happen?" Blaise asked.

"Happen?" Draco frowned toward the ballroom.

"With Granger." That flicker of a smile crossed Blaise's face. "Last time we really talked about it you were opposed. Almost too opposed." His smile grew. "Although I did wonder when we found you two cosied up at that wine bar."

Draco shook his head, his his lips tugging up and his tension ebbing away. "I guess—just—a break?"

"Break?"

"In whatever stupid shit had been holding me back." Draco took a sip of whisky.

"Ah. So did you go out? What stage are we at here?" Blaise lifted a palm.

Alarmingly, Draco felt his face warm. He shifted against the back of a nearby wing chair and ran a hand into his hair. "Er."

Blaise's dark eyes grew wide. "Ohhhh, I see." He laughed into his glass, but then looked at Draco, face pensive. "And is it just going to be that? Physical?"

"No!" Draco shook his head quickly. "It just happened that way. We had a lot of— With the class and— For a while now we've both been—" He released a long breath and a rueful smile as Blaise started chuckling. "No. I don't see it as just physical."

"Good," Blaise snorted. "Because you might have had a problem with Penelope."

"Right." Draco gave a sharp laugh. "Wouldn't want that."

"No, you do not." Blaise's teeth glinted.

They both drank in silence then Blaise spoke again. "So, it's really real?" He held Draco's gaze. "Not going to go that way eventually?" He nodded toward the ballroom.

"Absolutely not." And as he said it, Draco realised it was true. It had been real since that night at the pub for class drinks—the first time they'd really talked—and he'd been getting deeper and deeper in since. Last night had just been the (fucking fantastic, mindblowing) icing on the cake. "As long as Hermione feels the same, of course." He drained his drink to stifle the flare of nerves this thought introduced.

"Of course." Blaise also finished his whisky. "Although the way she looked at the wine bar, I'd be surprised if she didn't."

"You think?" Draco felt an entirely uncontrolled grin overtake his face.

"I mean, you'd know better than me. Especially after the, uh—" Blaise stopped just short of elbowing Draco in the ribs. "No wonder you look tired."

"Do I?"

"Tired but…" Blaise squinted then reached over and tapped Draco's cheek. "Glowing."

"Fuck off!" Draco slapped his hand away, but he was laughing.

Blaise laughed too. "Come on, my mum's about to go on."

***

Class #10

Hermione was conscious of a thrum of urgency as she hurried to the make-up class Monday evening that had nothing to do with the fact that she was five minutes late.

Threading through bodies on the pavement and skipping over puddles from the day's rain, she felt a silly smile break over her face.

She was going to see him, talk to him. Watch him lecture.

And maybe they'd…do something…afterward. She didn't have any plans and he'd mentioned it in his note. Notes. Plural. Hermione bit down on the smile, tightening her coat against the chill. She was in something slightly tighter and definitely shorter that what she usually wore to work, and the biting wind was whipping around her legs.

She sped up, racing to the Learning Annex door and through lobby then jamming a finger at the lift button while glancing at her watch. Seven minutes late now, damn it. She hadn't meant to be. She'd wanted to be early, have a few moments to collect herself before he came in and inevitably destroyed her equilibrium. But a last-minute, late-in-the-day meeting had gone long despite her best efforts. Everyone seemed to be trying to cram things in before the end of the year, and it hadn't helped that she'd been out half of Friday.

She'd totally forgotten in the general, er, excitement of Thursday that she had her annual trip up to Hogsmeade this weekend to count the highland Graphorn herd. She did it every December and combined it with a visit to Hogwarts—train up on Friday afternoon, the count Saturday and dinner with the headmistress afterward. Lunch with Hagrid Sunday before she left. She loved the tradition and being there at the festive time of year. Ron had always gone with her and it had been a bright spot for them.

She'd actually been a little nervous about going alone this year, but funnily enough had found her spirits quite high after her, erm, recent activities. Warmth flooded her veins and she laughed to herself as she hurried down the hallway to the classroom. In fact, she'd been rather absentminded and the count had taken twice as long as usual. But it had eventually gotten done and when she'd arrived home Sunday it had been to another boldly penned note, slipped under her front door, telling her that Draco had stopped by, that he was sorry he'd missed her.

She'd felt the tiniest twinge of worry that she hadn't been there and hadn't responded, but she figured she could make it up to him.

In several creative ways.

This thought caused her blood to flame again and she slipped through the classroom door with her head down, peeping up to see Draco's tall, straight back as he wrote on the board.

He was in a suit—the beautiful grey three-piece. And he'd taken off the jacket, but left the waistcoat on.

His sleeves were rolled.

Hermione swallowed and leaned against the door, just watching him. The broad shoulders tapering to the slim hips. His long legs and the sweet vee at the back of his neck, where his hair lay just so, where she'd buried her fingers, kissed, only a few nights before. She sighed and she didn't know if it was somehow audible or if her desire wafted to him on some astral connection, but he turned at that moment and saw her.

And blushed.

Stopped what he was doing and saying and his jaw went pink with the most gorgeous, most alluring wash of high colour. Hermione swallowed again, eyes running over his front (no tie, collar unbuttoned) thinking about how she'd like to get her hands under that waistcoat and just…yank it off his shoulders. Or maybe she'd leave it on while she went for his belt…

"Ms. Ah. Granger." He inclined his head and his voice was probably normal, but all she could think of was the many times he'd breathed 'Granger' when he was kissing her, licking her, fuc—

"Hi!" she squeaked, jolting into movement and hurrying to her seat. "Sorry I'm late, everyone."

"No. No problem at all." And now he was beginning to smile, chalk held at an awkward angle as he just watched her take off her coat (eyes perhaps glazing over the smallest bit when he beheld her dress). After a beat and a cough that Hermione was fairly certain came from April's direction, she gave him a small nod and he started, arm dropping.

"Ricochets!" he said, a bit loud. "We were talking about them." He peered owlishly up at the board. "And how they. How they uh—"

"How they diminish a spell's potency, prof." Forrest's voice rang out and Draco nodded.

"Right. Thanks, Forrest." He turned back around and wrote, 'potent' on the board. Hermione resisted a giggle. "Among uses of your environment during a duel, spell-bending and ricochets are probably the most common. You saw that last week. But there are several other techniques to, er, explore as well." Something in his rather strained voice on the last part had Hermione wanting to giggle again. But he kept lecturing, so she made herself buckle down and listen, taking notes and noticing with some surprise when her tongue poked out through her front teeth. Draco picked that instant to turn around and look at her and she saw him notice too, his very slightly quirked brow threatening to soak her knickers.

After the lecture they moved on to 'practical applications' (another suppressed giggle) and since Anthony was absent, Hermione found herself appended to April and Forrest as a third wheel. The minute she and April came together at the far end of the room, April shot her a look that made Hermione certain that earlier cough had come from her. She glanced across the room at Draco (who was unhelpfully staring at them) and hissed, "OK, what—?" but Hermione whirled away under the guise of a spell evasion manoeuvre. She was not doing this in the classroom. Or maybe ever. But April was persistent and it was really quite a delicate business to avoid her increasingly obvious looks and innuendos while still participating in the spellwork. And after a bit, Hermione had to excuse herself from the trio under the guise of practising a spell-bending technique. Forrest, amused sympathy in his features, dragged April away to the opposite end of the classroom.

Hermione faced the mirror and went through the wand motion several times, the setting so exactly like last week that she was surprised she didn't just dissolve into a puddle of desire. Especially when a deep, quiet voice from behind her said, "Hello."

She looked up and he was there. And clearly also remembering, his eyes trained on her wand and that colour in his jaw again.

She wanted so badly to turn around and kiss him that it was almost a compulsion. She tightened her grip and met his eyes in the mirror. His gaze dropped to her lips and then back up, and she knew again that he was thinking the same thing.

He stepped a little closer and crossed his arms like he was trying to keep them from reaching out. "Did you have a good weekend?" he asked, again in that soft voice—so unlike the one he used with the other students. It almost seemed to build a little cocoon around them. Hermione felt the rest of the class fade away.

"Yes, and you?" She couldn't help her lips curving up.

"Yes." He was trying not to smile too. "Thursday and early Friday were especially good. But I, ah, missed— You weren't." He glanced around. "On Sunday."

"Yes, I"m sorry I missed you." The words rushed from Hermione's lips. "I forgot I had to be in Hogsmeade this weekend. For an annual work thing."

"Oh. And did you get my ah—?"

"Yes." Hermione's cheeks heated. "Both of them, thank you. I thought about owling— Last night. But I knew I'd see you. Today. Here." She twirled her wand in a little circle.

"Of course." He started to say something else, but a question rang out from the far side of the room. He turned to call out instructions and watch the student as they demonstrated. "Better, Nigel! Keep on like that."

Hermione just stared at his profile, not even trying to maintain anymore. Hopefully April was preoccupied. Finally Draco turned back around. "And did you have a question?" he asked, a glint of something that made her shiver in his eyes. He stalked a little closer and she pulled in a quick breath.

"Actually."

He puffed out a laugh at the same time she did.

"No, but really. About this spell-bending motion. I think I missed your demonstration of it at the beginning of class."

"Right. Of course—" He started forward, but broke off, swiftly pulling Hermione out of the way as a rogue ricochet zoomed by. They spun behind a pillar, possibly the pillar, her back to his front, his wand out in a protective posture. The spell hit the wood and fizzled, the scent of spent magic filling the air.

They both went utterly still and Hermione felt every square inch of where he was touching her, his long fingers wrapped around her upper arm, the warmth of his chest just brushing her back. She licked her lips, which were suddenly dry. He saw her do it in the mirror they were still facing, his eyes widening a touch before he darted a glance to the side, like he was going to try to—

But then someone shouted and he shook his head once, a rueful look passing over his face as he stepped out from behind her. She felt the lingering brush of a thumb along her inner arm, but nothing else. "Careful with those ricochets, chaps!" he called toward the rest of the room. A few 'OKs' and 'rights' drifted back.

"So you, ah, need help." Draco looked as if he were trying to gather himself and Hermione moved forward, fighting her way out of the fog of lust in which she'd been totally enveloped.

"Yes, with the figure for the Circa Rem."

He nodded and held out his wand hand, bare forearm erotically beautiful. Hermione wanted to turn it over and run her tongue from his inner wrist to his elbow, but she nodded instead, a little shocked at herself and this, this craving.

"OK. Well, it's quite a small motion, and simple." He flicked his wrist. "You just add it to the front of the spell you're performing to bend it round." Hermione watched him a few times and then tried it herself. He moved from next to her to behind her.

"Good," he said. "And you can change the exit angle for a sharper arc. Like so." He reached forward to take her wrist, but then stopped.

Hermione met his eyes in the mirror. "What?"

"Just. Trying to figure out how to show you without self-combusting," he murmured with a twitch of his lips.

Hermione's knickers did soak this time. "Maybe you can show me later," she said, looking up at him from under her lashes. Where had that bloody come from?

"Oh that helps, thanks." His eyes danced light silver.

Hermione laughed. "I can figure it out. You should probably go see what Joan needs." She could see the older woman waving and trying to get Draco's attention.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Ah. Right." He leaned down and took her wand hand as if he was examining it. "But I am happy to give you another private lesson," he said, his voice a low purr. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck. "If you're amenable."

Hermione swallowed, hard, her nipples pulling tight. "I, I—"

He dropped her hand and pivoted. "Don't run off after class," he said softly as he walked away.

"I won't," Hermione whispered almost to herself. Her wand was still vaguely out and she was just watching him as he strode across the room, gorgeous in the grey suit, calling out encouragement to one student and correcting the elbow position of another, then answering someone's crack about the duel with a quip and a smile.

He was so bloody attractive. How was she going to maintain herself through the rest of this class? Hermione took a huge breath and spun quickly around.

To come face to face with April's smirk.

"OK, what was that all about?"

"I needed help with my, uh, bending motion."

"I bet you did. And has he given you help with that in the recent past?" April blinked rapidly.

Hermione glanced up at the clock. Thank god, only five minutes left in class.

"You're not going to put me off by avoiding me until seven, so don't even try," April said, practising the bending motion next to Hermione. "I'm just going to stick around and make it hard for you to be alone with him."

Hermione, who had been mindlessly flicking her wand, stopped. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, real curiosity warring with exasperation.

"Because I'm nosy." April made a face in the mirror. "And I like you. I like him. As I've said several times before, I think you'd be good together. I also have a match-making bone. It goes way back in my family." She shrugged.

"Hmph."

They waved their wands a few more times until April said, "I think we've mastered this one."

"Right." Hermione lowered her hand.

"So?" April blinked rapidly. "Are you going to talk?" She pointed her wand teasingly at Hermione's chest. "Did something happen, Ms. Granger?" She said the last in a fair imitation of Draco's accent, which made Hermione's eyes dart across the room at him.

He was correcting someone's arm position, the stretching motion elongating the elegant line of his torso. She really wanted to be alone with him after class. They had a lot to, er, talk about.

"If I say yes, will you go away so that it has a chance to continue?" she finally said, turning back to April.

April squealed but Hermione, prepared, aimed a quick silencing spell at her mouth. Draco looked over as the sound cut abruptly off and Hermione raised a quick, reassuring hand while April gave him a giant, silent smile. He turned away with a little shake of his head and April gestured with her eyes until Hermione undid the spell.

"I knew it!" April whisper-yelled as soon as she could speak again.

"You did. You were among the first."

"Among the first? Who else—?"

"My friend Penelope. I think I've said you two would get along?"

"Right, the highly intelligent, perceptive one."

"The loud, naff one." Hermione grimaced. With all the flurry of heading up to Hogsmeade, she hadn't even had a chance to talk to Pen about all this yet. She'd have to make sure to do it somewhere soundproof.

The clock struck seven and Hermione caught a significant glint of grey as Draco started making his wrapping-up remarks. She looked at April. "What do I need to do to make you go away?" she said. "I do need to um, talk to him alone."

April snorted at the word, 'talk'. "Have a drink with me this week and tell me all about it?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm a buttoned-up Englishwoman, April. I'm not telling you all about it. I probably won't tell my oldest and best friends all about it." Especially not Harry. Hermione gave a light shudder.

"OK, just the important parts then. It won't hurt, I promise."

"Fine."

April smiled as Forrest walked over. "Ready, doll?" he asked, sliding an arm around her waist.

"Yeah, let's go." April kissed him on the cheek and winked at Hermione. "Owl me about drinks."

"OK." Hermione gave April a look that clearly conveyed 'you win,' and April laughed as Forrest gently shook his head.

They ambled toward the door where Draco was chatting with Joan, who patted his arm in a motherly way as she left. April caught his eye as they went out the door.

"Have a good night, prof," she said, and Draco's eyes darted Hermione's way as he replied with a casual goodbye.

Chapter Text

Hermione made a show of continuing to practise the spell-bending motion, although she could probably do it in her sleep now. She heard footsteps and chatter recede down the hallway and then the ding of the lift.

The classroom door shut and new footsteps came her way, unhurriedly, deliberately. Hermione lifted her eyes from her wand to meet his slight smirk in the mirror.

"Need help with your angles, Granger?" He stopped a small distance from her and leaned on one of the pillars, eyes running over her body.

"Is that a course you offer?"

A surprised puff of sound came from his lips and he pushed off the pillar, stepping very close behind her.

"Yes."

He angled his head and bent to her neck, long fingers going around her waist and a palm sliding over her stomach. Hermione gave a soft gasp as he pulled her tight against him and nipped at her skin, then caressed it with his his tongue. She lasted like that for about five seconds before whirling around and lunging up for him, capturing his mouth in an eager kiss.

His fingers spasmed around her and he fell against the wall, bringing her with him. She let her hands rove all the places they'd wanted to during class—his chest, his shoulders, his arse. She felt him smile against her, so she took his hand (currently teasing at the hem of her dress) and brought his forearm to her mouth, skimming her teeth along his skin and swirling her tongue on his inner wrist.

His smile dropped and he made a strangled sound. "Hermione, gods."

She stopped and looked up at him, then kissed his wrist more sweetly. "I like it," she breathed, running her lips back and forth against the skin there, then brushing her cheek up his bare arm. "When you roll your sleeves."

"Merlin." He looked a little desperately at the clock, then back at her. "As much as I would adore continuing," —he turned his wrist and shook his head dazedly— "Ah, this. There's another class tonight. Right after this one. Accounting Charms from quarter past seven to nine. They'll be in any minute."

Thoughts of apparating to her flat again darted through Hermione's mind, but Draco seemed to see them because he straightened and brought her knuckles to his lips. "I'd like to take you out," he said quickly, eyes meeting hers over her fingers. "I mean, I'd also like to—" He leaned down to kiss her mouth, tongue brushing deliciously against hers and hand bunching her dress up again. "Very much. But I'd like to spend some time with you. Have something to eat first this time." He pulled back the tiniest bit. "And with our schedules— Are you free? Now?"

Warmth bloomed in Hermione's centre, quite unlike the heat that was already raging there, but complimentary.

"Yes," she said, smiling. "I'm free."

"Good." He smiled too. "I know the perfect place."

***

Draco was glad he hadn't had to do magic to get them a table at the little Italian restaurant he'd taken them to. Because he would have. But it might have been awkward if she'd objected. He said as much after they'd settled into their table and ordered wine.

"Oh no, I've absolutely used magic to get tables in muggle London," she said primly, spreading her napkin on her lap. "Cutthroat business and one has to deploy all advantages."

Draco laughed involuntarily. "Ruthless," he said approvingly. "But I took you for more of a rule-follower."

"Oh, I am. If the rules make sense," she said and Draco laughed again, fairly delighted. "I find a flexible and self-created moral code is best." She picked up her wine glass and clinked it to his as Draco was overcome with mirth.

"I'll remember that," he laughed.

"What?" she blinked. "Thought I was a goody-goody?"

"Well, sort of." Draco sipped his Vermentino. It was good, structured and crisp. "Or—actually," he amended, thinking of some choice bits from Thursday night and the look in her eye when she'd kissed his bloody wrist earlier. Fuck, he'd never been so aroused by something not directly involving his cock. It had been almost physically painful to pull away.

"I could tell you some stories," she said. "And so could Harry. And Pen."

"I'm sure," Draco murmured, arousal stirring again. He wanted to hear all her stories—especially the naughty ones—but the waiter had arrived at their table.

After they'd ordered a rather obscene amount of food, Hermione looked around at the small, unpretentious dining room and smiled slightly. Draco looked too—at the candles in wine bottles glowing on mismatched tables, the curly-edged Italian film posters on mottled walls, the Thames chugging darkly by mullioned windows. He'd brought her here because the food was excellent and it was romantic as fuck. He'd been ridiculously pleased when she'd said she'd never been or heard of it.

"Charming," she murmured with a little shake of her head.

"Not what you expected?"

"No," she said after another look around.

"That it's muggle?"

"More that it's…funky." Draco tilted his head and she reached across the table. "I mean that in a good way! It's my kind of place.' She inhaled. "I can't wait to try that stuffed pasta. It smells amazing in here. And this is delicious." She tipped her wine glass to the candlelight.

"Glad you like it." He was again, stupidly pleased.

"You know a lot about it? Wine."

"It's an interest of mine."

"Mmm, I'm rather ignorant. Just know what I like, really."

Draco leaned across the table and held her gaze. "Me too." He smiled slowly and was treated to a lovely blush spreading across her cheeks. He sat back and sipped. "And if you'd like to learn more…"

She reached out and ran a light finger over his knuckles. "Such a dedicated teacher."

Draco flicked his brows up. It probably wouldn't do to yank her across the table and into his lap at this early juncture. Their starters hadn't even come. "So, Hogsmeade this weekend?" he asked in a rather feeble attempt to distract himself from impure thoughts. "Why were you up in the bleak north of beyond at this time of year?"

She laughed around another sip of wine. "Graphorns."

"Explain."

"There's a herd. Right near Hogwarts. I never knew when we were in school. Hagrid never— Well, you know Hagrid." She looked to the side and Draco sighed, biting his tongue.

"Anyway." She waved a hand. "It's the only herd in Britain and it has to be tallied annually. They live on the highest Munros most of the year, but they come down out of the cold in December and January, so I always volunteer to go up and do the count. I like visiting. I dine with the headmistress, enjoy the Hogwarts library, see Hagrid."

He nodded. "You portkey? Apparate?"

"I take the train, actually."

"Gads, the full experience." Draco cracked a smile. "That's a long ride on your own."

She opened her mouth then closed it and looked at him from under her lashes. "I had a lot to think about this time." Her voice was low, and pulsed directly to Draco's cock, which grew immediately hard.

He blew out a breath and looked over his shoulder.

"What?" she asked with a giggle.

"Just wondering if there's time to get our food to go," he murmured, looking round again.

Her giggle turned into a laugh. "Oh no, you promised me a date, Malfoy."

"Back to 'Malfoy' are we?" He swallowed the last of the wine in his glass, veins fizzing with the simple pleasure of sparring with her.

"Only when you're being fresh."

"I'll remember that too." He poured them each another glass. She watched, her eyes trained on his forearms again. Merlin.

"Wine, clothing, literature, cooking. So many muggle things. I never would have thought—" she murmured. "How did you learn to cook?"

"Ah. It was right after the war. I went to stay with my great-aunt in France for a time. My father had just died and mother wasn't able to—" He shook his head. "She couldn't care for herself, let alone me."

Hermione's dark brows drew together but Draco shrugged. Narcissa's year in the sanatorium had been rather good for both of them. "It was for the best. My aunt is quite singular. Interesting person. A family black sheep of sorts."

"And what does a Malfoy black sheep look like?"

"Black."

"Ha, ha. Has she any wool?"

Draco snorted. "No, she's a Black, not a Malfoy. My mother's family, you know."

"Oh my god, of course! You're related to—"

"Everyone, yes. And she was a black sheep because of her views on muggles—and her dealings with the muggle world."

"Positive views and dealings?"

"Yes." Draco rubbed his chin. "Come to think of it, it was probably her who left that copy of Emma in the Manor library"

"Fascinating."

"Mmm-hmm. Living with her sped my transformation in that area. And I learned how to cook." Draco sat up as the waiter approached and placed two plates of steaming pasta in front of them. Parmesan was grated and first bites taken before Hermione spoke again.

"This is so good," she almost-moaned.

"I know. I've tried to replicate it, but I never can. I swear the Italians perform some sort of muggle alchemy with their pomodoro."

"Mmm-hmm." Her absolute enjoyment of the food was yet another turn-on. Draco was so used to women who didn't really eat. Monique's face drifted across his mind and he tensed in annoyance, but quickly pushed all thoughts of that nature away. He was not going to let anything interfere with his enjoyment of this night.

He watched Hermione for a few moments before speaking again. "So when I got to my aunt's I was in sad shape." She looked over, sympathy in her eyes, but Draco held up his hand. "Still better off than a lot of people who went through the war." She nodded once and he continued. "Lucretia let me wallow in it for a few months, but then she told me I had to do something with my time. Learn something. Cooking seemed a lot like Potions, which I'd always liked, so I started hanging around the kitchens. Her elves are French and very skilled."

"Muggle sympathiser and yet she keeps elves?" Hermione's brow went up.

Draco shrugged. "She's thoroughly a product of her wealth and privilege. Just more open-minded than most."

Hermione nodded. "Speaking of wealth and privilege. How did Theo do? After the war, that is. And Blaise? You're so much closer to them than you were in school."

Draco took a sip of wine. "True. After I grew up a little and my views started changing—and especially when I went to work at the DMLE—certain relationships were no longer desirable." He thought of Goyle's twisted face the last time they'd spoken. "And I gravitated toward those in my circle whose views had also changed—or had always been more expansive. Theo's long been rather a loose screw. Thorn in his father's side and all that." He smiled briefly at Hermione's snort. "And Blaise was, is, ever practical."

"It's more than just practicality that changed him, though?"

"Yes, yes. He's well-reformed. Like Pansy. Although her process was accelerated by losing everything and having to work for a living."

"I'd wondered about her having a shop."

"It's a very nice shop. But yes, she wouldn't have deigned to go into trade if things had, ah, swung the other way. She loves it, though. It's been good for all of them. Us. Profoundly good." Draco paused to lift the last bite of his pasta to his mouth.

"That's reassuring considering three of my five best friends are dating them. And their families? What are they like?" Draco could hear the silent question behind her words; What about your family?

"Mmm." Draco tilted his head, chewing. "Theo's on his own. Pansy's mother remarried money. Of course you know of Diantha Zabini, darling of the opera house set. And my mother..." He blew out a sigh. "All of them—they understand that they live in a new world, a new order. But the beliefs of a lifetime die hard." He put down his fork and met her steady regard. "None of us would let them dictate how we live, though."

"Good." She ducked her head to finish her food.

"And what about you?" Draco asked. "Your family? Your friends?"

She swallowed the last of her wine. "Let's see. My family? Very small. Like you, I've no siblings." Draco nodded. He'd known that even at Hogwarts. "My parents are in Australia and I have only distant family here." She averted her eyes and Draco wondered at her parents living so far away from their only child. "But Harry's basically my brother," she said brightly though her voice petered out over her next words. "And the Weasleys are— Well, they used to be—"

She looked down and Draco found himself reaching over and covering her hand. "Right. The fabric. Ripped."

"Yes, although I've got Ginny and Charlie and that's really the best of them." She attempted a laugh and flipped her hand up to pulse her fingers against his, letting go as the waiter approached to ask if they wanted dessert. 

They ordered coffee, Draco aware of that distinct pang of sadness tinged with protectiveness he'd come to associate with her, then she said, "And you've met with all of my friends quite recently. Harry is…Harry. Ginny and Penelope are wonderful. I'm very close to Neville and Charlie. And I think April is becoming a friend too."

"April." He laughed, making a conscious decision to lighten himself. "What on earth did she say to you tonight? You Silencioed her, didn't you?"

She was laughing too, her smile so pretty in the candlelight that Draco actually regretted the espressos the waiter was setting down in front of them. "She's been, ah, pushing for a while. And yes, she seems to have sensed something." She lifted her brows as she took a sip of her coffee.

"Pushing?"

"You and me."

"Really." Draco flipped back through his interactions with the lively American witch. There had been rather a lot of Hermione mentions now that he thought about it. "Since?"

"At least the night of class drinks. You noticed how she basically left us alone at one end of the table?"

Draco steepled his fingers and narrowed his eyes. "To be honest, I was so focused on you I wouldn't have noticed a Hungarian Horntail flying in the bar door."

She blinked at him, that lovely pink washing over her cheeks again, then looked over her shoulder and slowly lifted a finger. "Cheque, please."

***

"I can't believe you think Sayana was in on the Red Plot! She's been the protagonist, the heroine, though five books. Making her morally grey at this point would…yank the ground out from beneath our very feet as readers!"

"Exactly." Draco raised a brow, watching Granger open her mouth to say something and then come to a blinking stop, interrupting their leisurely after-dinner walk. "Lafitte's tricky," he continued. "She's a Slytherin, you know."

She pulled her coat tighter and eyed him. He eyed her back, then took her arm, pulling her close to his side and starting to walk again. It was bloody freezing along the river, although the Christmas fairy lights on nearly every edifice they passed made it feel festive and almost cosy.

After the slightest pause, she tucked in close to him and shook her magnificent curls.

"No, Draco. I don't buy it. You're wrong. I don't care what House she was in. Lafitte is a very consistent writer and her plotting is impeccable."

"I agree."

"But then you also have to agree that your theory is naff!"

He just gave a slight shake of his head, very much enjoying her outrage. "We'll see when the next book comes out."

"Yes, we will."

"And I'll be right."

She nudged into him. Hard. Draco laughed and then they walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just two of the many strolling along the Thames on a winter's evening. Draco felt a deep contentment steal over him as he looked down at her beautiful, albeit red-tipped, nose.

"Granger?"

"Hmm?"

"When did this really start for you?" Draco was surprised at himself as the words left his mouth. He supposed the earlier conversation about April and her machinations had piqued his interest. "I know the Detwiler class sparked something, but was that really the first time you'd thought of it? Of, ah, me?"

She looked up at him. "Honestly?"

"Well, yes."

"It was the first class for me too."

Draco felt alarmingly thrilled. He squinted ahead, suddenly desperate to know how close they were to magical London and the apparition point which would take them to one of their flats and the bedroom within it.

"Or actually—"

Draco's attention whipped back to Granger, his brows starting for his hairline.

She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. "Never mind."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no." Draco stopped and turned to her. "This we have to explore." He blinked. "Before this class I don't think we'd been in any sort of proximity to each other since— Are you saying? Hogwarts?" He stopped and just peered at her. She wore a cryptic look that on someone else he may have described as a smirk. He searched back in his memory. "I mean, as a red-blooded teenaged male, I noticed you of course. Despite our…mutual animosity. Or more accurately, the fact that I was a bigoted little shit. But you had good reason to be more fastidious. And you hated me, didn't you?"

She shrugged and looked away, but her lips were twitching. "Does one really have to like someone to want them?"

"My gods, if I had a time-turner and could go back and tell myself. When? How?" Merlin, she'd reduced him to incoherent sputtering.

"Do you remember a certain sixth-year Potions class?" she asked, giving him that mischievous look that nearly did his head (and parts lower) in. "The day Slughorn gave us tingling hartshorn?"

Draco paused, thinking back again, and then realised he bloody did remember. In fact, he knew exactly which class she was talking about. It had been early in the term. Before things had gotten actively terrible. He'd been fucking around with Goyle, and pulled his shirt up like he was going to put some of the tingly glop on his skin. And he'd looked over to see Hermione Granger, (off-limits mudblood, know-it-all swot, undeniably and infuriatingly beautiful Granger) of all people watching. Intently. And not like she was disgusted or angry, like she was thinking about, like she wanted to— He remembered the heat that had flashed over him and yes, the shame. He was still mostly brainwashed at that point, although he'd been starting to question. He was fairly certain he'd locked himself the Prefects' bathroom directly after that class and had a furious, explosive wank.

"Come back to me, Draco…" Granger had put her hands on his lapels and was looking into his stunned face. He blinked at her. "So you do remember," she said with a smug look. "And were you attracted to me too in that moment?"

"That's one word for it."

She laughed and Draco had no choice but to take her in his arms and kiss her. They did that for a while, for all the world like they were bloody Parisians by the Seine instead of Londoners by the muddy Thames.

After a bit, he pulled back, breathless. "Do you think we could apparate if we duck under one of the bridges?"

"Where to?" She touched her lips to his, so Draco had to kiss her again before he could answer.

"Your flat, mine, a suite at the bloody Savoy, I don't care."

"No," she snickered. "It's too risky."

"Then let's start walking. Quickly."

***

They tumbled into his flat in a whirl of limbs and coats. Hermione only had a quick chance to glance around and notice that the surroundings were sleek and spare before Draco had her up against a smooth wall, his fingers working quickly at scarves and buttons, his lips at her neck.

"I don't know why you didn't want to come here," she gasped, catching a quick glimpse of the city view out the giant sitting room window as she finally got that waistcoat off his shoulders. "It's gorgeous."

"Not as nice as yours," he mumbled.

She raked her hands into his hair. "Don't be silly."

"No, I'm serious. I need a plant or something."

A laugh rippled out of her and she felt him smile. "Why don't we see where in the bedroom it would go best?" he asked, taking her hand and leading her at a fast clip down the hall and through a dark doorway. His bed was a low platform floating in the middle of another sparse space and he stopped to kiss her before they reached it.

"This is a very silly little dress," he murmured, undoing the zip. "With the collar and the tie."

"You don't like it?"

"No, I bloody love it. Delightfully short. But it has to go."

She laughed softly as the dress slid over her hips then ankles and he resumed walking her toward the bed. Just before he laid her down, she put up a hand.

"Draco?"

"Still not over you saying my name in these contexts. And what service," —he nipped her earlobe— "may I provide?"

"I just. There was, um, more to the Potions class thing."

He went perfectly still. "Oh?"

"Yes, when I looked at you. When you saw me looking, I was also imagining."

"Bloody hell, what?" He was breathing rather heavily.

"Well." She turned them and pushed him down on the bed. He sat and she stood over him, looking down at his gorgeously dishevelled person. He looked back at her with eyes that were pure, molten silver and she reached out and pulled his shirt from his waistband, then undid the buttons. She could just see his gorgeous chest underneath, moving up and down rapidly.

Then she knelt and he pulled in a sharp breath, leaning back on his elbows almost involuntarily, his lips parting. When she swirled her tongue up the smooth centre of his stomach he let out a long hiss. And when she undid his belt he muttered something like, "Gods, if I had fucking known…"

That was the last thing he said for a while, other than variations on 'Granger', 'Hermione' and 'Fuck.' He tried to stop her from finishing him off with her mouth, saying something about it being her turn, but she just gave him a look and said, "This is my fantasy, Draco," at which point his eyelids fluttered shut and he gave himself over completely.

Not that he didn't make it up to her. On the bed, in the bath, on the couch while she enjoyed that incredible view. Hermione was so bonelessly pleased it was a true chore to pick herself up out of his bed (and his arms) well after midnight and start pulling on her clothes.

"Come back to bed, Granger. I miss you." He mumbled it from where he was spread out, face-down, arms wrapped around a pillow. She laughed, then sat and ran a finger down the beautiful line of his bare back.

"I would love to, but I have to be up so early tomorrow."

"Grindylows? Graphorns?" He turned his head and one grey eye blinked at her.

"No, it's my first interview with the Department of Mysteries."

He sat up. "You didn't tell me!"

"We had so many other things to talk about. And do." She leaned forward and kissed him. "Besides I'm nervous. I'm trying not to think about it."

"Hope I was a distraction." He grinned. Then he took her hand. "But seriously, are you all right? Do you feel prepared?"

"I never feel fully prepared for these types of things." Probably better to not let him in on the exact amount of preparation she'd done—it might frighten him at this early stage. "But it's just preliminary. Almost a screening more than anything. I'm sure it will be fine."

"I am too. They'd be idiots to pass you up. And they're not idiots down there." He twined a hand into her hair and tilted her head to kiss her. She responded, getting caught up for a moment before she pulled back very reluctantly.

"I can apparate from here?"

"I'll adjust the wards, yes." He pulled back and his eyes searched her face. "I don't want to let you go." She started to speak and he smiled. "But let's go fetch your coat." His smile turned into a grin. "I think it's on the floor near the door."

Chapter Text

"I can't believe one little colony of Grindylows is causing so much trouble." Charlie laughed as he held the door for Hermione to exit the coffee shop.

"It's hardly little! It's bloody huge. I've never seen such an extensive one. And more are appearing everyday. That's why I keep getting called to Newcastle. It's a regular infestation!" She'd had to whisk up Tuesday almost directly after her (relatively painless) Department of Mysteries interview and had barely made it back for this coffee date with Charlie on Friday afternoon. The fact that the Grindylows had caused her to miss another duelling class—and additional time with Draco—weighed heavily in their negatives column as far as she was concerned. She was very ready to be washing her hands of the likes of them once she switched departments.

"See, this is why I can't work with smaller creatures. They multiply and colonise and just—ew." Charlie shuddered. "Dragons are so straightforward."

"Not to mention extremely high-profile and manly."

"Oh, hush." Charlie made a face and Hermione laughed. "Where are you off to now?" he asked. "I'd love to spend some more time together, but I told mum and dad I'd nip over to The Burrow tonight."

"Give them my love, please. And I'm going to Neville's shop to find a plant."

"You kill another one?" Charlie jammed a knit hat on his head as they walked. "What did I tell you about overwatering?"

Hermione gave him a superior look as she donned her gloves. "No, all of my plants are thriving, thank you. It's a gift."

"For?"

"Ehm." She looked away as Charlie started to grin.

"Is it for him?" he asked gleefully. "You're buying him a plant? That's precious, H."

"He said he needed one! I thought it would be nice. His flat is rather…spare. Lovely, though. Very large."

"Oh is it?" Charlie was laughing now "So we've been to his flat! You didn't mention that before."

"Didn't I?" Hermione felt like she'd mentioned a lot of other things. Charlie had fairly grilled her over their lattes, having heard something from Theo about what was going on. Hermione wasn't sure if she was pleased or alarmed by how quickly the news had spread. She still hadn't had a chance to speak to her friends about it. Ginny and Harry were still in the dark, as was Penelope, who had been away on her own C&CMC junket in Wales for the past week. Unless Blaise had told her, of course.

"When was it?"

"Hmm?"

"This greenery-free flat-viewing?"

"Oh. Monday."

"After your dinner date?" Charlie raised a brow.

Hermione felt her face heat. "Yes."

"My, my, and how was it? Other than 'very large?'"

"Charlie!" Hermione smacked him and he doubled over.

"Don't tell me, really. I just love how easy it is to get a rise out of you."

"I didn't grow up with swarms of siblings teasing me, all right?"

"I know, and it shows." But Charlie grabbed her hand as they came upon the apparition point, pulling her round to face him, his handsome face transforming from playful to gentle. "Seriously H. I'm happy for you. You're clearly pleased and Theo says Malfoy's pleased. It feels like just what you need."

Hermione let out a long breath. "I believe it is."

Charlie winked. "Lovely to hear it. Now go get him a nice fern or something."

***

"Hi Nev, it's me!" Hermione pushed through the door into the warm, slightly muggy interior of Root and Vine, the familiar scent of green things and dried flowers wrapping itself around her like a friendly hug. She'd walked directly from the apparition point after she'd said goodbye to Charlie.

"Hermione!?" Neville's muffled voice came from the back room. "I'll be…out in a tic." She could hear muffled voices and the scraping of something against the polished concrete floor.

"No rush!" Hermione called, drifting toward a wall of beautifully potted plants, their colourful leaves and containers making a kind of living art. She lifted a spiky-leaved specimen off a shelf and turned it around in her hands. It was striking, although maybe Charlie had been right about the fern. Something feathery to soften the sharp lines of Draco's sitting room? She picked up another plant, this one with lacy fronds draping over a speckled ceramic pot. But weren't ferns notoriously difficult to care for? She'd have to ask Neville.

She looked toward the curtained door behind the counter. "Is a fern a good first plant, Nev?"

The voices, which had been continuing in a low hum, broke off. "Erm. Just a—" Neville sounded harried and Hermione grimaced. She hoped she wasn't interrupting him trying to fill some big, complicated order.

But then a low chuckle sounded—a feminine chuckle—and Hermione froze. She was sure she looked most comical—eyes and mouth both round—as Pansy Parkinson emerged from behind the curtain, a decidedly rumpled Neville in her wake.

"Hiya," Pansy said with a catlike smile and a long blink.

"Oh! Hi!" Hermione seemed to have frozen.

"Hey, so sorry about— I was just. We were. Um. Doing inventory. What have you got there?" Neville was sputtering and Hermione looked between him (one of his shirt-tails was untucked) and Pansy (perfectly put together). Pansy's blink turned into a wink that spurred Hermione to action.

"Um," She held the plant in front of her face. "A fern, I think?"

"Adiantum Raddianum, correct. A Maidenhair." Neville stepped out from behind the counter. "But your flat gets too much direct sun for this one. You'd be better off with someth—"

"Uh. It's not for me." Hermione wetted her lips and darted a look at Pansy, who had turned to examine her reflection in a small, etched mirror trimmed in vines. Hermione saw her mouth curve up in the glass.

"Right, you said a first timer. What's the space like? How much light and humidity?" Neville came over to scrutinise the wall of plants.

"Er. Well." Hermione had never actually been in Draco's flat during the day.

Involuntarily she looked at Pansy again, who raised her brows and after a few beats turned to Neville. "I'd say it gets a lot of light, but indirect. And it's quite dry. Very modern, plain decor. Needs some softening up round the edges. A first-time plant-owner, yes, but he'll be conscientious." She smiled at Hermione. "That about right?"

"Um. Sounds like it. Yes." Hermione felt like her face must be scarlet by now.

Pansy's expression softened. "I think it's a really nice idea."

Neville, whose confused glance had been flipping between them, took a breath. "Ohhhh, right." He turned to Hermione with a delighted smile. "A gift, then?"

"Yes."

"Well, the one you've got there would be perfect for what Pansy's described." Neville's eyes rested on Pansy, who looked back so sweetly that Hermione blinked. Things must have really progressed between them. She realised it had been a while since she'd spent time with Nev. They'd both been so…busy.

The urge to giggle displaced the last of the tension that had gathered in her body and she turned to Pansy. "Do you think this is the right choice for Draco, though?" She put down the fern and picked up the spiky plant. "Or do you think something more structural, like this?"

Pansy came over and scrutinised both options. Hermione caught a genteel whiff of some gorgeous perfume as she leaned in close and squinted. "I see why you'd gravitate toward this." She touched the spiky plant with the hint of a smirk. "But I think this would be…sweeter. He has that little table in the sitting room. Near the window," she murmured.

"Right!" Hermione could picture the exact spot.

"Not in the direct sun, though?" Neville stepped in.

"No." Pansy shook her sleek head.

"Then that settles it." Hermione turned to Neville. "I'll take this one and get out of your hair." She included Pansy in her smile.

"Oh don't rush off on my account," Pansy said. "I've got to go face the dragon."

Hermione's mind darted improbably to Charlie and she frowned.

"My mother," Pansy clarified. "I'm having dinner with her."

"Oh!" Hermione cracked a laugh. "Good luck—sounds like you'll need it."

Pansy released a long-suffering sigh. "Any idea where he is tonight?" She nodded at the plant. "I sometimes rope him into these things and it makes everything easier because Cressida absolutely adores him."

"No." Hermione made a helpless gesture. "I just got back into town a few hours ago. I owled him before I left, but I haven't seen him since Monday." She blinked as a reel of images and sensations from Monday night wheeled through her mind unbidden.

"I might try to catch him, then. Unless you were going to—?" Pansy unfolded a gorgeous red coat off her arm and started to shrug into it as Hermione shook her head.

"No, I'm so tired, all I can think about is a night in and an early appointment with my bed," she said with a chuckle as Pansy nodded. But Hermione did want to see Draco, and soon. Tomorrow, even. She realised with a pang that she'd missed him. Really missed him.

Blimey.

"You don't mind do you, darling?" Pansy was asking Neville, who had stepped over to help her with her second sleeve. "I do want you to meet mother, but I don't want to subject you to her just yet."

"I don't mind," Neville laughed. "But you should know that I'm rather good with ladies of a certain age."

"He really is," Hermione said.

Pansy tapped her lips. "I can see that. All right. Next time, then. And I'll soften her up this time." She winked at Hermione and reached for Neville, whose long fingers wrapped gently around her jaw.

Hermione turned away with a small smile as they said goodbye and soon Pansy was whirling out the door in a gust of cold air and swing of crimson wool.

Neville watched where she'd gone for a beat before turning to Hermione, an almost dazed smile on his face.

"So!" she said.

"So?" he asked.

"What is going on there?" Hermione pointed to the door. "Um, and there." She pointed to the back room with a smirk. "Might want to tuck in your shirt before a real customer turns up."

Neville looked down comically. "Shite," he said, starting to put himself in order. "I didn't expect her to— We don't usually. In the shop. Although. Er. Well, sorry."

Hermione started laughing. "You don't have to apologise to me!"

"OK." Neville looked up with a chuckle, neat and tidy again. "It's all just so heady." He shook his head and held his hand out for Hermione's fern.

She stepped over and gave it to him. "I can see that."

Neville plucked a few imperfect leaves from the plant. "I'm really happy." He let out a deep breath. "I think I'm in love, Hermione."

"Oh, Neville!" She reached out and touched his sleeve. "And does she—?"

"We haven't said it yet. But it feels like we're on the same page." Neville's shy, beautiful smile emerged.

"I'd say so. The way she looked at you just now made my heart beat a little faster."

Neville laughed delightedly. "Do you want me to put a bow on this? And a tie a card to it?" He gave the plant pot a swipe with a soft rag.

"Yes, please." Hermione looked down at the fern, its curls of tender green making her think of her own situation, her own feelings. Love? She thought of Draco's smile in candlelight, his teasing laugh, the feel of him moving inside her. The giddiness and contentment she felt with him.

Was she falling too—?

It was very soon to say. Too soon? Especially in light of his history—and hers. Neither of them were exactly unencumbered. Plus, there was Hermione's tendency to get ahead of herself and worry about every angle and outcome. She wanted to let this breathe. Enjoy it instead of over-analysing.

Neville put the finishing touches on a deep red bow and tucked a white card under its satiny sheen. "There we are," he said. "Beautiful little specimen."

"I think he'll like it." Hermione handed Neville a handful of galleons and he tucked them away in a brass cash register.

"So you're buying him gifts, familiar with his flat… What, may I ask, is going on?" Neville leaned on the counter with a smile.

"We've been…spending some time together."

"Enjoyable time, I can tell."

"Yessss."

Neville's eyes searched her face, then he smiled slowly. "Want a biscuit?" he asked, pulling a tin from under the counter. "Lovely chewy ginger. A customer brought them in."

"Thank you." Hermione took one and they munched companionably. "I saw him earlier this week," Hermione blurted after a few moments. "Then I had to go out of town until today, but I want to see him again. Do you think I should just drop by? Or maybe owl first?" She swallowed a bite. "It would be nice to be able to just text him—I wish the wizarding world would catch up with the muggles in that area."

Neville looked at her blankly until she shook her head. "Nevermind."

"Well, I don't know about all that, but I think it's best with these things to be natural. If you want to see him, go see him. I don't think he'll mind."

"No?"

"No." Neville smiled. "Something Pansy said…"

"What!?"

"Just that he's been in a very good mood. Or," —Neville looked at the ceiling— "a ridiculously good mood despite…something? She was actually talking to Theo. We ran into him out the other night. I wasn't paying the closest attention, but they were sort of clucking over it affectionately."

"Huh, OK." A good mood despite what? Hmm.

Neville offered the biscuit tin again and Hermione took another. "Can I ask why you would hold back?" Neville tilted his head. "Anyone would be overjoyed to be with you. Or wait." He grimaced. "Is it to do with Ron? I'm still so sorry about that night—"

"No, no. Not at all." Hermione waved a hand. "Please don't worry about that. It's nothing to do with him. No, it's just my understanding that Draco has a history of keeping his relationships rather…casual…since his divorce. I don't want to overstep or come on too strong, I guess."

Although honestly, the idea of casual was growing less realistic the more time she spent with him, wasn't it? For her, at least and maybe for him too?

Dangerous waters, Hermione.

"You should talk to him about it." Neville rubbed the cloth at a spot on the counter.

"Doesn't that seem a bit, I don't know, premature?"

"Not if you care about him."

She did. "But we've really only been on one date."

"Sometimes one date is all you need."

Hermione narrowed her eyes "Give me another of those." She grabbed for the biscuits as Neville chuckled.

"Seriously, though. I think no matter what you should trust your instincts," he said. "And go see him if you want to see him."

"Hmm." Hermione eyed him.

He brandished the plant. "At least you have the perfect excuse!"

***

In the end Hermione decided to owl before she just dropped by. Something sweet and simple, light in tone, just asking if he was free?

Of course it was proving entirely impossible to write.

She screwed up her face and took a deep drink of milky coffee, quill poised over parchment. She'd woken early this morning after falling into bed once she'd returned home from Neville's last night. She'd gotten up and tidied the flat, done some reading, then worked on her Unspeakable application until it felt late enough to send an owl. She pushed at her pyjama sleeves and stared out the window into the midmorning Saturday sun, willing the perfect words to come.

Or was owling entirely too formal and stiff? Plus not the best medium for a quick reply. Maybe she should just bloody floo-call him despite the potential awkwardness of an unexpected head floating in his fireplace. Bite the bullet and stop being timid. He didn't have to answer if he was in the middle of something. It wasn't that different from a telephone call.

But what if he wasn't home? An owl would find him if he were out and about. Of course, that could come with its own awkwardness too… What if he was with his mother? Or Theo? Or—?

"Why am I so indecisive!?" Hermione's yelp startled Crookshanks, who had just ambled over and was in the process of deciding whether to jump into her lap. He gave her an affronted look and she muttered, "sorry, puss," as she picked him up and hugged him to her face, breathing in the soft mustiness of his thick coat.

The rumble of his purr calmed her and she decided to stop being silly, walking toward the fireplace with the purpose and determination of a mature, decisive woman totally in control of her own destiny. But as she approached and reached (with only slightly trembling fingers) for a handful of floo powder, the flames leapt to life.

"What the—?" Hermione jumped back as Ginny's face came into view.

"Are you alone?" Ginny peered from side to side, her eyes wide.

"Yes! What's the matter!? What's happening? Harry—?"

"Harry's fine. Everyone's fine. Don't worry."

"Then what's going on?" Hermione took deep breaths to try to slow her galloping heart.

"Ron has something he needs to tell you and he's coming to your flat."

"Now?"

"Yes, he's already on his way, the idiot. I figured he wouldn't warn you which is why I called."

"But I— Does it have to be now?" Hermione looked down at her pyjamas and over at the pile of discarded notes to Draco.

"Yes." Ginny's highly annoyed expression changed to something more grave.

Hermione felt her insides drop. "Gin, what—?"

"Look, no one's sick or hurt, OK? He just has something he needs to tell you. In person."

"OK, but you're freaking me out."

"Don't freak out. It's just Ron." Ginny kept Hermione's gaze. "I'll floo again later." And then she was gone.

Hermione had just enough time to run into her bedroom and throw on a bra and dressing gown before her doorbell chimed.

She took a deep breath as she went to the door, realising she hadn't even brushed her teeth.

Fuck it. Ron could cope.

Anger tightened her throat at his presumptuousness and lack of consideration—and it was with a decidedly icy mien that she opened the door and stared up at a familiar, broad-shouldered back.

"Yes, Ronald?"

"Oh!" He spun and she could see in his eyes that he was uncomfortable, that he didn't want to be here. Ginny had neglected to mention the fact that she'd made him do this. Or maybe it had been Molly. "Gin floo you?"

"Yes." Hermione stood still in her doorway, refusing to give him an opening. He could bloody well do the work.

"Can I, uh, come in?"

"I guess." Hermione opened the door and stepped back, but didn't ask him to sit down or if he wanted tea—to her mind the height of rudeness. Of course, he didn't notice. No, he just looked around in a slightly arrogant way as he stepped over the threshold, entirely too-tall and jangly in her neat little flat.

But then it hit her that he'd never been in this place where she lived—her partner of nine years and closest friend of nearly twenty. A sadness welled up and she suddenly felt more tired than angry.

She gestured at him to come further in and he moved into the sitting room.

"This is nice, 'Mione." Ron's bright blue eyes skimmed the green walls and the plants and the books. "Got everything just the way you wanted it in the end, didn't you?" His tone sounded self-forgiving and a touch smug to her ears, and it stoked her anger right back into a raging flame.

How dare he?

"Oh fuck you, Ron!" she spat. "My fuse is about this long for you." She pinched her first finger and thumb together. "Coming here unannounced and expecting me to just jump to it? You'd better say whatever it is you came to say as quickly as you can." The reflexive relief she'd felt that she was alone this morning evaporated and she wished wildly that Draco were here, that he'd come strolling out of the bedroom with her sheet wrapped around his waist and her scent on his skin—give Ron that insolent once-over she knew he could deploy to great effect.

"That came out wrong. I didn't mean—" Ron shook his head and dropped onto her sofa, putting his head in his hands. "Everything's come out wrong for so long." He looked up. "I meant that I'm happy for you. That you have this nice place." He articulated very carefully. "Please, can we start over?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, a bit surprised at his words. "Fine." She sat in the chair opposite the sofa, arms crossed.

His next words surprised her even more. "Look, before I say anything or, uh, tell you—what I came to." He took a deep breath. "I want to apologise, Hermione."

"Bit late for it." She wasn't going to give him an inch.

"I know. I know it is. And I've wanted to for a long time, but I've been—I had no idea how to even start. And I was angry. For a long time. It felt like you got all our friends in the split. All the sympathy. Even some of my bloody family." A familiar self-pity crept into his words.

"What you did was incredibly shitty and decent people tend to recognise that," she bit out.

He sat up, eyes starting to spark. "I know that!" But then he slumped back. "I do. And I am sorry. Truly sorry it happened the way it did." Blue flashed at her and she saw sincerity there. "But you know better than anyone how bad those last years were. How unhappy we were."

"You mean you were."

"Oh, come on!" He shook his head doggedly. "You were the same. You were just better able to distract yourself with work and books and everything else."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but then stopped and closed her eyes. It was true and she knew it. She'd said as much to others after the split. "That's fair, I guess," she finally said. "Although it in no way excuses your behaviour."

"No." He looked at his shoes and a silence stretched in the room.

Hermione sighed. This was as close as he was going to get to admitting wrongdoing, wasn't it? Some things never changed.

"Want some tea?" she asked, weary again.

"Yeah, OK." He looked up and Hermione rose to go to the kitchen. After a moment she heard him follow her. She could sense him still looking around, still taking it in. And it was so strange to have him here: at once so familiar and so foreign.

Hermione set up the kettle and pulled down two mugs.

"Hey, you old bugger. How do you like the digs?" She turned to see Ron bending to give Crookshanks a pat. "Never thought I'd miss him," he said, straightening with a tentative smile.

"He certainly doesn't miss you," Hermione said tartly. "He gets his whole own side of the bed now."

Ron barked a laugh, but it cut off as his eyes went to the pile of parchment sitting on her counter.

Shite, she hadn't had a chance to tidy away the drafts of her notes to Draco. And his notes to her were also in the pile. On the top, in fact. And Ron was clearly beginning to read them, a frown furrowing his brow. Hermione leapt across the kitchen and snatched the papers away, gathering them to her chest defiantly.

"Are those from him?" Ron's look of disbelief fired Hermione's anger again. "Are you really—? With Draco fucking Mal—"

"No," Hermione said. "We are not talking about this."

"But he—! It's—" Ron's face had gone bright red and twisted. "It's wrong, not to mention disgus—"

Hermione held up a rigid finger. "One more word, Ronald Weasley, and I will turf you out. You have no idea what you're talking about and you do not get to comment. You do not get to have an opinion about what's wrong or disgusting. You don't even think about it. Do you hear?" She stepped forward until she was almost jabbing him in the chest. She could feel her magic crackling off her skin. "You have no right."

He sucked in an angry breath and for a moment Hermione thought this was it—she was going to have to throw him out—but then he exhaled, "Fine." He rubbed his eyes and hung his head.

Hermione took a small step back, watching him warily. He looked up and she thought she saw a hint of moisture in his eyes. "Why were we so angry at each other?" he asked quietly. "Those last years it felt like we weren't even friends anymore."

"We weren't. We aren't."

Ron took an aggrieved breath, but Hermione barreled on.

"We've always known how to push each others' buttons," she said, years of unhappy memories at the ready in her mind: from sobbing in Harry's arms after the Yule Ball to the palaver at trivia night a few weeks ago.

Part of her healing over the last year had been realising that the bad times with Ron had consistently outnumbered the good.

"Right," he muttered.

"And we never seemed to want the same things at the same time." Hermione continued. She'd kept this bottled up for so long. "My career. Your lack thereof. Your aversion to change. Your lack of interest in, well, anything other than Quidditch and what your mum was making for Sunday lunch."

"Hey now, that's not—"

"It's true!" Hermione spread her arms wide.

"See this is exactly what you do, you steamroll me so I can't get a word in edgewise!" Ron also flung his arms out.

"Then what do you want to say, Ronald? You came all the way here in all your pomp and circumstance." Hermione made a sarcastic little bow. "I will recede into silence and let you speak your piece."

Ron looked at her for several beats, his eyes like chips of glass.

"Lorna's pregnant and we're getting married in February. There'll be something about it in the Prophet this week."

Hermione's hand shot out and gripped the counter. She looked at the floor and it seemed to rush up toward her.

Pregnant.

Married.

What?

"But you never wanted—" Hermione heard her own faltering words as if from far away, all of her righteous anger suddenly frozen. "You didn't want children. Or to be married."

'And if we're not having kids, there's no reason to spend the money on a wedding. Marriage is just a piece of paper, 'Mione. Harry and Ginny have the right idea.' Hermione remembered Ron's almost-jovial declaration like it was yesterday, instead of several years ago after they'd had 'the talk' a few years into their relationship. And, yes, she'd gone along with it, but not because she wanted the same things, because she'd known the alternative would be losing him. She'd made that choice and it had been agonising.

"People change." Rons words and his accompanying shrug brought Hermione zooming back to the present moment, where she felt a sudden urge to hit him, scratch at him. Instead she tightened her grip on the counter.

"You don't change," she whispered. "You just didn't want those things with me. You didn't want to marry me. You didn't want to have children with me."

Ron closed his eyes. "Gods, Hermione!" He wheeled away and Hermione felt the strangest combination of emotions crash through her—on the one hand indifference because this man, this stranger, wasn't even a part of her life anymore—and on the other a wounding as deep as any she'd sustained.

Overlying it all was a profound sense of shock.

Not with me. Not with  me .

"We were together for nine years," she whispered.

"Hermione, come on! We weren't right for each other. That's the bottom line. And maybe me putting it off and claiming I didn't want those things was immature, but in some way I think I was trying to protect us. Keep us from something we couldn't get out of."

Self-congratulatory coward.

"This is a lot," she whispered, almost to herself. "I wasted nine— and you're just—" She looked up, utterly shellshocked.

But then a rustle of paper made her look down again. She was still clutching Draco's notes in one hand.

Draco.

The idea of him broke in on her consciousness like a beam of clear light in a dense fog. She kept looking at the parchment page, eyes running over the bold strokes of his pen, lips moving along with the simple words he'd written.

"Hermione?" Ron started toward her, but she wheeled away.

"Kettle's boiled." She shoved the notes in a drawer and started opening cupboards and biscuit cartons, her mind a complete muddle.

"Look Hermione, I want to try to mend this. That's why I came. Well, that and Ginny said— But, that's neither here nor there. I'm here now and I want to do whatever it takes to put this behind us. Figure things out with Harry too. Before it's too late. I don't want it to tear us apart permanently."

Hermione's hands stilled and her eyes closed. "I agree," she said. "I want to put it behind us too."

"Right? It's too many years to just throw away. I think—"

But Ron's thought was interrupted as the doorbell chimed for the second time that morning.

***

Draco breathed in a fine, cold lungful of London air and put some speed in his pace. He was almost to Hermione's street, his eagerness to see her bubbling through him like a strong dose of Pepper Up.

He broke into a smile, and an older witch passing by with a little dog skipped a step as she caught sight of him.

"Good morning," Draco said, beaming.

"Oh, my." Her fluttery response had Draco shaking his head a bit, although he didn't break his stride, finally rounding the bend and spotting Hermione's building in the middle of the crescent. He glanced up at the wintery sun, still low in the sky. Perhaps it was a bit early, but Pansy had said something last night about Hermione being knackered, so Draco figured she'd been early to bed and early to rise.

And frankly he couldn't wait another moment to see her.

He patted the slim box under his arm, which contained the scarf he'd bought in Pansy's shop several weeks ago. It was close enough to Christmas now to give it to Hermione and he wanted to see it around her lovely neck as they strolled in the park or ate an indulgent lunch. And then he wanted to take her back to her flat and slip it off, maybe see it elsewhere—wrapped around her wrists or a bedpost, trailing over her…

"Ahem." Draco cleared his throat as he arrived at her door. It wouldn't do to be in a complete state before he'd even said hello; he wanted to spend time with her before he succumbed to lust. Hear how her interview had gone, get the update on the nefarious Grindylows that had taken her away again this week—although the note she'd sent to tell him she'd be gone had been sweet, and warmed Draco's heart more than he cared to admit.

The grin stole over his face again as he reached out a gloved finger to ring her bell.

One echoing chime, then the door yanked open and she was there.

Beautiful in pyjamas and her dressing gown, hair gathered on top of her head and spilling over, a few curls just brushing her neck. Draco focused on one and the soft inch of skin it was tickling. He wanted to kiss the spot posthaste.

"Hi," he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up. "I was just nowhere near your neighbourhood."

"Oh!" Hermione's sharp exhale brought Draco out of fantasy and into focus. He saw that she looked startled. More than startled. Alarmed.

A slip of uneasiness unfurled in his chest and his smile faded. "I hope I'm not—"

"No! I—" She looked over her shoulder and Draco's uneasiness solidified.

"Is everything all right?" Draco craned his neck to look behind her.

"It's fine." She looked round again. "This just isn't the best—"

"'Mione, where's your Tetley's? You know I don't like this poncy loose-leaf stuff." Draco froze as a lanky, ginger form came into view. He felt the blood drain from his face as he fully took in what he realised was a very domestic scene.

What the fuck was going on?

Hermione seemed to have frozen too, her gaze darting between Draco and the Weasel, who had now spotted Draco, his eyes narrowing to slits.

He stepped right behind Hermione and looked down with what felt like a possessive, triumphant air. "What's he doing here?"

"Ron!" Hermione spun and glared at him as Draco fought down a strong impulse to step around her and hit the overly-tall wanker.

"Are you OK, Hermione?" Draco asked, forcing himself to be perfectly calm, but feeling his insides coming to a boil.

She turned back and her face softened. "I'm fine, yes. This just isn't the best time."

"That's right." Weasley crossed his arms and Draco's teeth ground together.

Hermione whirled around again. "Will you please?" She pointed toward the living room.

"All right." The Weasel went, but not before directing a long, challenging look at Draco.

Draco tore his eyes away. "You're sure you're all right?" he asked.

"Yes, I am. We're just—in the middle of something. Can we talk later? I'll owl you."

Draco fought a sinking feeling as she looked down the hall toward where the Weasel had gone. "Of course," he said. "I do have to go to France tomorrow for a few days. Tie up some loose ends on that big case I've been working on. But when I get back?"

"Oh. OK."

Did she seem disappointed? Or was that relief in her tone?

"Where's your sugar, 'Mione?" Weasley's stupid voice sounded from the kitchen. Stupid nickname too. Draco would never…

She half turned with a pained sigh, and the last thing Draco wanted to do was add to her burden, so he just gave a weak facsimile of a smile and took a few steps back. "You seem busy. I'll see you later, all right?"

"OK." She was still distracted, but then she looked back with a sort of beseeching frown. "I will be in touch, Draco."

He nodded and she started to shut the door, but not before Draco heard the Weasel again. "Is he gone?" His sneering tone was overloud. "Come on and let's work this out. It's done and I want us to—"

The firm click of the door cut off his words, but the sinking feeling increased in Draco's stomach—especially when he heard Hermione's muffled response. "Ron, if we're going to do this—"

Everything faded to silence and Draco reeled away, all the brightness snuffed from the day. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the polished toes of his boots before starting to walk, rapidly and mindlessly.

"Let's work this out. It's done and I want us to—"

Had Weasley split with his mouse? Had Draco walked in on his play to mend things with Hermione?

Mend the fabric?

Draco stopped and stared ahead, a little unprepared for how upsetting this was.

Because didn't she deserve that if it was what she wanted? Her life repaired and put back the way it had been? Back in the fold? Alone no longer.

But she hadn't been alone. Not anymore. He'd been— They'd been—

Draco hated the idea of Hermione accepting what that utter twat had done to her.

His wand hand clenched and he made himself start walking again.

But what did he know, really? They'd seen each other only a handful of times. It had been a scant three months since he'd stepped into the classroom to see her sitting there.

That didn't matter, though, did it? He slapped a palm against his thigh. He'd known it was different almost from the start. But he'd waffled for so long and now—

He jammed his hands through his hair. Shit. Maybe this was how it was always going to be. How she'd always seen it. Something temporary? Just sex. Forbidden fruit. Maybe even a way to get back at Weasley.

Then he pictured her laughing up at him next to the Thames, her hands on his lapels, face alight. That had been real, hadn't it?

"Fuck." He stopped as he reached the corner and glanced back toward her flat. He bloody needed to reel himself in. He wouldn't know anything until he talked to her.

Which was apparently going to be after she talked to Weasley.

"Fuck," he said again, fighting down the bile this raised in his throat before striding off blindly in the direction of the apparition spot.

***

Hermione had finally gotten rid of Ron sometime after lunch. Probably because she had nothing in the flat to eat—he'd exhausted her biscuit supply over the course of their talk and turned up his long nose at yoghurt and toast.

She'd been exhausted as he'd left. And a bit disgusted that she was still in her pyjamas.

She'd splashed some cold water on her face and brushed her teeth, but the quiet flat had seemed to press in on her, heavy with the revelations it had just witnessed. She'd felt restless, unsettled.

So she'd jammed her feet into her trainers, pulled on a sweatshirt and run out the door.

And she'd kept running. All the way to muggle London and Hyde park, where the trails were long and somewhat deserted on such a cold day. She'd run until her lungs had screamed in protest, then slowed to a walk and let her whirling thoughts slow too.

Ron getting married and having a child.

Ron apologising.

The idea that the hole he'd blown in their lives could be fixed. Or at least patched over.

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in

And stops my mind from wandering

Where it will goooo

Hermione hummed as she walked. The ground was littered with brown leaves nearly crumpled to mulch and the morning's sun had disappeared behind a bank of grey clouds.

Did she want to fix it?

She let out a huge sigh and looked up at the bare branches of the trees arching over the muddy path.

Yes, yes she did. For Harry and Ginny and Charlie and Arthur and Molly—and for herself. She'd never be as close to Ron as she'd been. Of course not. He was going to be someone else's husband, a father to children who weren't hers. And she wouldn't forget the fact that he'd betrayed her, pulled the rug out from under their whole bloody lives.

But they could be…something. Forge something. A friendship based on their common cause (Harry) and shared experiences.

They could forgive each other.

After all, what had they really been? Childhood sweethearts joined on a wisp of adolescent longing who grew in wildly different directions then stayed together out of habit.

That was the nutshell.

No passion. No spark. Even in the beginning it had been just a slight adjustment of going from friends to couple.

Compare it to—

Draco.

Hermione brushed at a curl whipping across her forehead on the icy breeze that had come up. What she had with him was so different from the tangled ball of hurt and hostility that was her relationship with Ron.

It was unencumbered. Stimulating. Joyful.

Just the lack of resentful silences alone…

A manic urge to giggle seized her and she stopped in the middle of the path.

And when he'd shown up earlier. Like she'd bloody conjured him. "I was just nowhere near your neighbourhood." God. So beautiful that she'd felt real physical regret that bloody Ron was there and she had to have it out with him in that particular moment. That she couldn't just pull Draco through the door and show him how happy she was to see him.

And then Ron had been a right dick.

But she'd make it up to Draco. She'd explain—about how wonderful he made her feel and how freeing that feeling was.

"I don't have to hang on to this," she'd said to Ron after Draco had left.

"What?" Ron had sounded confused as he'd looked up from stirring the habitual three spoonfuls of sugar into his tea.

"I don't have to take it on." She'd looked at him, lightness stealing over her. "You, your marriage, your child. None of it has anything to do with me."

"Well no," Ron had started, but Hermione had walked away, her mind clearing, settling.

It wasn't like she had any desire for that life with Ron anymore—baby on her hip, bitterness in her heart, bored out of her mind—especially now that she'd glimpsed a new one.

She was over Ron.

Totally and truly.

And thank god. He could go off and marry his twenty-year old and have as many ginger children as he liked.

It was nothing to do with her.

She was fine with it.

In fact, she was fucking grand.

She'd almost laughed aloud in Ron's face with the giddiness of it. Now she put her hand to her mouth and whooped, startling a small flock of pigeons. They fluttered up and her heart went with them.

She suddenly wanted to talk to Draco. Badly. Show him what he meant to her. Be honest with him like Neville had said—about what she wanted and what they could be.

Because for her it had definitely moved beyond casual.

Did he want more too? "I don't want to let you go." He'd said it teasingly, but it had felt like something real.

She made an excited noise and whipped around on the trail, moving quickly in the direction she'd come, almost breaking into a run again at the idea of seeing him. Then she looked down at her now sweaty and mud-flecked self.

But maybe after a shower?

She laughed out loud before she continued on.

***

Hermione was finally clean and nearly dressed when her doorbell rang again. She hurried into the hall, her heart giving a mad little leap. Could Draco have come back?

But it was Ginny. Looking worried with a bakery box under one arm and a carrier bag in the other.

"I've got a Victoria Sponge and sparkling wine," she said, holding both up. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, actually. Come in!"

"OK, but just for a mo. I've also got strict instructions to bring you back to Grimmauld. Harry's making dinner." Ginny stepped just inside the door. "Blimey, you do look loads more chipper than I expected." She peered at Hermione.

"I really am OK." Hermione realised her plan for hunting down Draco and spending the rest of the evening with him might be fading. "Was Harry very worried?"

"We both were!" Ginny shook her head. "My twat of a brother. But yes, Potter has been beside himself. I'm not sure if this is going to help or harm things with him and Ron."

"Ugh. Sounds like I need to prove I'm in one piece."

"Are you?"

"I am. Truly. It was a shock at first, but a few things, um, helped me put it in perspective." Hermione felt her face warm and Ginny, who had been regarding her with a sympathetic frown, suddenly squinted like a hound scenting a hare.

"You've bloody slept with him since I last saw you!" She pointed at Hermione.

"Erm."

"Oh my ruddy gods, why didn't you tell me!? Right, I need to hear everything. We'll have one of these here." She started digging in the carrier bag, then fished out a bottle of wine. "Potter had to go over to the Ministry and pick up some files anyway. He won't miss us for a few minutes. And his delicate ears won't miss this subject matter either." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Cast a cooling? Yours is better than mine." She was already striding for the kitchen and Hermione had no choice but to trail after her, vaguely wishing she'd got out the door to Draco's a few minutes sooner…

***

"Babe, we're home!" Ginny called as she and Hermione trundled through the floo at Grimmauld Place, red-faced and giggly.

"In the kitchen!" Harry's voice floated down the hall.

"Where you belong," Ginny growled. She winked at Hermione. "My house husband."

"Heyyy." Harry turned away from the hob as they barreled into the kitchen.

"Husband?" Hermione mouthed over Ginny's head at him. Decidedly tipsy, she wasn't the most subtle and Ginny saw her do it, then cackled a laugh.

"Oh, he let the cat out of the bag. Or more accurately the ring box fell out of his work bag and I found it?" Ginny scratched her head in an exaggerated way, while Hermione sputtered and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

Ginny went over and put her arms around him. "No one expected you to pull off an elaborate and secret proposal, darling. It's fine."

"Oh my god, you two!" Hermione, who had been indiscriminately cracking up, finally managed to form words. "So are you, like, officially—?"

"No, no. We're still going to do it in the garden at The Burrow on Christmas morning," Ginny said. "It will give mum such a thrill. Not that she's had any shortage of those lately."

"Right, the news of a wedding and grandchild in quick succession must have chuffed her to bits." Hermione went to the counter. "Can I chop something?" she asked Harry.

His glasses glinted as he directed a long look at her. "You seem…OK…about everything. Or is it the booze?" He arched a brow at Ginny.

"The booze and the co—" Ginny started to crow.

"I'll just start on this onion, will I!" Hermione sent Ginny a severe glare and she subsided into giggles.

Harry looked between them. "Clearly I need to catch up," he said. "Pour me a glass of wine, Gin? A big one."

"Coming right up!" Ginny started faffing with the cork as Hermione tried to get control of the situation.

"I'm actually fine. Truly," she said to Harry in the calmest, most even tone she could muster. "Ron. I mean, he shocked me with the news. And at first I was a little upset. But very quickly I realised that I didn't have to be. Yes—" She held up a hand as Harry started to speak. "I am still angry about what happened before. And what he did. I'm not on some radical forgiveness train and as far as I'm concerned he can stew on that for the rest of his life. But I don't want what they have now. I don't want to be in her position. I don't want that with him." She shook her head rapidly. "I'd be desperately unhappy! He and I were toxic together. Terrible for each other. And I've—I've made a life for myself this past year. A life that I really like. With some rather exciting things happening in it. Why would I want to go backward?"

"'Rather exciting,' yuh," Ginny snorted.

"OK, what are you talking about?" Harry rounded on both of them and crossed his arms.

"My Department of Mysteries application! And my flat. And—"

"And a certain reformed ferret with a talent for—"

"Ginny!" Both Harry and Hermione yelled it and she stopped, looking like she'd swallowed a bug.

"Sorry, I'll be good," she mumbled, not sounding sorry at all. She passed around three large glasses. "But cheers to all that!"

They drank deeply and then Harry said, "Duelling, right?"

Hermione frowned at him.

"A talent for duelling?" His eyes twinkled and Hermione gasped a laugh. Ginny let out a loud guffaw, which set them all off.

"And teaching," Hermione managed to say a few moments later, swiping at her eyes. "Don't forget teaching."

"Uh huh." Harry turned back to this stew pot. "I just saw him, you know," he tossed over his shoulder. "At the office. He said he was off to France to wrap up that Olsen case."

"Right," Hermione said. "He's heading out tomorrow for a few days." She wondered when exactly Draco was leaving. Perhaps she could catch him in the morning…

"No, he was off tonight. Had his bag and case materials and was taking the department portkey. In a bit of a hurry, actually." Harry threw a liberal pinch of salt in the pot.

"Oh?" Hermione felt a twinge of unease. "I was sure he said—" She blinked. "But no mind. I guess I'll just…catch up with him when he gets back."

"I'll bet you will," Ginny gurgled into her wine.

Chapter Text

Draco banked hard for the line of low hills lining the horizon and flung himself into a series of tight twists. Just before the dizziness got sickening, he stopped and yanked his broom upward toward the wispy clouds that drifted over the cold midday sky. After a few seconds he dropped back over his right shoulder, falling into a steep dive toward the endless rows of his aunt's Cinsault vineyards. Pruned for winter, the vines were bare and spiky—a good illustration of his thoughts.

Draco grimaced as he braced himself to pull out of the dive. He'd arrived here early yesterday evening, after the rather bitter realisation that he had no reason to stay in London for the rest of the day. Hermione was obviously busy and Pansy was holed up with her gardener. Theo was away at a bloody dragon sanctuary and Blaise was already in France on business. So Draco had gathered his things and gone to the DMLE office for the standing portkey to the Ministère des Affaires Magiques, then took the floo network to Avignon and finally to the Black Chateau, where he'd surprised Lucretia at the beginning of a dinner party. She'd reacted with her usual aplomb, directing the elves to set another place and introducing Draco to the small, but interesting group dotting her table. Draco had managed to join in with composure (though he'd rather have retreated to his usual rooms to brood), but felt himself removed from the laughter and conversation.

He was on edge. His mind had persisted in zooming back to the morning, to Weasley's possessive air and Hermione's apparent turmoil. She'd assured him she was fine but Draco kept see-sawing between not believing her and believing her a little too much.

What had Weasley been doing there? What had they been talking about that was so important? Why had she been in her pyjamas? When Draco had chanced by Potter in the hallway at the Ministry earlier, it had taken every ounce of his self-control not to shout these questions at him, though he knew Potter was highly unlikely to give him the answers. Also, Potter had seemed ignorant of everything. There had been no probing looks or cryptic statements or gentle jokes. He'd actually seemed in a hurry to get away. Draco was really trying not to read anything into that.

When dinner was over, Draco had made his excuses to Lucretia's guests and slunk off to his rooms. He'd stayed awake late into the night, ostensibly reading, but actually drinking cognac by the light of the fireplace and trying to convince himself that nothing was going on with Granger and Weasley. Or at least that if something were going on, Draco would quickly get over it and Granger and continue on with his life unruffled.

He was not having much success.

He was so annoyed with himself for breaking his own rules of engagement! If he hadn't let himself get in so deep with Granger, none of this would have happened. He should have kept his usual distance and his tried and tested ground rules.

"Fuck," he muttered in the stillness of his room, knowing (not so) deep down what a complete load of rubbish that was. Almost from the beginning he hadn't had a choice. Hadn't wanted a choice. He still bloody didn't.

By midnight, he was quite drunk and it seemed a good idea to owl Blaise. Then he'd passed out in the chair and woken early with a blistering headache and a crick in his neck.

Bloody lovely.

Draco rolled his neck now, gathering himself to do some sprints along the icy riverbed bordering the vineyards. His headache, thanks gods, had flown with the wind, which was up and bitingly cold. Whipping through his hair and howling around his broom, Draco crouched low against it and tightened his gloved hands, pushing himself faster and faster, his face aching despite the warming charm he'd cast.

After ten or so turns back and forth, he spotted a tall, black-clad figure striding along the row of poplars that edged Lucretia's formal gardens. Draco waved and it waved back, so he changed course to skim across the manicured lawns and fallow flower beds, meeting Blaise at the place where cultivated land gave way to wilderness.

"Very quick pace!" Blaise called. "Impressive! Is that a new bristle coating or are you just on form?"

Draco grunted as he landed, his sour expression deepening. "Neither," he muttered.

Blaise's brows went up. "Madame Black said you were working out some frustrations…"

Draco grunted again and Blaise frowned in earnest.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Between this and the midnight owl..."

Draco just looked at him as he shouldered his broom and turned them back up toward the house.

"Granger?" Blaise ventured after a few silent steps.

Draco glowered at the ground.

"You don't have to tell me," Blaise said after several more moments of silence. "But it might make you feel better."

"I went by her flat yesterday morning and Weasley was already there."

"What!?" Blaise's dark eyes flashed toward him. "How early in the morning?"

"Early enough."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"Do you think they're— Are they back together or something?"

Draco's stomach swooped unpleasantly. "I don't know. Maybe? Or not." He made a sound of frustration and shook his head.

"Well, what did she say!?"

"Just that it was a bad time. I didn't press her."

"Whyever not?"

"I turned up unexpectedly. She was flustered, possibly upset. I didn't want to…compound anything."

"Right. Well, fuck." Blaise shook his head. "What do you think was going on?"

Draco combed through the well-worn memory. Granger's nervous face and her apologetic voice. The darting flutter of her hands. "I truly don't know. Weasley was acting like a right cunt, but that's nothing out of the ordinary."

Blaise snorted. "And Hermione?"

"She was distracted. Very sorry. She assured me she was OK and said she'd be in touch soon."

"Damn. And you're here until?"

"At least Tuesday. Possibly Wednesday depending on how quickly things go."

"She knows that?"

"Yeah, I told her."

"Shit." Blaise shook his head again as they started up the stone steps to the Chateau's back entrance. "That's a long time to wait. Although maybe it's good to give her some space?"

"Maybe." Draco opened the massive glass doors and gestured Blaise in through the library. "That's why I'm hoping you can distract me by coming to dinner in Aix and helping me drink too much."

"You're on." Blaise smiled and Draco cracked a weak smirk in return.

Their steps echoed through the opulent house. It felt empty and Draco remembered Lucretia had said something about going to visit a friend in Paris this afternoon.

They started up one of the grand staircases toward Draco's rooms and Blaise shot Draco a look as they climbed. "Do you want me to talk to Penelope about it?" he asked. "She's been away for a bit, and I don't know if she's seen Hermione, but she might know something."

Draco was torn. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Part of me thinks it's ridiculous because it's such early days. Running around asking her friends what's going on. Getting worked up."

Blaise seemed to weigh Draco's words. "But you're serious about her. It's different when it's like that."

Draco's shoulders dropped. "Yeah."

"Listen, I'll feel it out with Pen." Blaise said. "She'll shut me down if she thinks it's none of my business."

"Right, OK." But Draco felt defeated somehow.

Blaise clapped him on the back. "Let's have a drink before we go," he said. "We getting a table at L'Heure Magique?" He named one of their favourite restaurants in the nearby city's wizarding quarter.

"That or somewhere casual in the Cours Mirabeau." Draco countered with a much livelier muggle suggestion. "Maybe find some live music. Drink some wine."

"All right." Blaise nodded, giving Draco a slightly searching look before he suddenly grinned. "After you get out of those sweaty clothes, of course."

***

He was melting into her, tasting the nectar of her lips and falling over and over into the softness of her skin, her hair, her honeyed scent. His cock was buried in her sweetness, but he was moving slowly, savouring her warmth. 'You feel so good, so good,' he chanted like a penitent. She breathed a laugh. 'You feel better. Draco. Oh Draco.' She arched and her breath caught and the rightness was what struck him. The perfection of it all. He couldn't get enough, would never get enough. He looked into her eyes and the feeling overwhelmed him. 'I—I lo—,'

"Hermione?" Draco's own groan pulled him awake and he blinked, fingers rushing to his throbbing temples.

It was pitch black and he could smell a waft of fine lavender coming from the bedclothes tangled around his limbs. Lucretia's. The Chateau. His room. His bed with the heavy velvet curtains that draped over the massive oak frame. He pushed at them and a wash of thin moonlight filtered across his face.

Gods, he'd been dreaming. Dreaming of—

Perfect happiness?

He blinked at the bed canopy and then toward an ornate clock just visible on the mantlepiece. Only three hours since he'd gone to sleep (it had been a rather rowdy night with Blaise) and just over an hour until he had to be up. Then the Paris office a scant hour after that. He pushed a hand through his hair, images from the dream, feelings from the dream still engulfing him. Gods, it had been good, physically and in his…heart? His hand slid down and rested there where he could feel a quiet thump.

Did he—?

Was he—?

Fuck.

He blew out a long sigh in the darkness and wondered how the hell he was going to get on.

***

"This place is adorable!" April squealed, looking around at the fantastical woodland decor that made the room they were in feel like something out of Alice in Wonderland. She toed at the faux-moss woven into the carpet. "I can't believe this is the no-maj, er muggle, part of town."

"Wait until you see the toilets," Hermione smirked. "No, I'll say no more." She held up a hand.

"OK." April giggled as two elegant cocktails were set before them by a pink-suited waiter. "I'm so glad you agreed to meet," she said after they'd admired the drinks and exchanged sips. "I've been feeling kind of bad about how I acted last week. With you and Prof Ch—, er, Draco." She grimaced.

"Oh, god. Don't worry—" Hermione pushed down the niggle of unease that bloomed as soon as April said Draco's name. She wondered what he was doing right now and suppressed a sigh. It was Sunday afternoon and she was having a nice drink with a new friend. She'd just focus on that. She'd been glad to get an owl from April this morning about meeting up. It was a perfect excuse to get out of her flat, which had begun to seem awfully empty—very much in contrast to her increasingly full mind.

"No, Forrest pointed out that I may have been a little overeager. And he was right. I just—I think I miss my friends and my sisters and there's a cultural difference and I just got excited. But I'm really sorry if I made you feel bad or awkward."

"You didn't make me feel bad and any awkwardness was very mild, but thank you. And I'm sorry you're missing your friends and family. We should have done this sooner." Hermione vowed to get April together with Pen and Ginny. "In fact, my friend Penelope and I do a kickboxing class near here most weeks. Our work travel schedules have been insane lately, but we should be picking it up again soon. Would you like to join? Or would that be supporting the competition?" Hermione sipped her martini with a smile.

"No, no we don't plan to offer kickboxing, and I'd love to, thank you!" April's eyes were bright.

"Brilliant. It's on Tuesdays and we leave from the Ministry around five.

"This Tuesday?"

"Noo. Pen is still out. Next week for sure, though."

"Great!" April pulled out a very muggle-looking diary and marked down the date in it.

"What's it been like?" Hermione asked, watching as she closed the cover and slipped the book back into her bag. "Moving to another country? I've always wanted to do it myself, but it's never quite happened." Being with Ron for a decade would do that to a person.

"Truthfully? It's been a little lonely. And I've been surprised how wrong-footed I can feel, even though our cultures are similar and our languages the same." April's brows flicked up. "As you've seen."

"Stop!" Hermione laughed, but then touched her hand to April's. "I'm sorry you've felt lonely."

"Aw, thank you. I guess it's not that bad. Forrest is my best friend and Anthony and Hannah had us over—they're great. Forrest met these Quidditch buddies and they're a lot of fun. I've just been so wrapped up in getting the gym off the ground that I haven't had much time to go out and meet people for myself."

"Well, let's remedy that soon. I'll talk to Penelope and my other girlfriend Ginny and we'll get up a girls night."

"Awesome, thank you!"

"And the gym is opening soon, right? You'll meet heaps of people that way."

"First week of January. Just in time to take advantage of everyones' new years resolutions."

"Brilliant. I'll be the first to sign up." Hermione clinked her glass to April's and they laughed.

"So, can I ask, in a chill and totally calm manner, how things are going with you and the prof?" April asked. She put up her palm. "Tell me as much or as little as you want, although I will share that he was so cute on Thursday when you weren't in class. I kept catching him looking at your empty chair."

Hermione bit her lip. "They're great. Really great. We've had a couple of just lovely dates and we have a lot in common. He's intelligent and interesting and funny." It was nice to discuss her relationship with Draco with someone who knew so little about their past.

"Not to mention incredibly hot."

"Yes, I appreciate that too. Very much. And when I'm with him I'm so… things between us have been so—" Hermione grinned as April started to chuckle, but then she flashed to Saturday morning and her smile faltered. "At least. Er—"

"What?" April leaned forward.

"Nothing. Just a small possible miscommunication? But it'll clear up once I see him."

"Oh no, have you not seen him since you got back?"

"No, I did. Yesterday." Hermione stared into the shimmering depths of her drink.

"Dude, why are you frowning like that?"

"Was I? Oh." Hermione reached up and rubbed her brow, then made a snap decision to tell April what had happened with Draco and Ron Saturday morning. It would be good to get a true outsider's perspective. All Ginny had done was rail about Ron's idiocy and Harry and hadn't had much to say about any of it.

She ran through the bare bones finishing with, "So he's in France now. Left earlier than I thought he would, actually. But I'm sure that's neither here nor there." She looked at April, who had gone totally silent. "What?"

"He dropped by in the morning and your ex was there and you didn't explain?"

"No, no it wasn't like that! My ex is also my joint best friend with Harry—you know that 'Golden Trio' nonsense? He's the third. Ron Weasley?"

"Ohh yeah, I'd forgotten there was a third."

"Story of Ron's life—at least that's what he'd tell you. Anyway, he has this huge family and Harry is engaged to his sister, who incidentally is the Ginny I've been mentioning, and his brother Charlie is one of my other best friends and his parents are like my second mum and dad and—" Hermione paused to take a breath.

"So there's a lot of history."

"Right!" Hermione said, relieved. "And our breakup was rough. It tore all of that apart. He acted unforgivably." She shook her head. "And he's been a right prat lately too. So there's no way anyone could think that we would be, what, talking about getting back together? Ew." She shuddered. "No."

April sucked some of her tall, frosty drink through her straw. "You sure about that?"

"Of course! I mean any talk between Ron and me was going to be about our friendship and how we move forward not as a couple."

"Hermione you were alone in your house with your fairly recent ex-partner of a decade on a Saturday morning." April let the words hang in the air before pointing a frilled toothpick across the table. "And when Draco got there you told him it was a bad time and asked him to leave?"

"I didn't ask him to leave! He volunteered and I said I'd be in touch. I emphasised it!"

"You'd be in touch."

"Yes!"

April was shaking her head.

"Why are you shaking your head!?"

"Think about what it looked like to him." April held up a hand. "No, stop explaining it to me and just think about what it looked like to him."

Ron's posturing, her own scatteredness. The way Draco had seemed when she'd opened the door versus how he'd looked when he'd turned away. The early departure for his trip.

"Shit," she said.

"How much does it cost to send an owl to France?" April signalled the waiter for another round.

"A lot. It would be rather a grand gesture." Hermione thought of that howler she'd witnessed and shook her head. "And might be strange if he's in the middle of work or a family thing. Besides, what would I say?"

"'Whatever it is you think you saw on Saturday morning, wasn't that. Ron and I are not getting back together. Can't wait to see you as soon as you get back.'" April parroted.

"But what if that's not what he's thinking? It could be so awkward and overblown! I'd really rather talk to him in person."

"True. I agree in-person is better. I'm just saying it could be risky to wait."

"He'll be back day after tomorrow. At least I think that's what I think he said." Hermione accepted a second drink from the waiter with thanks. "Oh! Or I could ask Harry. He'll know as soon as Draco's in the office."

"Perfect. Put him on the alert and then get your skinny ass over there the minute the Portkey stops spinning."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself.

"I'm not kidding." April said. "Make it a priority. I can tell by the way you talk about Draco that you really care about him. Aside from his more obvious attributes."

Hermione snorted but then went quiet. "It's true. I do." Another thing she wanted to talk to him about.

"And he's clearly taken with you. Once you clear up this minor situation, you'll be golden." April held her glass out and they clinked again. Hermione dearly hoped she was right.

"Now. Enough heavy stuff," April said. "I want to know the exact minute you decided you were hot for him. Was it class three? My money's on class three."

Hermione leaned forward. "Actually, there was this Potions lab our sixth year of school…"

***

Draco adjusted the sheaf of folders in his robed arms as he strode out of the French office of magical law enforcement Monday evening. Eight hours of pure, highly focused, extremely intense work had him feeling (almost) like a new man.

Remember how good work is for making you forget, old chap?

He shook his head slightly as he walked. 'Forget' wasn't quite the right word. 'Repress', perhaps? Or 'postpone?' Anyway, the meetings had been highly productive and at least he felt excellent about the impact this case seemed to be having. New international protocols and cooperation decrees were springing up like mushrooms and they would put a real damper on these international trafficking rings, maybe even stamp them out altogether. Draco was quite proud of the part he was playing in the process.

He'd like to tell Hermione all about it.

Bugger.

He was frowning as he exited the long corridor and emerged into the soaring Ministère des Affaires Magiques atrium, glancing up as he always did to marvel at it's light-filled ceiling, soaring in airy contrast to the British ministry's squat, underground stolidity. He was still looking upward when a soft, lilting voice hailed him, but he crashed to earth very quickly, his frown turning into a scowl.

"Draco! What are you doing in France?" Monique, chic pearl-grey robes impeccable, looked surprised and a little too pleased to see him. Draco pulled in a discreet fortifying breath.

"I could ask you the same thing." He resisted the urge to fold his arms. Or walk away. "I thought you were in England for a time," he continued stiffly. In England to complicate my life in annoying ways. Although maybe it wouldn't matter now— Draco stifled that thought and lifted his brows.

"Oh, I am just here for the day. I must register my absence from France and complete some paperwork. You?"

"Here for a case."

"Ah. The same one?"

"Yes." Draco wanted to shift his feet, but forced himself to remain icily still.

"But I thought it was over?"

Draco wasn't doing this. "Just some odds and ends to tie up. Well." He gathered himself to go. "Good luck with your new position and London." He gave a quick nod and made to step around her.

"Draco, wait!" She spoke in French this time, which instantly sparked irritation; it reminded him so forcibly of those bloody howlers. Draco arranged his features in his remotest expression as he looked back at her.

"Are you free? Could we have a quick coffee?" She was still speaking French, nearly pleading with him.

Draco lowered his voice and replied in English. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Please." She stepped closer. "I want to apologise."

Draco did cross his arms now. "I'm not sure I need or want your apology." Monique's face pinked and she tossed the long sheet of her hair over her shoulder.

"I was in a bad place and I let myself take it out on you. I just want to explain." She stepped closer. "Please?" she said, in English this time. "There is a cafe just steps away."

Draco felt like people had started to look at them and he did not want to do this where all the Ministère was watching. The French loved a dramatic affaire de coeur a little too much. "Fine," he said. "But it will have to be quick. I'm meeting my aunt for dinner." A lie, but he didn't want to draw this out.

"Excellent. It's just this way."

***

"You know I didn't come to England for you." Monique was back to speaking French. "I'm sure it looked that way," she said with a little moue of embarrassment. "At your mother's."

"Quite." Draco took a small sip of his café serré.

Monique nibbled at the tarte she'd ordered along with her coffee."I needed a change of scene," she said with a sigh. "To get out of Aix and France. So when my aunt mentioned the departure of her assistant for maternity leave, I volunteered."

"Mmm." Draco nodded once and they sat in silence for several moments.

"I'm sure you could tell that I was rather overwrought at our breakup," Monique finally said, toying with a glittering diamond bracelet on her slender wrist.

Draco's jaw tightened. He hardly viewed the end of their dalliance as a 'breakup,' but he didn't fancy hashing the point out with her. "I was honest with you all along," he said evenly and also in French so she wouldn't misunderstand.

"Yes, you were." She looked down. "But can you blame me for trying when I wanted more?"

Draco steadied himself with a deep breath. "No, I wouldn't blame you for that. But I do take umbrage with abuse after the fact. The letters you sent embarrassed me. They were beyond the pale."

"I agree," she said in an almost-sob. "I am quite…ashamed…of my behaviour."

Good. Draco sipped his coffee silently.

"And I do, I do, apologise." Monique spread her hands on the table and leaned forward. "I'm very sorry, Draco."

Draco put down his cup. "Fine. Apology accepted."

He looked to the door, but Monique's hand shot out, not quite touching his. "Do you think we could be friends?" she asked. "I don't know many people in England."

Draco felt the look of disbelief cross his face and he started to shake his head, but she interjected. "Or maybe not friends—maybe it's too late for that. I guess I'm asking—do you think we could ever try again?" She gave him a borderline coquettish look through her lashes. "Now that you know how sorry I am?"

Draco could hardly believe he had found these tactics effective in the past. "No," he said flatly. "I'm seeing someone else. Although, even if I weren't…"

"I was too bad?"

Draco shrugged.

"Is it Pansy?"

"What?"

"The woman you're seeing."

"No."

"Is it serious?"

The question of the day. None of Monique's fucking business of course, but that didn't stop her words from slipping right under Draco's skin, pulling him back into the uncertainty over everything that had happened with Hermione. He ran an absent finger under his collar. The answer was a resounding 'yes,' at least for him.

Not that he was sharing any of that with the woman sitting across from him.

He cleared his throat. "I'm not discussing this."

Monique was tilting her head and giving him a very funny look. "All right," she finally said, then rose in a waft of something subtle and expensive. It brought back memories Draco didn't particularly care to explore.

He started to get up too.

"No, no!" She gestured him back down. "Finish your café. This is a nice place to wait until your dinner arrangement with Madame Black. Please, give her my regards."

She was out the door before Draco could respond.

He blinked at the abrupt change, then leaned forward to make sure she'd actually gone. He saw her cross the street to the apparition point and ascend the platform. She turned and gave him a small wave before she disappeared. Draco shook his head as he sat back in his chair.

It wasn't until he got up to go, two coffees and several file reviews later, that he noticed something sparkling from under Monique's chair.

"Oh, bloody hell," he whispered as he pocketed her bracelet.

***

Hermione skidded into her office agitated and out of breath. Her three o'clock meeting had run unbearably long and she'd rushed down from the conference rooms to see if anything had arrived from the DMLE. Harry had assured her (repeatedly, exasperatedly) he'd send word the moment Draco arrived and she'd been waiting all day and checking constantly, but there had been nothing. Now she scanned her desk, making a wordless noise of excitement when she saw the distinct blue of a DMLE memo scroll peeking out from under a sheaf of papers in her inbox.

She grabbed for it and began to unroll it just as Patricks from the southwest field team appeared in her doorway. Recently off assignment and with some pressing news about a Demiguise sighting in Bath, Hermione had to listen to him as he droned on (well maybe that was a bit unfair—Patricks was actually very succinct) about the containment procedure and his worry that the creature may have been the victim of a larger smuggling scheme. Hermione, at first nodding in the right places but with her attention still firmly fixed on the scroll clasped in her sweaty hand, soon became truly interested in what he was saying, firing off questions and jotting down notes. The blue scroll fell to the side as she started sketching out a rough investigation plan, although Penelope would likely take the matter over when she returned to the office. Thanking Patricks as he left and accepting his report, Hermione opened the document and combed through it, adding bits to the memo she was now preparing in order to debrief Pen.

It wasn't until almost an hour later that she looked up and stretched, her fingers brushing the scroll, which bounced to the floor.

"Shit!" Hermione exclaimed, blinking at the piece of paper then snatching it up.

No one interrupted her this time, and she soon revealed Harry's messy scrawl. "He's back. In his office (around the far corner from mine. door on the end) as of two o'clock."

Hermione's eyes flew to her watch. Ten past five, bollocks! She scrabbled for her bag, stuffing the memo-in-progress and several other documents into it. Maybe she could catch Draco as he was leaving. The plant she'd bought for him was in the corner under a sunlight spell and she Accioed it as she hurried out the door and down the corridor, shrugging into her coat and juggling everything else. The lifts that serviced the DMLE were across the main lobby from Magical Creatures and it could be a wait this time of day. She hoped against hope that she hadn't missed Draco, although she supposed she could return the favour of just turning up at his flat.

Hopefully he'd welcome that.

April's incredulous face floated before her eyes as she power-walked through the C&CMC offices and Hermione cursed herself for the hundredth time for being so dense on Saturday. Just a quick word and all this could have been avoided. Why was she so idiotic sometimes?

Hopefully he'd understand. Like his plant. Be happy to see her.

The lift dinged and she bustled in, smiling distractedly at a few acquaintances and rehearsing what she wanted to say to Draco. It wouldn't do to go straight in with a strong declaration, especially if he didn't seem put out. In that case, she'd say something light about how she hoped he hadn't gotten the wrong impression, haha. But. If he seemed miffed at all or god forbid, hurt, she'd go straight to the apology and reassurance. Explain exactly what had happened and why she had been such a dolt.

And then in either case she'd tell him how she felt about him. What she was hoping for and how excited she was for that.

The time for playing it safe was over.

Hermione didn't realise she'd been muttering under her breath until she caught an older witch smiling at her indulgently. Starting, she buttoned her lip tightly until the lift (finally finally) dinged for the lobby.

Rushing out with small nod, she kept her head down as she crossed the vast space toward the bank of lifts on the other side. She wanted no further distractions or conversations and picked up her pace until she was moving fast. Muttering to herself again, she didn't even see the security guard before she barreled into him.

"Miss!" He braced large hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, yes. I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking." Hermione took inventory of her person and her plant, neither of which seemed damaged.

"No harm to me." The man, massive and jovial, gave her a smile as he meandered away. "Just watch yourself," he called with a wave over his shoulder.

"Right." Hermione lifted a weak hand after him, but her eyes zoomed in on something else.

Tall, broad shoulders, the customary beautiful coat hanging just-so from them. Lovely straight back. That corona of bright hair. A surge of warmth enveloped Hermione and she started forward, her blood singing.

She hadn't missed him.

But as she walked, her lips forming the first syllable of his name, someone stepped out from in front of him.

Someone stunning.

Laughing up into his face with the most alluring smile, she was gorgeously and delicately curved and wearing a dress that looked like it cost more than Hermione made in a week. Long, shimmering blonde hair. An ineffable air that rendered Hermione totally unsurprised when she realised the woman was speaking French.

Hermione pivoted behind a line of potted palms and disillusioned herself in one motion, her breath short and her stomach somewhere near her toes.

She was too far away to hear much and she couldn't see Draco's face, but she caught a few words—she thought he was speaking French too. And then she definitely heard the woman say, "Foufou, Monique!" as she pointed at herself, then made as if to rest a flirtatious hand on Draco's lapel.

Monique. Who the fuck was Monique?

Hermione's eyes shut and a rushing started in her ears.

The woman kept talking and her voice was familiar. Of course. Hermione could almost hear it issuing from the pages of a smoking Howler. Although it had sounded a lot less happy then.

Had he arranged to see her in France? Was that why he'd left early? Had she come back with him?

Hermione's throat closed and she felt sick. But then she forced herself to breathe. Think. Think about how things weren't always what they seemed. Maybe she shouldn't read anything into this. At least not without talking to him first.

But then she saw Draco reach into his coat pocket and draw out what looked like a delicate rope of diamonds. Monique tinkled another laugh as he presented it to her. She took it with a seductive sweep of her eyelashes then held up her wrist with a soft word, laying the gorgeous bracelet over it.

Hermione didn't stick around to watch Draco do up the clasp.

Chapter Text

"Armand said you were here, but I didn't quite believe him!" Theo breezed into the back parlour at Nott House looking windblown and entirely too cheerful.

Draco grunted from the depths of an armchair, already two whiskies in. After the scene with Monique and coming home to no message from Hermione, he'd apparated directly here, the need to distract himself with fine spirits and Theo's special brand of conversation overwhelming. He'd forgotten Theo was away on Harris larking about with dragons.

"Why, aren't you just a bundle of joy?" Theo went to the drinks cart and poured himself something. "What's the matter? Things are going swimmingly with Granger, I hear." He took his drink to the chair next to Draco's, brows raised.

"When did you hear that?"

"Friday. Chuck told me saw her and everything was hearts and flowers. Or did you manage to fuck it up since then?"

Draco sent him a filthy look. "'Chuck' might want to check in with his brother more often."

"What?" The mocking twist to Theo's mouth disappeared.

Draco drained his whisky and stared at the fire.

"Draco, what happened?" Theo sounded so sincere it surprised Draco out of his blue study. He shrugged and outlined the Saturday morning contretemps, finishing with the coup d'etat of coming back from France to a distinct lack of owls, messages or sweet notes of any kind.

"That doesn't sound like her," Theo murmured. "And the thing with Weasley could be a lot of twaddle."

"Then why hasn't she owled?"

"Any number of reasons." Theo jumped up and paced to the fireplace. "Just like there could be any number of reasons for him being at her flat. Maybe he was picking up his things—"

"After nearly a year?"

"Or meeting Potter!"

"They haven't spoken since the split."

"Well, she could have been brokering a peace!" Theo threw out an arm. "Or it could have been something Weasley needed from her. Which means it was likely selfish, stupid or both. She was probably pissed off and that's why she was awkward."

"It didn't feel like that." Draco glanced up. "She seemed shaken. Like something big was going on."

"Hmph. And she said she'd be in touch, but nothing since?"

"Well, I did tell her I was going to be in France for a few days. And then I left early—that night. Didn't get back until this afternoon."

"Oooh, flounced out like a right drama-queen, did we?"

"Fuck off." Draco heaved up and sloshed a third whisky into his glass.

Theo chuckled. "How's Lucretia?"

"Fine. Sends her regards along with some hat-like thing. Dreadful pattern."

"The Pucci turban?" Theo's voice built to a shriek and Draco winced.

"I think so. It's in my bag." He gestured to a satchel in the corner and slumped back into his chair.

"So—weirdness with Weasley, France was fine, you returned to silence from Granger…" Theo summarised, rummaging until he pulled out a garishly-hued monstrosity and popped it directly on his head.

"France was annoying."

"In my experience work often is."

"What experience?" Draco drawled. "And I'm not talking about work." He rolled his neck. "I ran into Monique at the Ministère."

Theo, in the act of giving Draco a rude hand gesture, froze. "Oh, that cannot have been coincidental."

Draco rubbed his chin. "I think it was. However, today's run-in was definitely not."

Theo's eyes went wide. "Wait, you saw her in Paris yesterday and here today? You didn't— You and she didn't—"

"No, no!" Draco sat up straight. "That's completely over. You know that."

"Good, because I like Granger." Theo folded his arms and stared at Draco stonily, the turban giving him a very silly affect.

"I bloody do too! Whether or not she returns the sentiment is what we're trying to ascertain here."

Theo's glare softened and his head tilted. "Aw, sweetheart."

Draco rolled his eyes and pitched his head back to stare at the ceiling. He heard Theo walk over to his chair and open the humidor next to it.

"So why why do we think Monique was popping up again? I mean, besides the obvious," Theo asked, the whispery creak of his cigarette roller sounding in the quiet room.

Draco sighed heavily and explained about the apology and the bracelet.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Theo scoffed. "Oldest trick in the book. Can't believe you fell for it."

"I didn't!" Draco grabbed at the cigarette Theo was offering him and shoved it into his mouth.

"Why not just leave the bracelet there, then? Or at least owl it back to her immediately." Theo frowned around his own cigarette as it wicked to life.

"I was being polite! And I was on my way to the Ministry owlery when she accosted me."

"How did you handle it?"

"Bluntly." Draco exhaled a cloud of rose-scented smoke. "Left off with the politeness this time. I don't think she'll be bothering me again."

"Good," Theo sniffed. "Just the lack of creativity alone…" He shook his head. "Anyway, what about Granger? What's the plan?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're not going to let this stand, are you? Charlie gave me to understand that you and Granger are very simpatico. Made for each other, and all that."

"He did?" A pinprick of excitement flickered in Draco's chest.

"Yes, or something to that effect." Theo waved an airy hand. "So you can't let his cunty little brother steal a march on you. He should not pose a threat."

"I don't know about that," Draco muttered, excitement blotting out. Weasley had one huge advantage over him: practically an entire lifetime of history with Hermione. He sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. "We have our last class tomorrow. I figure I'll see her then."

"Darling, you sound so glum." Theo put his chin in his hand.

And it was a measure of how gutted Draco truly was that he opened his mouth and shared his deepest worry aloud with Theo. "I keep bloody thinking about how she was on Saturday and what she's told me about how the breakup affected her. She may well want to try again with him. Get back the life she had before."

"But what about your connection?" Theo was uncharacteristically soft.

"I thought it was strong. It was for me. But he, they—" Draco shrugged, an image of the 'golden trio' sitting together in the Great Hall at Hogwarts floating through his mind.

Theo was silent for a good while, but then he snapped up, eyes sparking. "Bugger that," he said crisply. "As I believe I mentioned long ago when this subject first came up, he's not a very compelling Weasley."

Draco snorted in spite of himself. "Not like yours, eh?"

"No." Theo went to a silvery old mirror and adjusted the turban. "And I predict you'll dust the floor with him in the end."

***

Class #12

Hermione was dithering.

She never dithered. Prided herself on it, actually. But here she was sitting at her desk, paralysed, just watching the clock as it ticked toward six.

Should she go to class or not?

On the one hand, how satisfying would it be to sail in, head high, worldly and nonchalant? She'd worn the pencil skirt outfit, after all. Taken time with her hair and makeup (angrily swiping on two coats of mascara, thinking no French twit was going to outdo Hermione sodding Granger).

On the other hand—oh my god.

Hermione dropped her forehead to the cool surface of her desk. How many people was he seeing? How many was he sleeping with? Was she just one of a line-up?

She'd thought he'd wanted— She'd really bloody wanted— And he had seemed—

But no. She bolted up and shook out her hair. It was fine, just fine. It wasn't like Ron or anything. Draco hadn't lied to her and he certainly hadn't cheated. They'd never spoken about being exclusive.

She'd just. Never done anything else.

Could she…be casual?

The question of the hour and one she'd been toying with all along—although she now realised with a fairly strong underlying assumption that Draco wanted something different with her.

Well, she'd just been wrong, hadn't she?

And people did it all the time. Penelope had dated around for years. Charlie'd certainly had his dalliances. Both Harry and Ginny before they had settled down. And Draco appeared to be a master at it. Could she play along? Just take what he could give and then—poof! Hermione waved her fingers in the air.

What? Move on with her life unaffected?

There was nothing wrong with it per-se.

So why did it feel so wrong? Hermione put her hand in her lap and balled it into a tight fist.

Five past six now.

She was officially late, although still within prime-time to make a grand, devil-may-care entrance.

If she could stop dithering, that was.

She'd been going around this same mulberry bush since yesterday. After seeing Draco and… Monique (shudder)...she'd plunged for the floo and whipped straight home. Popped out of her fireplace and grabbed for her lone bottle of firewhiskey, which she'd poured down her throat in an urgent stream. She hadn't even wanted to see anyone. Explain anything. She'd just wanted to slow her frantic mind. But of course that hadn't happened. Her thoughts had just gotten loopy and disjointed, careering wildly back and forth between total devastation and a sort of brittle assurance that he hadn't done anything technically wrong and she was totally the kind of free spirit who was up for a bit of no-strings-attached fun. Huh!

In the cold, sober light of her next-morning hangover she'd known it was different, though. Distressingly so.

Ten past six.

Hermione put her head back in her hands. Who was she fooling? She wasn't going to bloody class. She was bitterly disappointed and there was no way she could face him—sit there surrounded by other people while he lectured and gave her secret smiles and acted like he wasn't shagging at least one other woman. She simply couldn't do it.

"I can't go," she muttered between her fingers.

"Can't go where? And what are you doing here?" Hermione whipped up to see Penelope framed in her office doorway, frowning mightily. "Why aren't you at class?"

"You're back!" Hermione wailed, blinking at possibly the one person in the world she wanted to see right now.

Pen looked at her for a beat and then stepped into the office. "Shit," she said, closing the door behind her and silencing the room. "I'm gone for less than two weeks, I swear. What the bloody hell is going on? What's this I hear about you getting back together with Ron? Is he already fucking you around? If he is, I'm going to kick his ruddy ar—"

"Ron? Getting back together?" Hermione blinked some more. "Where did you hear that?"

"Draco told Blaise." Penelope dropped into a chair. "Said he walked in on the middle of it?"

Hermione began gulping like a fish, trying to speak, but with no words exiting her mouth. Had April been right about Saturday? Had Draco thought—fuck—maybe that was why he'd been giving pretty Frenchwomen jewellery. Maybe he hadn't been seeing Monique all along. Maybe Hermione had driven him into her arms with her doltish behaviour. She gripped the edge of her desk, something like panic coursing through her veins.

Had she ruined everything?

She tuned back in like turning a dial on a muggle radio to hear Penelope still talking, her voice like a hum of static growing clearer. "...you really thought about this? Ron held you back and treated you really poorly—especially at the end. And you've worked so hard on your happiness this year. Plus I thought you and Draco had such potential. Lots in common. Chemistry in spades. I think if you'd just give it a chance—"

"What have I done?" Hermione's anguished exclamation rang out and stopped Penelope's stream of breathless chatter.

Penlooked at Hermione, her eyes narrowing. "Oh, hang on a minute," she said, her voice getting louder. "You did give it a chance. More than a chance. You've shagged him! Why didn't Blaise mention that part? Bloody dodgy international floo! Bloody two weeks away." She leaned forward and redoubled her scrutiny. "You've shagged him and more—a lot more—haven't you?"

Hermione just looked at her, upper teeth digging into her lower lip.

Pen threw her arms out in frustration. "I go away and everything happens! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well—it was, it was, private!" Hermione sputtered. "I wasn't going to owl you about my sex life at a field location or scream it into the floo in your parents' house!"

"It's not private, it's supposed to be shared with your closest girlfriends in great detail! At least tell me how it was." Penelope stared Hermione down.

Hermione tried to glare back, but an overwhelming tide of emotion robbed her of conviction. She flopped back in her chair. "It was bloody fantastic, OK? Earth shattering. Better than anything I could have imagined. Incredible and just, just lovely." Her voice broke on a sobbing note.

"I KNEW IT, oh my gods! Does he have a big—because Blaise—"

Hermione sat back up. "I am not discussing that."

"But—"

"I'm not, Penelope."

"Fine!" Pen crossed her arms, but then uncrossed them and leaned forward. "But he knows how to use it, yeah?"

"Pen! Focus! I think I've fucked it all up!"

"Right. Shit. I'm calming myself." Penelope picked up a lavender essential oil roller off Hermione's desk and inhaled deeply. "OK. I think you need to explain from the beginning. What the hell is going on with Ron? Are you back with him? Draco obviously thinks so. He had a whole sad night out with Blaise over it."

"He did?" Hermione leaned forward.

"OK, now you need to focus." Pen handed Hermione the roller. "And start talking."

Hermione let the calming bouquet of French (ugh) lavender permeate her brain. She took a deep breath. "No, I am not back with Ron," she said slowly. "Absolutely not. What Draco interrupted was Ron being forced by Ginny to tell me in person that he and Lorna are getting married and having a baby.

"WHAT?" Penelope's shout made Hermione glad the office was silenced.

"Yeah, the story is going to be in the Prophet soon, which was the reason for the urgency."

Penelope just stared at her, open-mouthed.

"I know," Hermione said. "It's naff. She's so young and they haven't been together all that long. But he seemed very blasé and Ron-like about the whole thing."

Penelope shook her head like she was coming out of a trance. "Bloody fuck. Are you OK, though? I thought he never wanted children!"

"He didn't and I was— It was hard to hear for that reason. You know, that he wanted those things, just not with me." Hermione felt an echo of the feelings that had overwhelmed her Saturday, but it was very faint.

"Oh, my love." Penelope reached across the desk.

Hermione took her hand, attempting a smile. "No, it's all right now. After the first shock, I realised I didn't care all that much. And that made me realise how well and truly over him I am. That whole part of my life is behind me. And Draco—" She broke off as a dart of pain pulsed through her.

"Is a part of that?"

"Yes." Hermione met Pen's eyes and sighed. "But it was awkward when he came over. Ron had just told me and I was still reeling. Ron was a complete cock, of course. He even said a few things which I think may have given Draco the wrong impression. April pointed out that it was a Saturday morning and that probably looked suspicious. And now that I know what Draco told Blaise…" She shook her head as the pieces fell into place.

Penelope stared at Hermione unseeingly for several moments as Hermione's words seemed to land around them with some kind of dreadful finality. Then she lurched to her feet and slapped the desk. "Well! You clearly need to go talk to him! Right now!"

Hermione looked at the clock and then down at her hands.

"Why aren't you moving!? What are you waiting for?" Pen screeched. "Class is almost over. You'll catch him with time to spare. You can explain!"

"I saw him with a woman yesterday." Hermione's tone was flat, defeated.

"WHAT." Penelope sat back down with a whoosh. "What do you mean? Saw him how? Where? With who? Merlin, I know he's stupidly attractive, but that's fast work even for him."

Hermione described the scene in the Ministry lobby, down to the Frenchwoman's tinkling laugh and the glint of diamonds as they lay across her slim wrist.

"That will be Monique," Pen said slowly. "Of howler fame."

"I guessed as much."

"Blaise said she was in England, but I never thought—"

"What? Since when!?"

"That party at Draco's mum's. She showed up there, apparently. I guess she's one of these connected Sacred 28 types." Hermione nodded numbly—Monique had looked it. "But Blaise said Draco was angry about it. 'Highly annoyed,' those were his words." Pen took a deep breath. "I guess there's a chance he picked back up with her because of what happened with you, but it feels very quick and against—"

"Or maybe he's been seeing both of us all along," Hermione said, the words churning her stomach.

"I don't think so." Pen shook her head vehemently.

"OK, then maybe they are rekindling things. Maybe he saw me as just a casual fling—like her."

"That is not the impression he gave Blaise, Hermione."

"Really?"

"Really. Remember the sad-lads night out? My floo call with Blaise was patchy but I got the impression Draco was really gutted. That's why I came in here wands-blazing."

Hermione let this wash over her, feeling a brief swell optimism that was quickly drowned by a wave of fear. "But have I fucked it all up? What if it's too late now?" She directed stricken eyes to Penelope.

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Penelope turned around and aimed her wand at the office door, which banged open. "Get going."

Hermione jumped up and ran.

***

Draco had arrived to class early, very much in spite of himself. After Theo's pep talk and a long night of patchy sleep, his head was no clearer than it had been since he'd walked away from Hermione's flat Saturday morning. He'd gone back and forth and round and round the problem without any clear resolution—other than that he needed to see her, in the flesh, to ascertain what she was feeling. He'd know in a glance. Her face was a beautiful open book.

But he wanted to be natural about it. Let things unfold. No dramatics. He'd pictured himself striding into the classroom at the stroke of six and giving her no more than a single, searching look—then moving on with dignity along whichever resulting path his life would take.

But somehow he'd dashed out of his office a half hour early (nerves jangling so unbearably he'd been physically unable to keep sitting there) and set up shop behind his massive classroom desk before any of the students had even gotten there. Which meant he'd had the highly agitating experience of watching each of them trickle in, his heart leaping every time the door opened and then thudding to the ground each time it wasn't Hermione.

Finally, six o'clock had come and gone and she still hadn't arrived. He'd heard Goldstein mutter her name while looking at the clock and saw April fold her arms as she glanced at Hermione's empty chair. Catching Draco's eye, she'd looked like she was about to say something, but then Forrest had nudged her with a slight shake of his head and she'd looked away.

So Hermione's no-show was a surprise to her friends too?

Bad fucking sign.

Draco had to start class and he'd done so—somehow—even though his brain was as muddled as a Confundus charm. Luckily, he'd planned a revision and review session for this final meeting, so it wasn't taking much mental acuity to list what they'd done and go over any issues or questions the students had. Unfortunately, the lack of engrossing subject matter also meant his eyes could wander to Hermione's desk and his mind to the memories each topic was introducing.

The whole blasted class reminded him of her.

He looked at Anthony and thought of the first day when she'd been so obviously reluctant: her posture, her glare and, yes, her arse in those leggings. The mirror reminded him of correcting her binding spell—and the erotic shock of touching her for the first time. The dark sky outside the windows evoked the surprise of an owl gliding into the classroom with a howler in its talons, as well as their shared laughter. April's announcement about drinks after class brought back their night at the pub, when Draco had been transfixed by a single, devastating conversation. Of course writing 'Stunning Spells' on the blackboard had recalled the infamous, 'Come back to bed Granger, I miss you,' moment. And walking by a certain pillar (his favourite) had him reliving the night of the duel, when all his bloody dreams had come true.

He sighed, trying to concentrate on the class. Focus, Draco. He owed it to the rest of the students, even if only one of them had stolen his bloody heart.

He realised he was staring at her empty seat again when April coughed. Jolting out of his head and into action, he sent the students into the gymnasium part of the room to practise spells they felt they hadn't mastered. He walked down the line, observing them, correcting a wand motion here, a stance there, trying to let himself become absorbed in teaching. He sorted out a debate over an incantation, then re-explained to a few students which offensive spells the examiners would want to see on the ministry test. He coached a group through their shielding charms and another through disarming spells. He'd almost managed to forget about his crushing disappointment for five whole minutes when the shimmer of a binding cord brought his mind zooming right back to Hermione again.

He stepped slightly away from the students and leaned against the wall as he watched them toss spells back and forth.

He'd really thought there was something there with her. Something real. He'd thought she'd felt it too. But her not being here tonight seemed to make a fairly clear point—she just hadn't seen it the same way. It hadn't been strong enough for her. Not when measured against what she'd had before.

He's not a very compelling Weasley…

Theo's words drifted through Draco's mind and he considered them: picturing Weasley's face when he'd walked in with his mouse the night of the pub trivia, his careless words and how they'd wounded Hermione, his cheating and cowardice, eight months of lying. And then of course his attitude on Saturday. That nauseating arrogance and possessiveness.

He remained a cunt in every way.

And—Draco rapped the pillar with his knuckles—Weasley was beyond uncompelling; he was a bloody menace who didn't deserve to wipe Hermione's boots. He clearly hadn't changed and Draco would confidently bet his fucking wand hand that he would hurt her again.

So why was she considering it? Or had considered it. Decided, it seemed. Otherwise wouldn't she have owled? Wouldn't she be here now? Draco frowned; he'd probably get home to a message tonight—something carefully-worded about avoiding awkwardness and moving on.

He realised he was grinding his teeth and staring fixedly at the door when Joan's repeated 'yoo-hoos!' from across the room penetrated his consciousness. He forced his hands, clenched in a death-grip, to loosen and strode over to the older witch, who needed help with the targeted Incarcerous she'd been trying to master since Draco had introduced it fifth class.

"Remember your elbow position," Draco said as he observed her form. He demonstrated the proper angle again and she lifted her arm.

"I always forget that and the uplift on the second word of the incantation!" She shook her head as she silently swept through the motion.

"It's complicated. Much more difficult than a general restraining charm, but more powerful and very effective if you're trying for an element of surprise." Draco crouched and performed the spell, sending ropes looping around the arm of a practice-dummy Joan had conjured.

"How did you do that!?" she sighed.

"A lot of practise," Draco smiled. "But here, I know you can do it too. In fact, I'm confident you'll get it before we finish tonight."

"Oh Draco. I don't know about that." Joan turned her kindly blue eyes on him and shook her head. "I haven't done it properly once in twelve weeks."

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "Don't give up?"

"That's what I always say!" April was suddenly next to them and giving Draco an intense look. She raised her brows at Joan.

"You know, you're right." Joan beamed back at April and then at Draco. "It's unlike me to be defeatist. And there's nothing wrong with continuing to try." Draco wasn't sure, but he thought she winked at April, who grinned broadly.

"That's the spirit!" April spoke to Joan without taking her eyes off Draco, who started to feel the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"Er," he said. "Quite."

Joan attempted the spell motion again. "In fact, one should never give up without exhausting all options," she announced. "I don't know what I was thinking." As the words left her mouth, a perfectly executed Incarcerous left her wand. Draco stared as the spell landed, ropes winding tightly around the lower half of the dummy.

"Direct hit!" April crowed.

"I did it!" Joan clapped her hands as April gave her a quick hug. Draco felt a grin tug at his lips for the first time that night.

"Excellent," he said. "I knew you could."

She stopped celebrating and turned to him, her look suddenly penetrating. "Persistence, you know, is very important. Constancy too."

Draco nodded, noting April's head also moving vigorously up and down. "Right," he said, seeing that the clock showed only a few minutes left in class. "Wonderful work. You should be proud of yourself, Joan." He touched a brief hand to her shoulder. "I'm just going to head up for some last remarks before we break for the pub." He walked away, figuratively scratching his chin. What had all that been about? Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Joan's white crop huddled against April's dark plaits. As he watched, the older woman looked up and gave him a small, encouraging smile.

Draco nodded, then turned back around. "Persistence," he murmured as he crossed the room. "Constancy."

He nearly stopped mid-stride.

Why the fuck would he just step aside for Weasley?

Why would he let that stand without at least making his case?

Just because he'd chosen the path of least resistance for so long?

What utter shite.

He could fight for Hermione. Tell her not to settle. For Weasley or that small life. Tell her she could have something big and exciting instead. With him.

Weave a new fabric.

Draco felt something huge and light surge up, and he practically bounded to his desk to deliver a few words of thanks and encouragement to his students. They probably weren't the most polished of closing remarks, but he could barely think of anything other than running to Hermione's flat and asking her to listen, just listen to him. Even if she thought she was already decided, even if Weasley was there.

'I predict you'll dust the floor with him,' Theo had said. Well, Draco would at least bloody try.

He dismissed the class and grabbed for his bag, then went swiftly over to April's desk. "Hey," he said, touching her arm and speaking quietly. "I'm just going to be a bit late for drinks? There's something I, ah, need to take care of."

April gave him a long look, then a knowing smile spread over her face. "OK, prof," she said. "We'll save you a seat. Come on, everybody!" She rounded up the group and they headed en masse for the door. Draco let himself get caught up in the crowd, responding to comments and returning smiles as they walked down the hall and then squeezed into the lift—although he hardly knew what he was saying.

***

Hermione raced through the lobby of the educational annex to the lift doors. "Come on," she muttered, jamming a finger at the button over and over again. Cables creaked, machinery ground and the seconds (aeons?) ticked by, but the metal panels stayed stubbornly closed. She glanced at her watch while punching the button again. Just gone half-seven and she was going to bloody miss him if she hadn't already. She stayed in place for one more moment, glancing down at her high heels, then over at the wooden stairs soaring into the building's upper levels.

There were a lot of classes getting out right now. The lift was probably stopping at every floor.

"Sod it," she finally muttered, bending down to slip off her shoes. She was midway up the second flight by the time she heard the lift's faint ding, but she shook her head and continued on, her breathless pace actually a good outlet for the energy surging through her limbs and the words racing through her mind.

What did she want to say?

Everything.

I'm not back with Ron. I hope you're not with…anyone. I hope we can—

Continue what we started? Be together? Let ourselves…fall?

Or maybe more accurately reach?

For something deep and immeasurable. Something that bloomed in her mind with such sweetness and hope she could barely name it.

"Love?" she whispered, warmed and a bit shocked by the word that had risen through the tangles and eddies of her thoughts. Gripping the stair rail like a lifeline, she emerged onto the correct floor with a burst of speed, running down the long hall to the familiar massive door, shoes still dangling from her fingertips. She'd examine what that word meant later, after she'd figured out where she stood. Right now she'd reach for the knob and shove a shoulder against the thick wood before she could think any more. Before she could second-guess what she was about to do.

She spun into the room breathless, crackling with anticipation and a healthy measure of fear.

But it was dim.

Empty.

The lights smudged out and the windows tightly shut.

She looked around in dismay, then glanced at the loudly ticking clock—only a few minutes late, but of course there was a pub meetup tonight. They'd all left early and she'd missed him.

She'd missed him.

Hermione walked to her usual desk and ran her fingers over its laminate surface, trying to not let disappointment swamp her. She even laughed a little, the sound puffing through the quiet room.

Cut the melodrama, for god's sake. It wasn't like this was some kind of last chance. Of course she could track him down—maybe not tonight with all her classmates around, but tomorrow or the day after. She could send him an owl and invite him to talk.

They would talk.

But she couldn't shake that feeling that him not being here was some kind of sign.

Maybe she was too late. Maybe Pen was wrong and she had fucked it all up. Maybe he'd hurried off to meet Monique. Hermione's shoulders slumped and her earlier energy seemed to drain away—along with her optimism and hope.

She moved to the windows and looked out at the cold, starry sky, then bounced a closed fist against the glass. Dammit, she didn't want to wait to know. Not another minute.

She turned back to the classroom and stared unseeingly at the mirrors and the polished floor and the rows of desks marching away into shadowy darkness. Memories washed over her and she heaved a sigh that felt like a sob at the idea that this might be the end of all that had started here.

She bent to slip her shoes back on.

But as she leaned down, she noticed something off about the teacher's desk. A shape that shouldn't be there—softly slung over the high back of the chair. Hermione lurched forward, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and it was bare seconds before she was reaching out for the brushed softness of Draco's familiar grey coat, the one he'd been wearing when he strode in on that first, life-changing night. It was cold out. He couldn't have meant to leave it. Hermione's thoughts were disjointed as she brought the fabric to her face almost involuntarily and inhaled.

His clean, spiced scent. Evoking so clearly a glint of amused grey over a bag of freshly laundered shirts, a tall figure in a mirror whispering that she undid him when she said his name, her pillow the morning after the most exhilarating night of her life. The sweet join of his neck and jaw.

Hermione's senses were so inundated she barely heard the snick of the door opening. But she definitely heard the click of a decisive step followed by a sharp intake of breath.

She whirled and he was there, stopped just inside the room, watching her.

"What are you—?" Hermione started to speak but didn't actually know what she was trying to say.

"I forgot my coat." His voice was deep, a little tight.

"Oh. Here." Hermione was still sluggish as she held out her arm and watched Draco walk toward her. He moved slowly and she drank him in, from the top of his artfully tousled head to the tips of his polished shoes. He was also wearing the suit from the first class, god help her. He was so beautiful that her mouth watered.

Hermione knew she needed to speak, but fear lurched in her stomach. What if he really didn't feel the same? What if he'd been relieved that she hadn't been in touch? What if he was going to say 'thanks, but no thanks,' to her declarations?

He was still pacing toward her and very close now, his eyes running over her figure to the coat still in her hands. He'd seen her pressing it, breathing it in. He had to know. And now he was standing over her, his beautiful face tilted down, his bright hair gleaming even in the scant light coming in through the high windows. He leaned closer, for all the world like he was about to kiss her, and Hermione was frozen, caught in a net woven of uncertainty and her overpowering pull toward him. He moved his head down, but she didn't feel his lips. Instead she felt his breath just lightly over her jaw and then her neck. Hermione's own breath left her lungs. She counted five, then ten galloping beats of her heart while he kept his lips near her skin, but not touching.

"I don't think you should get back together with Weasley, Granger," he finally whispered.

Joy exploded across Hermione's consciousness. "Oh?"

"Yes, for a number of reasons." His voice was a purr, a dark thread twining around her.

"Oh?" Hermione squeaked again, the power of actual speech apparently beyond her.

"Do you want to hear them?" He was even closer now; she could almost feel the brush of his lips.

"Yes."

"He's unworthy. He's untrustworthy. He's a thoughtless wanker." Improbably, Hermione felt the beginnings of a laugh bubble up her throat. "And most importantly." Draco stopped and Hermione's urge to laugh died too. He tilted slightly closer and she swore she could feel him say, "I think you should see me instead," against her skin.

"Those are good reasons," she managed to gasp.

"They are."

"But unnecessary." Hermione gathered the threads of her consciousness. She needed to speak before she lost her mind totally.

"Oh?" She heard the frown in his voice and felt how he moved back slightly. She hated his absence and although she would have liked nothing more than to kiss him (ravage him) instead of talk, she moved away too.

"Unnecessary because I'm not resuming things with Ron. That's not what was happening the other day when you came over. He was there to tell me that he and Lorna are getting married and having a baby."

His face, which had taken on a guarded cast, opened completely. He stepped forward again and took her hand. "Shit, Hermione, I'm really sorry. Are you OK?" He leaned down to peer at her, eyes troubled but with affection and care clear in their grey depths.

Hermione's heart soared. "I'm more than OK," she smiled, taking his other hand. "It actually made me realise that I'm not just over him, but the whole idea of our life together. I've done my mourning and it's truly behind me. I don't want any part of it anymore. Independently and for myself. But also because—" She swallowed and Draco's brows drew together. Hermione let her gaze rove over his features as she gently untangled one of her hands and brought it up to touch his jaw.

"Because I've fallen for someone else," she whispered.

"Have you?" He looked arrested, alert.

"Yes." She felt a swift stab of fear. This was it; did he feel the same?

A beat, two, then a slow smile broke over his face and Hermione began to breathe again.

"Anyone I know?" His free arm started to snake around her waist and pull her close. Hermione looked up and his curved lips were almost on hers.

Her own smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Mmm. Possibly."

"What's he like? I want to kill him and make it look like an accident."

Hermione tapped her chin. "Smart. Posh. Bit arrogant, but rather dishy. Nice coats. Very poor at literary analysis but very good at duelling and at— Well, er."

His smile had become a grin. "Sounds like a stand-up chap, actually."

"Mmm, yes." She nuzzled her cheek against his. "One could say that."

But then she pulled back, her body screaming at her to leave it, but her brain insisting on one last thing. "But I have to ask, Draco—" Hermione looked up, her thumbs tightening on his shoulders. "I saw you with a woman yesterday in the Ministry lobby. Are you dating, uh, other people? Pen said you weren't, but I have to be sure because I don't think I can—"

"Fuck, you saw that? Merlin." He pulled away and plunged a hand into his hair. Hermione's hands dropped and the fear flooded in again. He looked back at her. "I can't believe— Is that why you didn't owl?"

Hermione nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak. Draco must have seen it in her face because he rushed back and took her hands again. "No, no, it's not like that." He shook his head and slowed his words, speaking carefully. "That was Monique—of howler fame." He jerked his chin toward the windows. "And no, we are not dating. We have not been dating. What you saw was her ambushing me. She's living in London now, but I ran into her completely randomly in Paris on Monday. She insisted on having coffee so she could apologise about the letters and her behaviour. I reluctantly agreed, and it turned out just as I thought it would—with her trying it on. But I told her very clearly that I wasn't interested and that I was seeing someone else."

"So why was she there yesterday?" Hermione found her voice, which sounded reedy and small. But she had to know. All of it.

"Apparently I wasn't quite clear enough." An irritated frown crossed his face.

"And there was a bracelet?"

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry, I still can't believe you witnessed all that. I wish I'd seen you there."

"I was disillusioned and hiding behind a plant."

He blinked. "Oh my gods."

"What?"

"You're just…bloody adorable." He pulled her to him and his eyes were soft, so soft. She could melt into his embrace so easily, but she pulled back. One last time.

"What was the bracelet about, Draco?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "She fucking dropped it under her chair at the cafe in Paris. I picked it up even though I knew— I was on my way to owl it to her, but she got to me first." He shrugged. "I'm fairly certain it was a ploy so she could see me again."

"Wow." Hermione had never contemplated that level of manipulation. "She did seem sure of herself. Flirtatious," she murmured, a last vestige of doubt needing to be snuffed out.

"That must have been right before I told her that I knew exactly what she'd done and never to do it again. Never to come to my place of work and never to seek me, my family or friends out again."

"Oh."

"Yes. Her attitude changed rather abruptly after that." He snorted. "Wouldn't be surprised if I see a resurgence of the howlers."

A small smile tilted Hermione's lips and Draco pulled her close again.

"I'm not seeing anyone else, Hermione."

Not for now or not for ever? "OK," she whispered.

"Do you want to know why?

"Yes."

"I don't want to."

She laughed a little "Right." He was nuzzling at her now and it was lovely.

"And do you want to know why I don't want to?"

"Mmm-hmm." She was distracted. He was doing something very distracting to her neck. And he was walking her backward, very slowly.

I'm falling for you too," he whispered as the backs of her legs touched his desk. "Or rather. Have fallen. Past tense. Goose cooked."

"Oh." The syllable burst from her lips on a wave of pure happiness and mounting desire.

"Ever since that first night," he was saying. "When I looked up at that seat," —he pointed to the second row on the end— "and saw you glaring at me like I was a cockroach."

"I was not!"

"Please. All while I was trying to hide how attractive I found you."

"Were you?" He still hadn't kissed her yet. She wanted to be kissed.

"Yes, that and more." He was moving her onto the desk. She slid onto its pitted surface and he stepped between her legs.

"So, we're on the same page now? He asked, his hands roaming and his lips almost touching hers again.

"Mmm?" Shockingly, Hermione seemed to have lost the power for rational thought.

"I'm with you. You're with me and neither of us is interested—" She felt the softest tease of his teeth against her lower lip. "In anyone else."

"That sounds like an incredibly thorough wrap-up," Hermione breathed. His warm hands were sliding up her thighs now.

"Good lecture?"

"Very."

"Feel like you got the finer points of the lesson?" He hitched her against him and she squeaked.

"Well actually, I might need some…tutoring." She slid her leg up his.

"Might you?"

"Mmm-hmm. Maybe against the mirrors over there. Or in your big chair."

"Bloody tempting. Although we could also stay right here." He muttered a wandless cushioning charm.

"Any other classes coming in tonight?"

"Not a one."

"What about the pub. Class drinks?"

"They can wait."

She muttered a wandless door-locking charm.

"Bloody hell, yes," he breathed. "You're wearing the pencil skirt too."

"That can be remedied."

And he chuckled darkly, delightedly, before his lips finally settled over hers.

***

Kissing her was like flying. Skimming through the wind on a cloudless day. The most exhilarating and joyful thing he'd ever done.

They kissed for a long time, Draco riding the high of what had just happened like an updraft of warm air. Buoyant, ecstatic.

She wanted him the same way he wanted her.

Everything else had just been a mist, a mirage. Blown away like wisps of nothing in the face of their rightness, their perfect fit.

He smiled as he kissed her and she broke away the slightest bit. "What?"

"I'm just… exceedingly happy."

"That's nice to hear." She gave him a radiant look, then trailed her lips down his jaw to his neck.

"Nice to feel too." He tilted his chin up, letting her deft fingers work at the knot of his tie and the buttons of his collar. Soon her sweet mouth was at his throat and he felt the slip of her tongue against his heated skin. Draco shuddered and pulled her tighter against him, against his cock, which had been at attention almost since the instant he'd walked back into the room and seen her holding his coat to her face. Everything had rushed in at that moment. He'd known that she hadn't let him go, at least not completely. When he'd walked over—mindlessly, as if he'd been compelled—he'd wanted so badly to just take her in his arms, damn the explanations and the talking. But he also knew that he needed to hear. That he wanted her voice to say the words.

And she had. All of them. Everything he needed.

And now she was his.

Or was he hers?

He decided semantics didn't matter as she stood (sliding against him in a way that had him groaning aloud) and started manoeuvring him around the desk.

"Where are we going?"

She continued to unbutton his shirt as they moved. "Right. Here." And she pushed him lightly down into his massive desk chair. Draco went with a grin, looking up at her and spreading his legs.

"What do we have here?" he asked, leaning back and crossing his arms. He looked slowly up her body, from the pointed toes of her sexy shoes to her gorgeously curved hips to her perfect tits to her riotous hair. "Do you need some special instruction, Ms. Granger? Some help with your technique perhaps?"

She started to answer, started to part her luscious lips and say something clever, but Draco couldn't wait, so his hands shot out seeker-quick and he grabbed her around the waist. He pulled her down onto his lap and hitched her back tight against his front. She clutched at him and gave a breathless laugh.

"Heyyy, what are you—!?"

"Just checking your form. Mmm-hmm. Yes." Draco swept his hands over her waist and up her trim abdomen to cup her breasts. "Everything in tip-top shape," he murmured, reaching his lips to nip at her neck while flicking his thumbs over her nipples. She arched against him, very obviously grinding her arse on his cock.

"Does that feel right, professor?" she asked innocently.

Draco took a sharp, laughing breath. "Not sure. You'd better do it again." He moved his hands down over her legs and under her skirt, which he began pushing up over the silky flesh of her inner thighs.

She ground into him again and he groaned, slipping his fingers under the hem of her knickers. "We must be thorough," he whispered, circling into the core of her heat and wetness.

"Oh!" She cried out and flung her head back against his neck. Draco didn't let up; he needed to hear and feel her get off. Those shuddering breaths she took? The sobbing sighs? It had been too many days since he'd experienced them. He wouldn't be letting that happen again. Not any time soon.

"Yes, that's very, very good," he purred. "You're doing so well. Such an excellent student." He'd started thrusting against her—he couldn't help it. He looked down over her shoulder so he could see her tits jutting out as she tensed and jerked.

"Can you take two fingers?" he asked. "Maybe three?" He slid into her slick centre and she gripped the arms of the chair, moaning and pushing against him, hips pulsing and core fluttering. It was a complete sensory overload as Draco drew his fingers out and over her clit, swirling as he bit down on her neck and then slipped them back in. "Perfect. Top marks." With his free hand he pushed up under her blouse and pulled down her bra, taking her nipple in his fingers and rolling it gently, then not so gently.

"Draco," she breathed. Gods, he'd missed hearing that. "Please. I'm close."

"I know," he said. "Now, let's see if you can pass the final exam." His voice was a strained rasp and he was starting to lose it. The urge to just come in his trousers like some kind of fourth-year was overwhelming. He increased the speed and pressure on her clit and she writhed all over his rigid cock.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Good idea," she gasped and suddenly she'd stood. Draco's hands fell to his sides and he stared as she spun and shimmied under her skirt, pulling down something lacy and frothy and tossing it away. Her blouse went next.

"What?" he managed to say.

She just gave him a wicked smile. Then she reached for his flies and made very quick work of them. Before Draco knew it, she'd taken out his cock, which was straining in every way for her. She licked her lips as she stared at it and Draco truly had no idea which way this was going to go, although he was enthusiastically in favour of all outcomes. Then she climbed into his lap and faced him, leaning down to tease her lips against his.

"I want to be top of the class," she breathed, slipping her tongue into his mouth as she sank down, her heat and slickness enveloping the entire length of him in one perfect motion.

Draco saw stars. His hands spasmed and in some distant part of his mind he said a word of thanks that he was alive and she was alive and they'd both gotten to live this moment. Then he snapped out of it and started moving. She was moving too, her hips liquid and her pace fast.

Draco watched her ride him and realised he was living a fantasy. He'd thought about it ever since the night of the duel (or, fine, maybe well before then)—having her in this chair, on his desk, on her desk, against those bloody mirrors (him behind watching her tits bounce in the glass). Fuck, that almost sent him over the edge. He wrapped his hands around her waist, pulled back and slowed their rocking. Her eyes, closed as she'd tipped her head back, opened slowly. She was so bloody beautiful, her cheeks flushed and the long column of her neck graceful as she tilted forward. She was moving more gently now and Draco could feel every inch of her. He breathed out a shaky sigh as she slid both hands into his hair and cupped his face. Her eyes roved over him and he managed a single syllable, "What?"

"I like looking at you," she breathed. "Especially when I'm—" And she made a special little swirl with her hips.

Draco's eyes fluttered shut. "Bloody. Hell."

She breathed a laugh into his ear, then nipped his lobe. "I also really like fucking you."

"You must also like trying to kill me."

She laughed again.

"Good way to go, though," Draco gasped.

After that, there wasn't much talk. Mostly because she whispered an intriguing suggestion in his ear that had Draco surging up and pushing her down on the desk, where some very energetic activity ensued. He couldn't have spoken if he tried—and he didn't think he'd ever forget the image of her bent over the blotter, skirt up, still in those high heels. If he taught in this room again, he'd be in a constant state of arousal.

Afterward, when he'd helped her up and they'd done some tidying spells, they both collapsed into the chair again, her boneless and him just breathing, taking it all in.

After a few moments he spoke softly into the dark, still room. "I want you to know that I'm serious, Hermione."

He felt her twist in his arms. "About?"

"This. You."

She softened against him and took up his hand, lazily twining their fingers together. "You are? Truly?"

"Yes." He whispered it into her hair.

"What happened to keeping things…compartmentalised?" she asked, but she didn't sound uncertain like she had before. She just sounded curious. That ever-questing mind at work.

Draco spoke simply and from his heart. "You happened. I can't keep how I feel about you in some neat box. It's too big."

She turned and kissed him, sweetly, gently. "I know exactly what you mean."

Something bloomed in Draco's chest, warm and true.

"Shall we go home?" she whispered, fingers in his hair again.

Draco winced. "I would bloody love to. But it's got to be drinks first, I think. Feel like I should."

"Of course! I'd totally forgotten. I was rather, erm, distracted." She laughed into his collar then sat up and smoothed her rumpled top. "Shall we go in separately? I'd still like to see everyone, say goodbye. I'll think of some reason for why I wasn't in class."

"Grindylows?" He watched her wind her hair into a bun.

"That works."

"No," he said disdainfully.

"No Grindylows?"

"No, we're not going in separately. And you're not making up any stories."

"But if we come in together after all this time people will— They may guess that we've been up to!" She twisted all the way around to peer at him askance.

Draco raised a brow. "Do I look like I care?"

Her eyes drifted over him and her mouth quirked up. "Well, no. Especially if you don't fix this hair." She reached out. "And your tie."

Draco shifted up and began putting himself to rights. "Class is over, Hermione. You're not my student anymore."

She watched him for a moment. "Bit of a pity, really," she said, darting forward and capturing his lips.

Draco caught her and after a minute or two he was tugging her blouse out of her waistband again. "On second thought, I'm sure they won't miss me at drinks," he murmured.

She reared back, looking more the strict instructor than Draco ever had. "Draco! No!" She shook a finger. Bloody sexy. "You have to go. Everyone will be so disappointed if you don't."

He captured the finger and tugged her forward. "Well then, my condition is we go in together. I'm quite looking forward to the whole wizarding world knowing I've bagged the most brilliant and beautiful witch in Britain."

"Draco!" She swatted at him and he lifted a shoulder in defence, then gently hoisted her to her feet. She stepped away and aimed her wand at her middle, smoothing her skirt and buttoning her blouse. Draco went to the mirror to work on the intricate knot of his tie.

"Just in Britain?" she said after a moment, and Draco spun to see her behind him, arching a brow.

He laughed, then grabbed her and pulled her in for one last kiss.

"The whole damned world."

***

When they walked into the pub, Draco flicked his brows and took Hermione's hand. He didn't let it go as they approached the long table filled with her classmates, who cheered when they noted their esteemed instructor's arrival. Hermione knew the cheers weren't exactly for her love life, but it was very quickly clear that everyone was excited about their, er, status, too—and that absolutely no one was surprised.

"I called it the first night," Anthony told Hermione over a pint of bitter after Draco had been pulled away. "Went home and told Hannah; 'Enemies to lovers, you mark my words.'"

Hermione nudged him hard, trying to hide her blush. "You did NOT."

"OK maybe it was a few classes in," he slurred with a wink. "But I definitely knew after that night here." He waved a hand at the candlelit pub.

"Then why did you insist on walking home with us?" Hermione remembered her irritation mixed with relief at Anthony's presence that night.

"Pissed. Not thinking." Anthony hiccuped. "Could have kicked myself for making you apparate first. He gave me such a look afterward." He waved his glass at Draco, who was down the table talking to the group of Ministry workers. "Feared for my bits. But it all turned out alright, though, didn't it?"

Hermione, who had started giggling, settled into a smile as Draco caught her eye and sent her a very warm look. "Better than all right," she murmured.

She next found herself in the midst of a handful classmates she hadn't known as well, but all of whom gave her some variation of a congratulatory pat on the back while looking pointedly at Draco. And there was one chap, Simon—a ministry employee to whom Hermione had barely spoken—who muttered something about how he hoped Malfoy knew what he had.

She turned away from this slightly puzzling exchange to a huge hug from April, who had been sending Hermione bright-eyed glances ever since she'd walked in, but tied up in a long conversation with Joan.

"I'm so happy for you," April yell-whispered as she clasped Hermione close. "Let's go to the bar. I want to hear everything. You should have seen him tonight during class!"

They moved away from the table and Hermione and let April buy her a glass of sparkling wine, then told her a quick, sanitised version of the last few days and hours. April gasped and hooted her way through, crowing only a little bit over the fact that she'd been right about Draco's assumptions and suitably irate at the Monique part of the story. "Hmph," she snorted when Hermione was through. "I guess we'll let her live since it all turned out OK. 'All's well that ends well!'" She clinked her flute to Hermione's, then filled her in on how Draco had moped through class earlier and the little prompting exercise she and Joan had cooked up to snap him out of it.

Hermione laughed. "Well, it must have worked!"

"I know it did." April tossed her plaits. "I told you, I'm never wrong about these things and I wasn't about to let a little thing like doubt mess it up when you all were so close. Anyway," her eyes softened. "Forrest and I want to have the two of you over as soon as you're ready for something like that. So just let me know, OK?"

"Definitely," Hermione said, warmth spreading under her skin at, 'the two of you.' She glanced almost involuntarily for Draco to see him already watching her, eyes a bit dark. When he saw her look, he hitched his head slightly toward the door and gave her a smile that made the warmth flare into heat. Hermione nodded, both excitement and contentment sparking, and he started toward her.

Forrest was also approaching with April's coat. Everyone else had gone. And then after a few quick goodbyes and last words of thanks, Hermione and Draco were alone outside the still-bustling pub. He looked down and reached for her lapels, then pulled her playfully close.

"Your place or mine?" he asked with a lazy smile.

"Sure of yourself, aren't you?" She tilted her head

He lifted a shoulder and the smile turned into a smirk.

Hermione had no choice but to kiss it right off his beautiful face. "While I do quite like your view," she said after a few breathless moments. "I have to feed Crookshanks."

"Good, yours is better anyway." He took her arm and they walked toward the apparition point.

"Really?"

"I've told you, it's more homey."

"Oh!" Hermione put up a finger. "I've bought you something to help with that!" She looked at him excitedly and he chuckled down at her.

"Can't wait to see it."

***

But it turned out Draco did have to wait a good bit for his gift. What, with the interlude in the hallway and the rather long session on her sitting room sofa. He'd nearly forgotten about it as he lay back and stroked her curls, utterly content after they'd both finished, well, several times.

"I think it's the green," he mused as he gazed around the room.

"Hmm?" her muffled response came from somewhere deep under the duvet she'd summoned from her bedroom. It was December now and quite cold, and they'd neglected to light the fire in all the excitement. Draco located his wand under a cushion and flicked it at the dark fireplace, making it roar to life.

"Good idea." Another mumble came from under the duvet.

Draco settled back in. "The paint. I think the green paint is what makes it feel so cosy in here. Along with the millions of books and all the little things." He eyed an abstract wooden carving of a centaur and a pair of brass candlesticks on the fireplace mantle.

"Your gift!" She sat straight up and the duvet fell away.

"Gift enough for me," Draco murmured, very obviously staring at her bare breasts.

She snorted and summoned her dressing gown, then sprang up and bustled into the kitchen. She returned with a lacy little plant in a speckled ceramic pot, which she held out.

"For me?" Draco asked, a smile he couldn't hope to control sneaking across his face.

"For you." She beamed. "I bought it for you the other night. To cosy up your flat. It's from Neville's shop."

"It's lovely." He turned the plant this way and that, more touched than he cared to admit.

"Pansy was there and she helped me pick it out."

Pansy. "Oh! I actually have a gift for you too. It's in my bag. I've been carrying it around for so long that I'd almost forgotten—" Draco stood and placed the plant gently on a side table, then strode into the hall.

"Gift enough for me," he heard her murmur, but Draco didn't have a dressing gown to summon so he just remained completely nude as he walked back. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip. He put up his brows and held out a slim, beautifully-wrapped (albeit a bit squashed) box before settling back under the thick quilt and pulling her against him.

"What is it?" She shook the box.

"I believe people commonly open gifts when they want to know the answer to that question."

She growled and Draco nipped her neck. "Open it."

"Fine!" She worked carefully at the ribbon and lace, and soon the beautiful scarf was sliding out of the box, colours just as striking as when he'd seen it in Pansy's shop all those weeks ago.

"Draco, this is stunning!" She looked over her shoulder and then down at the filmy swathe of fabric. "And it's Hermès. Is it vintage?"

"Mmm-hmm. Pansy was also involved, the busy little bee. It's from her shop."

Hermione shook her head and looped the scarf around her neck. "I love it. It's absolutely beautiful. Thank you." She turned and kissed him on the cheek. "And what did you mean you'd been carrying it around for so long. When did you get it?" She fingered the silk lovingly.

"Month ago? Six weeks?"

"That long! Before we—"

"Well-before. A few days after Theo's gathering, actually. I told you this started early for me." He pressed his lips against the scarf and to her warm neck below.

"I just had no idea you— I was going around thinking you couldn't possibly like me and even if you were attracted, you must want to keep it casual like all your other, er, things."

"And how does it feel for Hermione Granger to be wrong? Foreign concept, I know." He tugged the scarf down and curved his mouth against her skin.

"Rather nice, actually. But just this once."

He laughed, "Merry Christmas, I guess."

"God, it is almost Christmas, isn't it? What a year…" She looked toward the window and Draco followed her gaze. It had started to snow.

"Yes, quite a year," he echoed. "First part was a bit shit, but the last bit more than made up for it."

"Exactly." She turned and kissed him again. "But you know this isn't actually a Christmas gift." She gestured to the plant.

"No?"

"No, it's a thank you. For being such a wonderful teacher." He looked round at her, expecting to see a teasing look, but she appeared totally sincere. Draco felt his face warm.

"That…means a lot to me, coming from you. Thanks," he finally said.

"It's true," she asserted, her eyes bright. "I feel like I can pass the exam easily and it's all down to you."

"The exam, gods! When is it again?" Draco had forgotten all about it in the recent excitement.

"Last week of January." She made a slight grimace.

"Oh. Well." He hitched her closer and took up her wrist, which he flicked to and fro. "Then we're going to have to practise."

"You'll help me run spells?"

"Of course." He brought the wrist to his lips. "You're going to need lots and lots of practise, in fact." He nipped at her neck. "Drills, special lessons, techniques, physical conditioning. Repetition, repetition, repetition." He reached under the duvet, slid his palm over her hip and squeezed. "And above all, a strict instructor to keep you to your lesson plan."

"Oh my god!" she laughed, swatting at him when his hand moved to her arse. "Although that's all very good," she said a bit breathlessly. "Because I'm sort of a lifetime learner."

Draco laughed too, until she turned in his arms and began kissing him again. Teasing at first, the kisses grew deeper and it wasn't long before Draco was lost, his hands in her hair and his heart in her hands.

He'd quite simply never felt like this.

After a few moments she broke away and he saw the golden brown of her eyes search deeply into his. "You know, you've taught me more than what we learned in class," she said softly.

"Have I?"

"Yes, you taught me how to let go. And how to dream of something different—better."

Draco tilted his head, moved beyond words. He could tell that she saw how he felt because she gave him a sweet smile, then leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

He cleared his throat. "And that funny little thing with my tongue. Don't forget I taught you that too." She gave him an outraged look that lasted for about a second before they both started laughing again.

Draco thought there might be quite a lot of laughter in his future.

"I'm so happy for us, Draco," she sighed after a bit, resting her chin on her hand and gazing at him.

He ran a fingertip down the delicate jump of her nose and tapped once. "My darling student, so am I."

Chapter Text

Late August, 2007

"Darling, have you seen my crossed wands cufflinks anywhere? I thought they were in a box in the bureau, but—" Draco came out of their bedroom, snowy white cuffs flapping, and let out a low whistle. "Is that the surprise?"

Hermione turned from where she was checking her back in the mirror. "What do you think? Be honest."

"I think I may never recover." Draco came over and circled slowly around her, eyes light silver and drinking in the lines of the black tuxedo skimming her body.

"It was Ginny's idea," she said. "Because I'm Harry's best woman."

"Of course," he murmured, coming up behind her and sliding a palm over her backside. He pulled her tight against his front and his lips lowered to her neck. "Kudos to Ginny."

"You're not disappointed it isn't a dress?"

"I've seen you in dozens of dresses. Not that I haven't enjoyed every one." He nipped her skin lightly. "But this is something different. Do you think we have time to—?" He pulled her tighter against him and Hermione gave a little gasp, then reached around to kiss him. His tongue was immediately in her mouth and his hand ran under the fine cutaway of her waistcoat to cup her breast. He squeezed and she gasped again, starting to turn. Maybe if they were quick—he looked delectable himself in a grey morning suit. She may never recover. But then her eye caught on the clock in the corner.

"Shit!" She pushed him back. "I was supposed to be there ten minutes ago! Where is my hat!?" She began rushing around their flat—formerly her flat—nearly tripping over Crookshanks as she darted into the kitchen.

"There's a hat?" She heard Draco's voice, amused, from the bedroom as she located an ornate box sitting on one of the kitchen chairs.

"Yes, a tophat and I'm supposed to roll my hair up under it. And bring the Champagne for a pre-wedding toast! The ring! Bollocks, how did it get so late!?"

"Stop." Draco came up and took her wrists gently, making her look at him. "It's fine. Weddings never happen on time and Potter won't need a lot of smartening-up beforehand. Besides, there are several dozen Weasleys to make sure everything goes off like clockwork. Breathe." He smiled into her eyes and Hermione took several breaths with him, feeling herself relax.

"Thank you." She finally said. "I don't know why I'm nervous. Are you nervous?"

"Not at all. Although I am rather worked up from seeing you in this suit. Let's have the hat." He held out a hand and she plucked the jaunty black satin from its box. He settled it on her head with a practised eye, then adjusted the angle. He stepped back and looked her up and down. "You'd better go," he muttered. "I can't be responsible for my actions otherwise."

She giggled and stepped close, taking his lapels in her hands and gazing deep into his eyes. "I love you." She kissed him lightly.

"I bloody love you too." He extended the kiss, speaking against her lips. "Madly. And we're coming home early tonight. Early enough so I can help you take this off."

"So helpful!" She stepped back and toward the floo.

"Mmm." He folded his arms and shook his head once. "Go. I'll see you there."

She gave him a radiant smile before ducking into the flames.

***

"They look well together, although I still wish I could have persuaded Chuck to wear a dress." Theo took a deep drink of Champagne as Draco snorted. Hermione and Charlie were posing for post-ceremony attendant photos, currently back-to-back and arms folded, hats rakishly tilted.

"I don't think he could have pulled it off." Draco eyed Charlie's shoulders. And Hermione's arse.

"Well, maybe a kilt at least." Theo cocked his head.

"Do it for your wedding," Draco said.

Theo turned to him and opened his mouth. Then closed it. He blinked rapidly and a very pleased smile pulled across his face. "That's actually an idea. I'm sure I can dig up some Scottish ancestry to justify it."

Draco laughed as Blaise walked up.

"Hiya, chaps." He tilted a glass at them. "Nice suit," he said to Draco. "Didn't expect you to go full-muggle for this affair." They gazed out at the crowd under the colourful wedding tent, the vast majority of whom were in formal wizarding wear.

"I like to keep people guessing." Draco flicked his brows and Blaise laughed.

"Imagine the three of us at a Potter-Weasley wedding," Theo drawled.

"Boggles the mind," Blaise took a nip of his drink.

"Cheers." Draco touched his glass to Blaise then Theo's. "Strangely overjoyed to be here, though." The implications for each of them were rather profound when one thought about it.

"Absolutely. Oh! It looks like Charlie wants something. I'm off." Theo scampered away in response to a wave from his fiancé, a bright gleam in his eye. Hermione had also turned and was smiling at Draco in an extremely fetching way, but was suddenly pulled aside by Fleur for some urgent communication.

"Think that'll be you anytime soon?" Blaise gestured at Potter, across the tent and trailing behind Ginny's gigantic bridal robes as she chatted to a table-full of what looked like Weasley relatives.

Draco squinted. "I could ask you the same." He looked pointedly at Penelope, who was handing Hermione a glass of wine as she whispered something in her ear.

Hermione threw her head back and laughed, nearly losing her top hat in the process.

Blaise shook his head, a slow smile lighting his austere features. "Worse things could happen, mate."

Draco grinned back. "Indeed." He took a swig of Champagne and pictured the delicate filigree ring Hermione had exclaimed over in a jeweller's window in muggle London a few weeks ago. He'd already dropped by to inquire. They were planning a holiday to Bali in December and he rather thought a moonlit beach might be just the thing…

"Theo's next, though. That affair will be over the top, I'm sure."

"Over the top? Theo? Never." Pansy's low, musical tones sounded behind them and Draco turned to see her impeccable in pale peach, her condition not hampering her ability to pull off an extremely elegant dress.

"God, tell me that's not going to be me." Pansy stared across the dance floor and rubbed the very slight bump protruding from under her sashed waist. Draco followed her eyes to see the mouse ('Lorna', as Draco had been instructed to call her) sitting alone at a table and rocking a pram back and forth with her foot. As they watched, she lifted one crying ginger baby out of the contraption while leaning forward to placate the other. A faint wail reached Draco's ear over the hum of the crowd. The Weasel didn't seem to notice, though. No, he was in the corner with his back to his wife and children, laughing and gesturing with a glass, clearly on his way to being pissed.

"I'm sure your baby will be very chic and docile, Pans," Draco said, a little relieved for the mouse when Molly Weasley bustled up and took one of the babies, then yelled something that made Ron start and whirl around. Draco very deliberately turned away from the scene.

"At least it won't be twins." Pansy shuddered lightly. "They don't run in either of our families. Although I suppose it could be quite big," she murmured, hand on her stomach again. "Neville, you know…"

"Quite." Draco gave her a stare.

Pansy stared back and then smirked. "Anyway, when's dinner? I'm starved," she said. "It's the only thing I have to look forward to since I can't drink."

"Don't forget there'll be cake, Pans. Nice, plummy one from the look of it." Blaise indicated a pedestaled, multi-layered thing at the front of the room.

"Oooh, cake!" Pansy drifted forward.

"You have to wait for them to cut it, Pans!" Draco called after her. She gave him an extremely discreet rude gesture just as Neville walked up to take her arm and lead her to a seat.

"Hey Draco! Blaise!" He nodded at them and Draco lifted a hand.

"Boo!" Nicely tailored black arms slid around his waist from behind, along with his favourite scent in the world. He knew exactly what comprised it now; blood orange, freesia, lily. And her, of course.

"Hello, darling." Draco twisted around and kissed her hair. Do you have to sit at some frightful wedding party table with the bride and groom?"

"I do not. After protracted seating chart battles with Molly and Fleur, Ginny told me she literally chucked the whole thing out the window, then set it on fire for good measure. So people can sit where they want. Including attendants."

"Lovely." He turned and kissed her again. "I think I see Pansy waving from that table near the cake."

***

"This is brilliant." Pansy leaned behind Neville's back to pinch the fabric of Hermione's suit between her fingers. "Is it bespoke?"

"Thanks and yes. Female tailor in Savile Row. She only works with women."

"That's why the lines are so good. I love it. I'll have to get her name from you. Well, after all this." Pansy gestured to her stomach and Hermione smiled.

Neville leaned back into their space. "Anyone want something from the bar?"

"Yes," Pansy pouted. "Champagne. Punch. A nice, stiff G&T."

Neville rubbed her arm. "Another gillywater with lime?" he asked.

"Oh, I suppose. And another slice of cake."

"I'll go with you, Nev. I'm not sure what I want." Hermione rose, squeezing Draco's hand as she got up. He gave her a swift smile, but kept his ear on the conversation he was having with Penelope and Theo.

Hermione took Neville's arm as they walked through a verdure of lush blooms and trailing branches. "The arrangements are really gorgeous, Nev. Just so unique and special. You did an amazing job"

"Pansy's responsible for at least half of it," Neville said as he leaned over to lift the head of a huge Dahlia. "All the embellishments—the ribbons and jewels and feathers? Those are her doing."

"You make a good team."

"We do." He smiled down at Hermione, his handsome face alight. "This was our first project together, but it's definitely the first of many. I'm eager for what's to come. All of it."

Hermione squeezed him close. "Me too! What's the latest on the shops and the house?"

"Well, both shops are close to ready. We've moved some of Pansy's inventory to London and converted part of the space in Tinworth into a sort of greenhouse/flower stand. We're going to do a joint grand opening next month, I think. Have a portkey between the two locations, wine, music, food. I'll let you know the exact date."

"We would not miss it."

"And the house." Neville took a deep, excited breath. "I can't wait for you to see it, Hermione. Once we have it livable, of course. We still need to take care of the doxy infestation and refinish most of the floors. Pansy's got plans that involve wallpaper and unbricking fireplaces. A complete kitchen overhaul. But it's got these beautiful, Victorian bones. Just a real rambling place on a bluff over the sea. Path down to the beach. Over five acres of gardens. We'll stay in Pans's little flat in Tinworth village while we work on it. But I think we'll be living there by the spring."

"By the time the baby comes?"

"Probably a bit after, but that's OK."

"And what about all this?" Hermione waved her hand to encompass the scene. She'd had weddings and marriage on her mind lately. What, with all her friends pairing up and making announcements—as well as her own dear hopes and dreams.

"It's just not something either of us feel like we need right now?" Neville shrugged. "Pans says her mother will turn anything we do into a circus and I quite fancy getting the garden at the house mature, and in a few years doing it there—on a whim some beautiful summer afternoon."

He smiled and Hermione was overcome with his vision. Her eyes suddenly damp, she dabbed a finger at her mascara. "That sounds just beautiful, Nev. I'm so happy for you. God I'm a watering pot!" She sniffed as Neville pulled her against him.

"And what about you?" He asked as they approached the bar and ordered. They both looked over at Draco, who had his head close to Pansy's. She smirked and said something that made him break into a smile.

Hermione's breath caught. So beautiful. "Oh, I'll lock him down soon enough," she managed to say with a somewhat trembly wink.

"He might beat you to it."

"That would be fine too."

"Heyyy! I haven't seen you two all night!" Hermione whirled to behold the bride, resplendent in beaded white robes. The bartender set two drinks down and Ginny reached past them to grab one, gulping it in one go. "Sorry," she said wiping her mouth. "Bride's prerogative. I haven't had a drink all night either. In fact." She gave them both a slightly maniacal smile and picked up the other glass. Hermione and Neville were laughing as she finished it. "Another round for my friends, please!" she called, then grabbed Hermione's hand. "Let's dance!"

"OK!" Hermione let herself be towed to the floor, Neville calling that he'd bring her drink to the table. A fast song started and Ginny started hopping around, swinging her arms and her glory of flaming hair. She'd been growing it for the wedding and it was incredible.

"This is the only way we'll get to talk tonight!" She shouted over the music.

Hermione nodded. "How are you doing?"

"My face hurts from smiling so much and if I have to speak to another relative I barely remember or colleague of dad's I don't know, I'll scream. Drinks are helping, though!" Ginny whirled in place like a dervish.

"Just remember you're leaving for Spain tomorrow!" Hermione called.

"Menorca in the morning! Yes!" Ginny pumped a fist. "Thank Merlin for honeymoons!"

"Heyyy can I get in on this?" Hermione turned to see Penelope's bright face.

"Of course!" Ginny grabbed Pen's hand and pulled her in. They danced wildly for several beats and then Ginny leaned over and cupped a hand around her mouth. "Promise me we will always go dancing!" she yelled. "Even if I get sprogged up and matronly."

"You will never! And yes, we will always go dancing!" Hermione yelled, taking Ginny's hand and twirling her. When they came to a dizzy stop, Molly was standing at the side of the floor.

"Come on." She crooked a finger at Ginny. "Auntie Muriel's leaving. You've got to come say goodbye and thank you."

Ginny rolled her eyes and went, but not without a pettish look over her shoulder. "Next time, I'm eloping!" she shouted.

***

"You'd better not." Hermione twined her hand up Draco's nape and into his silky hair, swaying with him in time to the romantic music.

He gave her an extremely lethal smile in return. "I can assure you I won't."

"But what if there's a pretty one in the front row? Or someone who needs help with their binding spell motion? What if there's a Detweiler enthusiast?" Hermione's lips lifted and he bent to her, his mouth a hair's breadth from hers.

"If we weren't in your ex-partner's ancestral home in full view of him, his siblings and his mother, I would snog you so wickedly, so pornographically, right now that you'd have no choice but to apparate us home on the spot." His hand, resting on her waist, drifted lower and squeezed.

Hermione squeaked.

"And then, I would reassure you both verbally and physically that there is no way on earth or elsewhere that I will have the slightest interest beyond the academic in any of my new students." He tilted his head so he was breathing at her neck. "Gods, you smell delicious," he murmured.

"Oh."

"Do you want to know why?"

"Why I smell—"

"No. Why none of my students will interest me beyond the academic."

"I think I have an ide—"

"Good, I'll tell you." She could feel him smiling now and she could see some gazes on them from the pockets of people ringing the dance floor—some amused, some shocked, some slightly disgruntled, some delighted (hello, Theo!). "It's because I'm hopelessly and stupidly in love with you." He enunciated very clearly. "I'm no longer fit for anyone else."

She sighed. "How lovely."

"Mmm, I think so. Now when can we leave?" He looked around. "I do have to prepare my lessons for this week's class and I was hoping I could test some practical demonstrations on you. Plus there's this suit I need to divest you of. Or maybe we'll leave it mostly on…"

He growled in her ear, then nipped her lobe. Hermione giggled. "We can go soon, I think. The minute Harry and Ginny are—"

"Hullo, mind if I cut in?"

"Harry!" Hermione twisted in Draco's arms. "Of course not!"

"Hmph, I suppose, Potter." Draco turned Hermione deftly. "Just this once because it's your wedding day."

"Thanks, Malfoy." Harry's brow went up and his glasses glinted. Draco winked then walked off to join Blaise at a nearby table.

Hermione looped her arms around Harry's shoulders and he let out a huge sigh.

"Does your face hurt from smiling too?" Hermione asked.

"God, yes! How did you know?"

"Ginny said the same thing earlier."

"Haven't seen her in hours," Harry laughed. "Ouch that hurts. No more laughing."

"Well you'll soon have two blissful weeks alone."

"When I tell you I cannot wait? I cannot wait."

"It's been a lovely party, though. So many people who love you and wish you well."

"I suppose. Although I'm not entirely sure about Auntie Muriel."

Hermione cracked up, and the corner of Harry's mouth lifted. "Here, let's go get a drink," he said. "It's weird talking to you like this."

"Lead the way." Hermione shot Draco a smile as they passed, and he raised a very obvious brow at her. She couldn't wait to get him alone, but she wouldn't miss chatting with Harry on his wedding night for anything.

"I suppose he's ready to go." Harry seemed to read her mind.

"We'll leave when you do."

"I fervently hope that's very soon." Harry lifted a finger and the bartender came over. "Firewhiskey for me," he said. "You?"

"Same." The bartender poured and Hermione took her glass. They leaned against the bar and looked out over the room, which had thinned a bit. A lot of the elderly people had gone and Pansy and Neville had slipped away early. Hermione had noticed Lorna pushing a pram out the door long ago.

"Cheers," Harry said. "And thank you for being my best woman or groomsmaid or whatever we're calling you."

"You're very welcome." Hermione clinked her glass to his. "Happy to do it. Happy to be here and see my two best friends seal their love and their life together." Her eyes moistened for perhaps the twentieth time that evening.

"Best friends, hmm." Harry looked across the room and Hermione saw Ron, bending over to clap a beefy gentleman on the shoulder. She'd barely spoken to him all night, although she had taken time to admire the twins when Molly had brought them round. Sweet little things: Fred and Amelia.

"I'm happy too." Harry spoke again after taking a sip of his whiskey. "For you. That things turned out the way they did." He lifted his brows toward Draco.

"Thanks, Harry." Hermione touched her head gently to his. "That means a lot to me."

At that moment, Ron looked up and spotted them looking at him. He grinned and for a beat it was like time fell away—like they were meeting up in the Gryffindor common room before heading out for some adventure or down to supper in the Great Hall. He lifted a hand and started forward almost eagerly across the near-empty dance floor. But something checked him before he reached them. His face shuttered and his steps slowed.

"Some party," he blustered as he drew near. "Shows what you can do when you have proper time to plan." His and Lorna's ceremony in February had been a bit rushed and much smaller. Of course Hermione hadn't attended, but Ginny had filled her in.

"Right." Harry's glasses glinted.

"How are you, Ron? The babies are gorgeous." Hermione smiled gently.

"Corkers, aren't they? Little scamps. Barely get any sleep most nights." Ron ordered a whiskey from the bartender, although it was clear he'd had a few already. "Probably pay for this at two in the morning." He raised his glass. Hermione touched hers to his and after the barest pause, Harry did too.

"Who'd have thought it would turn out this way—that first day on the train?" Ron spoke jovially, but it seemed like his mind wasn't really on what he was saying.

"Indeed." Hermione noticed Draco watching them and gave him a small nod of reassurance. His eyes flicked over Ron before he turned back to Blaise.

Hermione refocused to see Harry about to speak, but a flash of white satin and a swish of red hair cut him off.

"Gods, there you are! Let me have the rest of that." Ginny blew up and took Harry's whiskey out his hands. He chuckled as she drained it. "Ready to go, Potter?"

"Uh, yes. But won't your mum—"

"In the loo. Let's scarper." Ginny grabbed Harry's hand and a real, true grin lit his face.

"Bye, Ron." Ginny gave him a somewhat sour look. "Love you!" She leaned in and kissed Hermione. Harry waved and then they were gone, making for the fireplace with a last burst of laughter.

Hermione, watching them, turned with a smile to say something to Ron, but he had already walked away.

***

"I really don't see why we have to—" Draco let himself be tugged upward through the soft night air, although he'd much rather be home in bed. Not sleeping.

"Because it's beautiful and I want you to see it. Especially when the moon is like this!" Hermione turned a bright look toward him and Draco could deny her nothing.

"Fine, but I want you to know I go under protest. I've seen the moon many times."

"Oh come on." She snorted. "We're almost to the top."

The wild idea to go scrambling about behind The Burrow had bloomed into being on a tide of whiskey and enthusiasm after Penelope had beckoned them outside to admire the size (massive) and colour (deep orange) of the moon. Hermione had grabbed Draco's hand with a stream of excited babble and started pulling. Blaise, made of sterner stuff, had managed to steer a similarly babbling Penelope toward the floo. But Draco was putty in Hermione's hands, so now he was halfway up the side of a mountain.

He said as much and she laughed.

"This is barely a hill, Draco."

"Yes, but it's a hill in the way of my plans. Which involve—"

"I know, I know. Getting me home and getting my clothes off." She turned and Draco realised they were at the top just before she reached up and kissed him. A very naughty kiss, that had him contemplating the exact stone to grass ratio of the ground beneath their feet.

Then she pulled back and turned, wrapping his arms around her front as they both looked out over the admittedly stunning view. Draco could see the jewel-like glow of the wedding tent below and the lights of Ottery St. Catchpole glittering just beyond. And of course there was the ostentatiously large and pumpkin-coloured lunar orb, practically blotting the stars from the sky.

"It's so beautiful," she murmured, tipping her head back against his shoulder.

And it was. Beautiful and bloody romantic. A perfect setting.

"You're beautiful. And if it weren't in extremely bad taste to propose, er certain things, at someone else's wedding—not to mention at someone else's ex-boyfriend's house…"

"Draco! You wouldn't." She was laughing, the silvery sound lifting Draco's lips, and his heart.

"Fine. But you should watch it, though."

"Should I?"

"Yes. I pervasively want to spend the rest of my life with you, so I could ask to do so at any moment."

"Or I may ask you."

"You may. Are you?"

"Not right now!" She reached behind them, grabbed his arse and it was his turn to laugh.

"Maybe we'll just, sort of, ask each other," she said.

"Just look up over tea one day?" Draco put on his most irritating drawl. "'Say, do you want to—?' Yes lets.'"

She turned in his arms. "That would be lovely."

Draco slid a hand into her hair, long since fallen down and who knew where the hat had got to. "Hermione?"

"Yes?" She was so beautiful in the moonlight Draco's breath caught.

"Let's go home."

She apparated them on the spot.

~FIN~