A Forbidden Fruit

Title: A Forbidden Fruit

Written For: Mia Fitzpatrick/Miafitz

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Draco Malfoy / Hermione Granger

Disclaimer: I do not own any JKR / Harry Potter characters – she is the lucky, lucky woman. However Draco certainly owns a piece of my heart.

Summary: It was funny to think that even Fate, fickle a mistress that she may be, had chosen two people so unequivocally divided and diametrically opposing in every way, to be together. But she had. And it only took them one apple, two snails, one Samhain tradition and thirteen years in between to realize it. A tale of love, Draco and Hermione style. Written for the Three Keys Fic Exchange Halloween Treat 2006.

Three

It was an unseasonably warm October and the rain that had been threatening to fall all afternoon had let loose just after sundown. The rain aided in reducing the temperature a bit, making it a rather pleasant evening. Draco noted this as he stepped up to the wide front porch of Hermione’s cottage. The cottage, situated in the verdant countryside on the outskirts of London, was in a quaint Muggle village and was a good-sized, single story structure with what appeared to be a large garden flanking the sides and rear of the house.

Draco had not been to Hermione’s house before tonight. He knew where she lived, of course, but had never been invited. He was also keenly aware that not many people were asked to her home, so when she offered he gladly accepted. He didn’t want to seem anxious, but there was no way he was passing up such a golden opportunity to spend an entire evening with the beautiful, elusive Ms. Granger. Especially when it was something that he’d wanted for longer than he was willing to acknowledge.

He flicked his wand and removed the water repellant charm he’d set on himself and knocked on the open top half of the Dutch door. There was no answer. He peered inside and called out to Hermione, and when there was still no answer, he stood there unsure what to do. It was then that the most delectable aroma caught his attention and without pause, he let himself in. Draco didn’t know what was cooking, but lord did it smell mouthwateringly good. He let his nose do the leading and wandered into the kitchen hoping to find Hermione there. Somehow the image of her doing something so domestic as making a meal for him set his heart thumping erratically.

He groaned softly; he was getting turned on just imagining it. He was clearly going insane.

Draco looked around the room-- no Hermione--but he admired the surroundings. It was a large kitchen, all decorated in fall hues with rich mahogany woods and gleaming appliances that he knew were definitely Muggle. If he’d known that Muggle cooking smelled so damn good, he would have demanded more attention to their methods and recipes from his own house staff. Glancing to his left he saw a large picture window with a well-scrubbed wooden table and benches looking out to the garden beyond. He smiled when he spied a few apples sitting in a bowl atop the table. Setting a bottle of wine he’d brought for dinner on a counter, he went back into the main room.

Sure, he was a little early. Okay, forty minutes, but who was counting? It was considered proper etiquette to be early.

Draco began idly exploring the house; there was a long hallway opposite the front door, which he presumed led to the back bedrooms, bathrooms, what have you. He was more interested in the large main room. Getting an inside glimpse into Hermione’s life without her there to watch was a rare opportunity. One that he fully intended to take advantage of, as the moment had presented itself so nicely to him.

The fireplace and its mantle took up almost one full wall of the room and Draco stopped to admire the fine rough-hewn single piece of wood, which was the mantle itself, and warm his hands by the fire. He glanced up at a few of the pictures on the mantle and stood stock-still when he found himself locking eyes with one Harry Potter. It took him a minute to move and then another to breathe. He’d not seen Harry looking so relaxed and at ease, well, ever. Harry was laughing and hugging Hermione tightly and then turned to Weasley and looped an arm around his shoulder. The three friends stood together smiling, enjoying a rare moment of peace. They all looked to be about eighteen or nineteen in the picture. Draco swallowed, but he couldn’t seem to look away; this was probably one of the last photos taken before the war ended.

Before Harry went into his final battle.

Before Harry saved the Wizarding world – the entire world, if you wanted to be technical.

Before Harry died.

Draco finally tore his eyes away. He knew logically that he’d expected to see pictures of Harry, evidence of his friendship with Hermione, but it was still hard to look into the smiling eyes of a dead man. A dead boy, to be precise, who destroyed Draco’s old life, shaking it to the very foundation of all his core beliefs and teachings and then, miraculously, giving Draco the chance for a brand new life.

It had been Harry’s testimony recounting that Draco had, in fact, not killed Dumbledore, and had even been ready to lower his wand to Dumbledore before Snape arrived, that had saved Draco from certain death. It had been Harry’s passionate entreaty to the Ministry and the Order that they bring Narcissa Malfoy into protective custody that had allowed Snape to return Draco to the Order and safety once Snape knew Narcissa was out of harm’s way.

Dumbledore’s self-sacrificing plan, engineered by Dumbledore himself and agreed upon by a reluctant Snape, had been revealed; that should the time come where Severus had to kill Dumbledore in order to save Draco’s life and honor the Unbreakable Vow, Snape would do it without question. The story had been verified and confirmed by Snape ingesting Veritaserum and by both Snape and Dumbledore’s pensieve memories.

So strong had Dumbledore’s faith and affection been for Draco that he had willingly given his life for him.

It had consequently shaken Draco to learn of the lengths to which Dumbledore and Snape , and even, to his chagrin, Potter, were willing to go to ensure his safety. So much so that he had cried openly in front of Lupin, Snape and Minerva McGonagall when he finally realized the enormity of the sacrifices that had been made in his name. He didn’t know how to express his regret, but said he would do what he could to help. That had been the start. The Order had also agreed to get Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban and moved to a safe location, but they had not moved fast enough.

Draco had been furious and distraught to find out that his father had been taken to Voldemort and murdered for Draco’s inability to complete his task, no matter that the deed had been done.

Too many people’s lives were lost or forever altered because of Draco’s mistake and it haunted him to this day. He’d spent the subsequent years during the war fighting viciously and single-mindedly to defeat his enemies. No one ever doubted his devotion to the Order or their cause, though his methods and the demons that drove him were clearly vastly different than everyone else’s.

But the fact that he could attribute the death of three people directly to him (Dumbledore, his father and eventually Severus Snape) had been all the inspiration he needed to keep to the straight and narrow.

A life that most likely would have been cut short at the tender age that Harry’s had been taken, was given back to him. Given to him, by all accounts, by Harry himself.

Draco’s own personal hero.

And it had brassed off Draco to no end;because Harry had died - before Draco had said thank you.

He’d died before Draco even knew how to be thankful for the second chance that Harry had presented to him. Affording an opening for redemption and forgiveness for acts that he, in truth, had been too young and proud to know how to fight and too fearful to stand up against. He had never claimed to be a stronger man than Harry, but he certainly wasn’t weak, and frankly it ate him up inside to imagine that Harry had died thinking him so pathetic and narrow-minded that he could not even learn how to get beyond his own childhood ignorance and realize that he’d been wrong.

Yes, he had done what he’d had to do. It was self-preservation. Literally kill or be killed. And more than that, he would have agreed to anything, anything to save his family that he loved dearly. He defied anyone to say they would have done differently.

But his actions, more specifically his inactions, his inability to admit he was in way over his head and to lean on the people that he should have to help him out of a desperate situation, were bitter pills that he had swallowed.

But, swallowed them he had.

It had still taken a long time for him to get over the anger and to learn to forgive and to ask for forgiveness. But Draco made a pledge to his mother and to himself, that he would not let his father’s death or Dumbledore’s and Severus’ or even Potter’s, for that matter, be in vain.

It was during those two long years of battle that Draco had allowed one slip of a girl into his life. She’d always been there, just on the periphery of his thoughts, but he’d been such a narrow-minded fool when he was younger that he’d have done just about anything to overlook her. Yet it was in that time of fear and odds so overwhelmingly in the favor of failure, when days seemed endless and full of anger and such indescribable despair, that Draco began to finally give in and take notice of this one, special girl. He had watched her change, grow right before his eyes, just as he too had grown. She was one small ray of promise in a future that before had only looked to be desolate and bleak. Her optimism was something he clung to like a lifeline. It was all he had to hold onto; that, and his mother’s surprising belief that things would eventually work out. So he watched how Hermione focused on tomorrow, on the success she was certain they would achieve and he, too, in the very back of his mind began to believe.

Besides, Hermione had let him in. She had extended him a tentative, fragile bond of acceptance that had matured into a mutually respectful working relationship. To call them friends back in the years of the war would have been a lie, but they definitely no longer disliked each other.

They were wary allies. Then they were a bit more than that. Then, somewhere in between the bitterness of battle and the pathos of an unimaginable aftermath of war, they found themselves undeniably friends.

Hermione had been by his side in combat; she’d listened to him seethe when he was frustrated and angry about the slow progression of victory and the disheartening loss of lives. And Hermione had been the bridge between Harry and Ron for Draco; she listened to him and was far more understanding of his moods and idiosyncrasies than either of her dear friends. She, for some unknown reason, had always understood him.

It had been Hermione who had come to him in the middle of the night to tell Draco that the war, for all intents and purposes, was over. She had been the one to tell him that Harry had died. He couldn’t speak; he had been so furious when it sank in that Potter had been killed. Potter was dead…And there was more to it than that, there was a sub-layer of fury simmering just below the surface when he realized that Potter and Weasley had taken Hermione into battle - without him. When the comprehension hit him that Hermione could have died right along side Potter and Draco would have been powerless to stop it. That Harry had gone out there without the extra help. Without his help.

Hermione had recounted the events to a numb Draco. It had been a sneak attack at Hogwarts. The trio and a small contingent of Order members were there for a routine patrol of the deserted grounds; the rest of the Order, including Draco, was stationed at Grimmauld Place. Voldemort had been so sure that he would win. He had wanted his fêted triumph to happen at Hogwarts. The origination of all his distorted dreams had come to fruition when he was a young man there, and it would be the place where he finally conquered the Wizarding world.

But Harry had triumphed in the end. Even though taking Voldemort’s life had cost him his own, he and the Wizarding world were rid of the menace.

Draco had spent years since then rebuilding his family’s name and business. He and Narcissa were instrumental in the inception of the Foundation for restoring Hogwarts. It had always been Draco’s design - since Hermione had discussed the idea of a complete restoration of Hogwarts with him and a few other wealthy members of the Order - for her alone to be in charge of the project.

And, as was typically the case, Draco Malfoy got his way.

That had been five years ago. Although Hermione had begun talking about the idea almost immediately after the war was over, it had taken her those five years to find other willing benefactors aside from Draco and Narcissa, who had pledged Malfoy funds almost immediately. Hermione had been determined though, and she, along with her growing Board of Directors finally had the Foundation set up and running.

Draco’s involvement grew to the point where two years ago he had become the Chairman of the Foundation’s board. He had been working very closely with Hermione this past year, since they had been planning to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the end of the war by hosting a charity gala for the Foundation at Hogwarts on Halloween.

Draco had been mulling over and analyzing how very much he liked spending time with Hermione, especially these past few months. He’d find himself visiting Hermione’s offices more often and scheduling meetings to discuss the upcoming Gala with growing frequency.

He had to admit that it was nice to finally be with her alone, with no other outside distractions. It had taken a long time. A long time, he supposed, for both of them to get to this place. Twelve years, as a matter of fact, for him to receive an invitation into the den of the lioness.

Draco’s thoughts drifted back to Harry and he locked eyes once more with the image’s smiling face; he hesitantly picked up the picture and whispered gruffly, “Thanks, Potter.” Nodding his head slowly and letting out a deep breath he spoke sincerely, finally, “Thanks for everything.”

He set the frame down with a brisk hand and turned away. It felt like a stone had been lifted off his chest, and a sense of release washed over him. He gulped it away, shaking his head wryly and rolling his eyes at his own sentimentality. Granger would have been moved to tears at the display.

It was then that Draco noted the unmistakable sound of water being shut off. He had figured she was showering when he’d not seen her after a few minutes, but had pushed the thought right out of his head. Because if he concentrated on the idea of a wet Granger sliding her hands all over her slick, soapy, naked body, Draco was halfway convinced that he might just strip off his clothes and join her in the shower. It would certainly be a hell of a lot more fun than a working dinner, no matter how good the food smelled.

Draco ran a hand through his hair and decided he needed to get his thoughts off naked Granger and fast, if he intended to get anything accomplished work-wise this evening. He turned to a small built-in shelf across from the fireplace holding several books and strode over. Books! They would distract him. Draco’s lips turned up into a grudging smile as his fingers ran over the titles. She had an impressive collection of both Muggle and Wizarding tomes. Most looked to be old and when he flipped a few open he discovered, to his delight, that the shelves were comprised of first editions. He should have guessed that Hermione would be a collector of first editions. His grin grew; he now had a very good idea as to what kind of gifts a man courting her might want to give…

Of course that was a purely speculative observation.

Draco had just picked up another book and was thumbing through it when music began to play in the room. It was soft, mellow and smooth and he looked up just as Hermione came out of the hallway and rounded the corner.

They both froze when their eyes met. Draco, still holding the book open in his hands, felt his grip tightening around the spin convulsively, couldn’t stop himself from letting his gaze run over Hermione, and his throat became instantly dry. Hermione for her part stood there in shock, completely still, before she uttered a small squeak and yanked the robe that had been gaping open firmly shut and goggled at Draco.

Hermione had turned her stereo on and loaded several discs into the player once she was out of the shower. Her selections were great for background dinner music and since Draco would be there within the hour she just started up the music to enjoy while she finished getting ready. She had to check on the roast in the oven and just threw on a robe over her still damp body to go make a quick trip to the kitchen. She hadn’t bothered to close the ties since she was alone, nor had she put anything on underneath when she left her bedroom…

Hermione finally was able to find her voice, still clutching the short robe tight against her chest, the front rising considerably as she did so, giving Draco an even better look at her long legs. She gasped, words just bubbling out, “You – you’re here!”

Draco nodded and pointed awkwardly toward the open door. “I arrived a bit early and called out to you… When you didn’t answer, I let myself in.” He shrugged. He was trying gallantly not to ogle her exposed legs and thighs too much, but Merlin did she look delicious all wet, with the silky material clinging to her like it was, outlining with exquisite detail everything that she was valiantly trying to conceal. He bit back a grin. Draco wasn’t in the least bit upset, quite the contrary, but he was doing his best to look contrite. He suspected by the way Hermione’s eyes were flashing that he was failing miserably, so he decided to simply point out the elephant in the room and get it over with right away. “I have to say, Granger,” he drawled, giving up his pretense and grinning, his smile widened at her face flushing sweetly, “that if you welcome every man you invite over to dinner so graciously, I shall be dining her quite often.”

Hermione gaped at him for a moment before she surprised him by tossing her head back and laughing heartily. It was a rich, melodic sound that Draco decided he wanted to hear again. She smiled self-consciously and shook her head. “I wouldn’t count on such an open greeting next time, Malfoy, if I were you.”

Draco laughed at her cheek and his pulse raced just a bit as the words ‘next time’ sunk in. There would be a next time? Things were definitely looking up. He winked brazenly at her as he snapped the book closed and crossed his arms, cocking his head and smiling charmingly. “A man has to have dreams, Granger.”

She fidgeted and fought back another blush and finally excused herself to the kitchen. Emerging just a few moments later, she still looked embarrassed but thanked Draco for the wine he’d brought and suggested that if he wanted to open the bottle while she finished getting ready that would be great, before she retreated back to her bedroom.

When Hermione returned a few minutes later, Draco was again more than pleasantly surprised. Hermione had put on a sky-blue, short-sleeved wrap-around dress that complimented her complexion, and, he noted smugly, his eyes, very well. She wore her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders. Draco had not seen her with her hair down in a very long time, and as he handed her a glass of wine and saw her cheeks tinge slightly, he was reminded of how very young she looked with her hair cascading around her in soft ringlets. Draco raised his glass to hers and tapped it gently. This close to Hermione he could see the smattering of freckles that were dusted over the top of her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. He grinned. Merlin, she looked so damn young, so sweet and pretty. Draco decided he liked her looking fresh faced and innocent. It was a vast contrast to the savvy businesswoman he was used to dealing with. It reinforced Draco’s desire to get to know Hermione on a more intimate basis.

Hermione, he found, was a gracious hostess and once the initial awkwardness was past, the evening moved along smoothly. She led Draco out onto the cozy bricked patio adjacent to the main room, where a table had been set for their meal. The small open patio was bricked in on three sides and nestled with all manner and size of potted plants and on one of the walls a mounted fountain with an appropriate lion’s head was gurgling quietly. There were candles spread liberally around the compact yard for extra light and if Draco hadn’t known this was a working dinner he might have thought that Hermione was trying to create a romantic ambiance.

Hell, it was certainly a provocative thought: that Granger was trying to impress him…

--- * ---

Dinner was a visual, as well as flavorful, feast. Hermione served a mouth-watering garlic herb-crusted prime rib roast, presented with roasted baby potatoes, grilled artichokes and a warm vegetable salad. She had Draco smiling approvingly with her selection of hard-to-find gourmet cheeses and fruit for appetizers and left him groaning in pleasure and sated over the delectable meal. If he’d been unsure as to whether or not Granger was trying to impress him before, it really didn’t matter either way now; because he was.

And it took quite a bit to dazzle a Malfoy. Yet Hermione Granger had done it – and with a natural, effortless grace.

The conversation flowed and they were both somewhat surprised at how relaxed and comfortable they fell into the mood of the evening.

They shared old stories of family and friends over a bottle of wine during dinner that turned into two as they moved on to the business at hand. She and Draco had finished their meal and went through all the Foundation paperwork fairly quickly and had moved back out onto the patio to enjoy dessert, Hermione’s favorite: apple pie.

Draco decided that, like Hermione, his new favorite dessert was apple pie as he opened their third bottle of wine and poured each a generous glass. He set his plate aside and was slowly swirling the sparkling liquid around in his glass when he asked casually, “So Granger, who is escorting you to the Gala?”

Hermione looked taken aback. “I – escort? I will be working and so very busy that night, Draco, I won’t have any time to devote to a guest.” She busied herself with gathering their plates together and avoided looking him directly in the eye.

“Won’t have time to devote to a guest?” Draco leaned forward and set his glass down. “Are you telling me, that for the most talked about social event of the year, the most important night of your career to date, that you’re seriously not planning on having an escort?”

Hermione waived a hand. “No one will notice if I don’t have anyone to dance with, as I will be too busy working.”

Draco sat back in his chair and leveled her with a cool gaze. He looked to be contemplating his words carefully. When he spoke, Hermione understood why. “I hear that Weasley is back in England.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought he would be taking you.”

Hermione was feeling the effects of the alcohol and knew it by the condition of her loose tongue. No matter though, she really didn’t feel the need to censor her reply. “I’m not sure why you or anyone else would think that, Draco.” Hermione picked up her wine glass and took a deliberate sip. “After Harry died…” she trailed off, then let out a deep breath and continued, “After – the war – was over, it was difficult for me to move on.”

Draco nodded. “I remember.”

She shrugged a shoulder absently as she continued, “But for Ron it was so much worse. He – he was there, you know? He saw it happen. I got there just a-after. It was already too late when I came in. He…Harry was already gone.” Hermione swiped away at a stray tear and closed her eyes to fight off the flood of sorrow that still struck her with such force all these years later. Even now it left her a bit breathless. She opened them slowly, sighing sadly. “And Ron, he never forgave himself, or me I think, for not being able to save Harry. There was nothing either of us could have done. I know that now, and I’m finally able to accept it. But back then…I tortured myself with what-ifs and should-haves. I’ve played it over a million times, gone over a million different scenarios and I now know I did everything I could have to keep Harry as safe as possible.” Her voice faltered, “It wasn’t enough…” Draco made to move, but she waved him off. “It’s all right, thank you. I just had to come to terms with it. I couldn’t save Harry. No one could. His sacrifice was for our freedom.”

Hermione looked at him and the pain was so sharp in her eyes that it took the breath from Draco’s lungs and brought back all the memories to him, too, in a disquieting rush. “You should have let me come, Granger.” His voice was gravelly and he ground out the words through his teeth. He didn’t want to say it again, this was old news to her, but he did anyway, as he had years ago. “I could have helped.”

Hermione shook her head. “Draco, don’t go there, again. We –“

“You’re not the only one with regrets,” he interjected darkly, his tone effectively silencing Hermione.

She knew he’d wanted to be there, of course. He’d felt slighted and excluded, perhaps even betrayed by her for leaving him behind that night, though it was not intentional. She’d dealt with his anger, and had calmed him as much as possible but had not dwelt on it much more than that, and in no way guessed that he may have actually wanted to help Harry. He’d never said one word about regrets. Hermione had just assumed he’d wanted to be there because it was the final battle. The conclusion of years of preparation, hard work and planning, that Draco had had a large part in making happen, ended while he slept unknowing. Naturally he’d feel slighted. Some people would have felt relief that they didn’t have to witness more loss, to be immersed in yet another bloody battle in a ferocious war. Not Draco. Maybe when he was younger this would have been true; in his school days when he’d been a fastidious, spoiled and cowardly child, he would have shrunken away from a fight, even put others in harm’s way before him. But Draco’s childhood had been yanked away from him, like so many others, at the hands of one monster and he had grown up overnight. He’d become a man who had serious life-changing decisions to make which would shape his future.

His choices, or choice rather, was simple: to be instrumental in the ultimate death of Voldemort.

Which meant he chose Harry.

Originally Draco’s decision was based more on his need to avenge his father’s death. But no matter his reasons early on, once he’d made up his mind he was committed. He would fight to win yet his reasons were his own. If it was to the benefit of the Order that they also happened to be fighting against Voldemort, well then good for them. It was a mutually beneficial partnership. Hermione knew this to be true as he’d confessed it to her and grudgingly admitted that along the way he began to see perhaps their ideals had some merit and credence.

After that he was wholly theirs and fought as such.

Draco became driven when in battle, fighting with fervor and Hermione imagined that he felt furious at being denied his just place in the outcome. But to look at him and hear him professing remorse for not being there for Harry, it shocked her… Hermione stared at him with wide eyes and dropped her hands beneath the table, clutching them tightly so he would not see them shaking.

For Draco’s part, as soon as he’d begun speaking, he found himself helplessly dredging up feelings long since thought to be resolved and sorted through. Now that the words were flowing, he found he could not hold them in. They spilled from his lips in heated, bitter abandon, full of all the angry guilt that had been held in check for ten years.

“You’re not the only one who has twisted the scene around a thousand different ways,” he snapped, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “Except that my scenarios are always vague, maddening muddled images because I wasn’t there. I wasn’t able to come to my peace, assured in the knowledge that I’d done all I could do to keep Potter safe.” Draco glared at her stonily. “I was denied that.”

Hermione found it hard to speak; she wrung her hands and glanced away, unable to meet his burning gaze. “Part of my what-ifs, Draco,” she whispered, “was having you there with us.” Hermione suddenly reached across the table and took Draco’s hand. She was comforted and relieved by how quickly he grasped hers back and by how warm and firm his grip was. “If I had had any idea of what was coming, believe me, you would have been there.” Hermione squeezed his hand and released it slowly. Her breath shook a bit as Draco’s fingers slid slowly from hers followed by a zing of electricity that shot all the way up her arm and into her very core.

Draco let out a deep breath and leaned back in his chair crossing his arms defensively. “He wouldn’t have wanted me there anyway.” His voice was laced with bitterness and something deeper. Maybe sadness, Hermione mused.

“I don’t believe that, Draco.”

His eyes shot up to meet hers, his expression was unreadable. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah.” The finality in her tone made him feel inexplicably better. “He didn’t fight so hard to get your name cleared for no reason, Draco. He did that because he knew the truth of your actions. Because he understood the reasons behind your actions. He, more than any of us, would have done the same thing. He understood, Draco. And so do I.”

Draco blinked. She made it sound so easy to forgive, to find a stepping-stone to move forward and away from something that was murky and mired in indistinct emotions and seemed impossible to get past. But Hermione had said Potter had forgiven him. That he understood what Draco had had to do. Whether or not that was true, Draco would never know, but the comfort her words brought was beyond anything he’d hoped for. He tried to formulate an adequate thank you for her compassion, for her forgiveness, but the words wouldn’t come to him. Not for something this powerful, for beliefs that had been ingrained so deeply for too long. So he remained silent.

Yet Hermione seemed to discern why he was quiet. She’d always appeared to know what he was feeling when he was pensive like this, all those years ago. He realized then with such a sharp sting of comprehension that he missed the closeness of their time at Grimmald Place.

He’d missed her familiarity and acceptance far more than he’d let himself believe.

“I –“ he stopped short. He’d been about to confess that he’d never had the chance to tell Potter thanks…but somehow that was personal. That was private, between Potter and him. Some things had to remain between the only two people involved, even if one of them was gone. And even from someone like Hermione.

So instead he said quietly, even though he knew the words would be inadequate, “Thanks, Granger.”

She smiled her acknowledgement through a new set of tears that were quickly wiped away and took a deep breath before continuing. “So…where were we again?”

“Insufferable sods who don’t know how to forgive,” he replied.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I thought we just got past that.”

Draco actually grinned. “I was referring to the Weasel.”

Hermione’s lips twitched. “Naturally. Well, it took me a very long time to get to where I am now, Draco, and I honestly don’t know if Ron finally has. But I do hope he’s made his peace. It’s been ten years. It’s time he forgave himself.”

“What about forgiving you?”

She swiped at a rogue tear and shrugged. “I hope he has. It’s never good to carry that kind of hurt and anger around inside of you for so long.” She raised a suggestive brow at him.

“Point taken, Granger.”

“Good,” she replied easily. But then her tone changed to something a bit cooler and more formal. “Did you know that he and Neville went off in search of Ginny when she ran away after hearing the news about Harry? Right after the war was over?” Hermione paused and glanced at Draco and he nodded. “Well, when Ginny and Neville came back a year later and Ron didn’t…” Hermione looked away from him and cleared her throat. “He sent me a few owls trying to explain that it was easier being away from all the reminders of the war. I understood, because I felt the same way. But, what I couldn’t seem to grasp was that he included me in all of that. He felt it was easier being away from me. He didn’t say as much, but it was very clear when he didn’t ask for me to join him and didn’t return any of my letters when I said I wanted to be with him.

“All he had to do was tell me he wanted me there, that he missed me. Just tell me where he was; anywhere, and I would have been there. He never replied.” Her voice was stiff and wooden. “Not once.” Hermione stood up then and picked up the remains of dessert. “We always had a strained relationship, but his choosing to recover on his own – without me...” She looked down at him, “He confirmed what I’d already known for a long time.” Draco’s belly flipped at her admission. Hermione sighed, “Either way, it doesn’t matter. And just because he’s back and telling me he made a mistake in letting me go, doesn’t mean I can look beyond all the years of hurt.” She didn’t wait for a reply from him, just picked up the small stack of plates and retreated into the house.

Draco’s head shot up at that and he watched her walk away, his jaw tightening in a surprise jolt of jealousy. Weasley wants her back…

He sat in brooding silence until Hermione returned and sat down looking somewhat more composed and Draco automatically topped off her glass, commenting quietly, “He made a mistake walking away from you, Granger. Anyone could see that. I always thought him a great fool, and now you’ve confirmed it.”

Hermione smiled. “I don’t think he made a mistake. And, he’s not a fool; he’s just not right for me. I’m sure he thought he was doing what was best for both of us. No matter what I wanted at the time. And, perhaps in the long run he has.”

“You’re far too kind and forgiving a woman, Granger. I’m sure he’ll take that into consideration when he tries to woo you back.”

Hermione bit out a terse laugh. “I’m not as gullible as you might believe, Draco. Nor do I believe ‘wooing’ is what he’s after. I think it’s more wanting to rebuild our friendship.”

Draco sniffed his disbelief. “If it were me, I’d be trying to win you back.” Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “Then again,” he grinned at her, “I’m no fool. I would have never let you go in the first place.”

Hermione had just taken a sip of her wine and gasped at his words, inhaling her wine, and immediately began coughing. Draco gallantly handed her a kerchief from his shirt pocket and stood to pat her on the back until her coughing ceased. She looked at him with wide, surprised eyes and managed out hoarsely, “Yes, well, as I said, I don’t think dating is in his grand scheme, but thank you for the compliment regardless.”

Draco smiled and returned to his chair. “But what if he does want to rekindle a relationship?” He realized he was maybe being a bit insensitive and perhaps a bit invasive, but he was a bastard anyway, so he figured what the hell?

“Some things are just meant to be, and some are not.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up; he fingered the edge of his wineglass and glanced at her through his lashes. “That’s an interesting statement, Granger. Sounds like someone is a believer of Fate?”

Hermione sighed, “If you’d asked me that when we were children, I would have said no. But now…” she met his gaze and was startled at the serious, almost knowing look in his eyes and stopped short. She was not sure how it was that he looked like he knew she was going to say that.

“Go on, Granger,” he prodded.

“I – what about you? Are you a believer of Fate?”

“Ah,” he grinned, “Turnabout is fair play, eh?”

She smiled. “Something like that. Avoiding the question?”

“I’d have to say, ‘yes.’” He took a slow sip of his wine and eyed her closely. “A believer of Fate, that is.”

“You? I’m surprised to hear that. Draco Malfoy, shrewd, take charge kind of man, always needing to be in control. I didn’t picture you the type to toss your future into the fickle hands of Chance. It’s so,” she paused, “so ‘un-Malfoy’ like.”

Draco smiled thoughtfully. “Is that so?” He seemed to digest that for a moment. “I’ll tell you something, Granger; after the life I’ve led and the experiences that I’ve been through, there is no doubt in my mind that there is a greater force at work here, than just me. I’ve done so many things,” he paused and looked momentarily uncomfortable before straightening his shoulders and shrugging almost imperceptibly, “of which everyone in the Wizarding world is well aware.” Hermione nodded, but smiled reassuringly which made his expression lighten and he continued, “I’ve made too many bad judgment calls when I was young…yet here I am today,” he raised his glass to Hermione, “alive, healthy and sitting here enjoying dinner with a beautiful woman and very appreciative for the chances I’ve been given to make amends.” He leaned forward and settled his eyes on Hermione’s, his expression somber. “And I’m utterly certain that there is no way it’s all coincidence. And, by the way, I don’t believe in chance, I believe in Fate. They’re two very different things.” Draco leaned back in his chair and an amused expression settled on his face as he drawled, “By the by, Granger, I’ve had a first hand look at what Fate had in mind for me a very long time ago, and believe me, I didn’t like it one bit…” he paused, grinned and chuckled, “Fought it tooth and nail to be precise. But then, I was a stupid, arrogant, ignorant prat when I was a kid. Wouldn’t have known a good thing if it hit me like a Bludger in the face.” A smug smirk appeared, “But I know it now.”

“And?”

Draco leaned over and refilled Hermione’s glass. “And?” he replied innocently.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Come now, Malfoy yo-“

“Draco.” He corrected her quietly and she flushed. He really found it endearing how easily he could make the formal and proper Hermione Granger blush when he put his mind to it.

She nodded accommodatingly. “Draco.” She amended softly. “You can’t go saying things like that and not go into details.”

He shrugged. “I’m a private man, Hermione,” the use of her first name made her tingle from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes and she couldn’t quite keep the pleased smile from blossoming wide on her face. His slow grin back made them pause quietly for a heartbeat, the indefinable emotion between them hung heavy and intense. He cleared his throat and she took a small sip of her wine to quench her suddenly dry throat. “But, I will say this much; I’d be willing to bet that you’ve had a similar experience in your lifetime and once you accept what it is that Fate has in store, it certainly will make life much more interesting.”

Hermione’s heartbeat tripled and quadrupled in a matter of seconds. Her eyes flew up to Draco’s and for a moment she thought she saw something flash across his face, something like acknowledgement, acceptance…but of what she couldn’t guess.

It took her a moment before she found her voice and replied, “Well, I have to say that I can now look back on the path my life has taken and see the way it’s wound itself in one direction over and over again. Even when I tried to change course, I always found myself set back on my original path. I’ve not been happy with it many times – but,” she sighed wistfully, “as you said…I suppose, I can see where Fate has had a part in where I am today.”

An eyebrow quirked and Draco replied a bit coolly, “Back on your original path. The one that you didn’t want to be on, correct?”

Hermione laughed and surprised herself with her answer. “Like you, Draco, when I was young, I didn’t want to believe that anyone or anything could have a say in my own outcome, in my own choices for my life, except for me. Fate, divine intervention, whatever you chose to label it…I didn’t want any part of it. I wanted to be in total control. But, time changes you as you get older.” Hermione chuckled again. “I suppose I’ve softened a bit from the rather rigid, straight-laced young girl of my youth.”

“You’ve matured into an amazing woman. One that I value knowing and having a friendship with.” Draco’s voice was deep as he spoke and Hermione’s eyes widened at his compliment and admission.

“I-“ she faltered for a heartbeat, “I still have growing to do, and I’m admittedly still a bit bossy on occasion,” they both laughed to ease the unexpected tension in the air, “but thank you again for the compliment. I – I do value you in my life too, Draco. I hope you know that.”

“Even though I am a part of that path you’re on? The one you didn’t want to travel down?”

Hermione frowned. “I said I explored other courses, but I always came back. Who doesn’t reach out and want to spread their wings? Who doesn’t want to grow and see what the world has to offer? But, I’ve seen a lot of what is out there and found that I very much like my life, thank you. I realized I am where I’m supposed to be. Right here, right now.”

“Back to your original path.”

Hermione smiled and nodded raising her eyebrows. “Back to my original path.”

“No regrets then?”

Hermione couldn’t quiet understand why he was so intent on this and why his expression was so serious, but she felt it was somehow a very important question. She shook her head slowly and kept eye contact. “No, no regrets.”

There was a visible relaxation that spread across his features before he quirked a small grin and asked, “So, it would be safe to say that your original path does not involve Weasley taking you to the gala?”

“No,” Hermione laughed, “I don’t suppose it does.” She looked down to take another sip from her wine and missed the relief that flashed across his face.

“Well then,” Draco announced, standing up and smiling beguilingly at Hermione, “it’s settled.”

“What is settled?” My, she had had too much to drink tonight. She was sure there was quite a bit more going on in this entire conversation, but hadn’t been able to put a finger on it.

“You need an escort to the gala,” he held his hand up when she would have protested and continued, “You need an escort to the gala,” he reiterated, “and as Fate would have it, I am available. I will be your escort.” Draco watched as her eyes rounded a bit when his words sunk in. He approved of the flush that stained her cheeks almost instantly and he smiled.

Hermione’s glass froze half way to her lips. “You? You want to take me? Why? You don’t have a date already?” Her gaze wavered between incredulous and shocked.

Draco looked up at the sky; it had started raining a while back and the deflection charm that Hermione had cast over the patio left the rain beating against it in tempo with the slow thrum of the music in the background. “I like this song,” he said casually, still holding out his hand to her.

Hermione looked at him strangely, “It is a very nice song,” she agreed slowly, eying him suspiciously.

Draco sighed, “Care to dance?” He looked impatiently at her.

“What? Da-dance..why? And you didn’t answer my question. Don’t you already have a date?”

Draco shrugged noncommittally. Truth be told, he’d had a couple of young witches lined up, but his prospects had suddenly become much brighter when he decided that he was taking Granger to the gala, no matter that she was hesitant. She’d accept, he was pushy that way; Draco always got what he wanted. “I believe we cleared that up already, Granger. Yes, I have a date,” he replied sounding exasperated and extended his hand again. “That would be you.”

When Hermione only looked at him and didn’t move, Draco rolled his eyes and reached over taking the glass from Hermione’s hand and set it upon the table, then pulled her to her feet. “An escort should see how well their partner can dance,” he said taking her easily into his arms. He grinned when she squeaked in surprise as he pulled her snug up against him. The timber in his voice sent a little shiver down Hermione’s back and she became very aware of how nicely indeed she fit in his embrace.

“I’m sure you are an excellent dancer, Draco,” Hermione replied distractedly. With Draco holding her so close, Hermione was not sure where she should look. She took in his broad shoulders, her eyes trailed across his chest, running the length of his extended arm, and finally stopped where her hand was resting in his and much to her annoyance she blushed again. Lord have mercy! It’s like she was a bashful, innocent teen again, dancing with her first crush. Oh God…Malfoy – her crush? She was losing her mind.

Draco’s low chuckle jolted her and her gaze shot up to his. He was grinning. “I was referring to me, Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to keep her voice steady as they began moving together; her patio was small, but he still lead her around quite effortlessly. His movements were fluid and graceful and she fell easily into step with him. “You’re presuming I’m going to go with you.”

“I presume nothing, Hermione. You are going to go with me.” At her indignant huff he pulled her a bit closer and whispered in her ear, “What are you wearing?”

Hermione looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“It is a costumed event, Granger. What is your costume?”

Hermione looked shocked. “I’m working, Draco. I’m not wearing a costume. It’s not a social event for me.”

Draco tutted. “Nonsense. Of course you’re wearing a costume. It’s your gala. You were the person instrumental in all the planning of the event. You will be in costume. I already have the perfect costume for you, as a matter of fact.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? You’ve not even heard what I’m suggesting. I-“

“I will not come dressed – or rather un-dressed as it would be, as Eve.”

Draco sighed dejectedly. “You know how to quash a man’s hopes so easily, Granger.”

Hermione groaned and rolled her eyes. “Spare me, Malfoy. Besides,” Hermione blushed, “I don’t believe that Eve strolls around bare as a blue jay for anyone other than Adam, as I recall.”

Draco’s hand that was holding her waist tightened fractionally. “Ah, touché, Eve.” Suddenly the idea of Granger naked in front of anyone but him sent an unwelcome blast of possessiveness shooting up his spine. His eyes darkened to a deep blue and the timber in his voice dropped low. “And, I agree. Adam is the only one who should have the privilege of seeing the beautiful Eve, aú natural.”

Hermione had had a witty reply all ready to go, but the look in his eyes took the words right out of her head. She was momentarily lost in his gaze before she finally managed to gather her thoughts. “Anyway, you wouldn’t have fun with me dressed –“

“Undressed.” He interjected casually. But his eyes were leaping with intensity.

She paused locked on his stare for a second then replied shakily, “Undressed, correct, as Eve.”

Hermione was losing hold on this conversation with astounding alacrity. She still wasn’t sure when she had agreed to being Draco’s date for the evening and now she was dancing with him, not only dancing, but dancing way too slowly to be considered appropriate and pressed very firmly against him. And to top it all off, they were now actually debating the matter of her nakedness and how much he would or would not enjoy it…

Draco’s hand slid slowly up her spine and Hermione felt goosebumps rise up on her arms. “I can already attest to the fact personally that I know it would be great fun for me, have no doubts.” Hermione let out a strangled sort of sound from the back of her throat and Draco laughed. “But, I admit, I am most curious to hear your reasoning behind that, my darling, Eve.”

“I was referring to the fact that you would not be able to have any of your highfalutin tailors or fancy seamstresses flitting about you for your costume.”

Draco’s eyebrow rose. “And why would that be?”

Hermione tried to keep her smile in check, but the fact that she’d shared three bottles of wine were definitely affecting her. “Because, since I would be going as Eve – and with you wanting to be my gallant escort, it’s only fitting that you would –“

“Come as Adam.” Draco laughed.

“Indeed. How ever would you get by with only a fig leaf to adorn?”

“Are you implying that I’m vain, Granger? Or, are you daring me come dressed –“

“Undressed,” Hermione laughed now too. The thought of Malfoy in only a fig leaf was quite a tempting idea. If truth be told she’d probably be the belle of the ball where all the ladies were considered. Might even be worth it to come aú natural…

Hermione shook her head stubbornly, to clear her mind of such insane contemplations. She smiled sweetly at Draco. “As alluring a thought though it may be of you in a custom designed fig leaf, the point is moot.”

“Oh really? Why so? You don’t fancy that I can hold up my end of a bet, Eve?”

Hermione shook her head, “Oh no you don’t, Malfoy. There is no way in Hades that I’m entering into any kind of a bet with you. I’m well aware of your Slytherin negotiating tactics.”

He bit back a small grin; Hermione had always been a smart cookie. “Slytherin negotiating tactics, eh?” He chose that moment to spin Hermione and brazenly dipped her low, holding her tightly against him. “I can’t wait to hear this one.” His voice was low and his tone whispered of flirtatious challenge. How could she resist such an invitation? Hermione held her breath as Draco pulled her back upright and rotated their hips in a slow sensual move.

“See what I mean?” she replied breathlessly.

He smiled innocently. “I certainly don’t. I’m simply dancing with you. There were no tactics involved.”

She snorted. “None indeed.”

“Are you implying that my dancing with you can be used in bargaining?” He grinned cockily. “My, my, Granger, I had no idea I affected you so.”

Hermione huffed. “You don’t, but you’re attempting to distract me from our discussion.”

His cocky grin grew wide. “I’m distracting you? This conversation is getting better and better all the time.”

“Ugh!” Hermione tried to pull back from him half-heartedly, but he held fast.

“Now now, Granger, don’t take away the only bargaining chip I have. Besides, I am enjoying much too much having you so close.”

Hermione’s mouth had been opened for a retort but she snapped her jaw shut. He liked having her close? She opened and closed her mouth twice more before she finally sputtered, “See! See what I mean? You, you’re sneaky and underhanded. If you think you can distract, double talk or trick me or change my mind, then you should think again. It’s no use.”

“I am in no way sneaky or underhanded. I’m more of the cunningly creative type. And I’m not sure what you mean by ‘no use?’ I’ll have you know I’m very good at my ‘tactics’ as you so eloquently put it. I can be most persuasive when I need to be.” He grinned lasciviously at her. “Do I need to be persuasive with you, Ms. Granger?”

Merlin how did anyone manage to get sex into their voice like that? She had no idea, but really, she didn’t need to be persuaded that much. She was already more than half-way there. If he kept looking at her like that, and holding her like he was, she just might go pluck a fig leaf from her very own tree and ask him to model it for her. But there was no need for him to know that little nugget of information.

“I’m sure your powers of persuasion are considerable, but they’re utterly lost on me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that is so, because I’m not going in a costume.” Hermione arched one brow in challenge, “However, if you choose to come in a costume a-la in flágránte, I wouldn’t dream of standing in your way. I imagine you will certainly boost the donations from our female patrons.”

“I thank you sincerely for your obsequiousness,” he replied dryly, and countered smoothly, “But you will be coming costumed as will I.”

“I will not.”

“Granger, you have no idea how incredibly determined I can be when I want to get my way. Save yourself the ultimate defeat and relent.” He dipped his head and whispered in her ear, “You know I’m going to win.”

Hermione shuddered delicately. “Prat,” she growled defiantly and decided to test his will. After all, Hermione was no slouch when she wanted her own way either.

He grinned and tipped his chin pulling her a bit closer. “At your service.”

They launched into a heated debate and were enjoying the verbal repartee immensely when a loud peal of thunder roared around them, shaking the house and drowning their words.

Neither one had noticed that the once soft patter of the rain had increased in tempo to a sharp, heavy staccato upon the charmed patio ceiling above them, until that moment. Hermione gasped and jumped, clutching tightly to Draco. The momentary flash of what looked to be very real fear on her face surprised him. It’d been a long time since he’d seen anything resembling terror in Hermione’s expression and it brought back the vision of the night she’d come to him, to tell him about Harry. It had been storming – a raging tempest. Hermione was drenched when she found him, but he was so focused on her anguish and her tears that he barely remembered now how she soaked his clothes when she clung to him sobbing. He only recalled that he had to stop her tears and before she told him what had happened, he held her and soothed her, whispering words of comfort and nonsense to quiet her down before Hermione was able to tell him about Harry.

Since that night, Hermione had not been able to sit through a storm without breaking into a cold sweat. It was the only re-occurring physical reminder of that night that still affected her. Yet the rain brought it all back to vivid life. Memories that she tried so desperately to forget assailed her heart, breaking it open anew and feeling the droplets scalding her heart, like the searing brand of tears that were permanently flowing from her soul.

“Granger?” Draco’s concerned tone brought her eyes to his. She tried to shake it off, angry with herself for being so weak after all these years. Angry for letting it still get to her. She wanted to pull away, but he was holding her against him securely and truthfully it just felt too good to leave his embrace. “You want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. Hermione had never told anyone how she found Ron and Harry that night. How the hollow, dead eyes of Harry haunted her, burned into her memory forever. How when on stormy nights she was sure she could still hear Ron’s anguished howls of loss piercing the shriek of wind and rain.

“No,” was all she said.

Draco pulled back just a bit to peer into her face. “You know you can tell me anything, yes? You know I’ll never judge you or belittle your feelings. We’ve been through too much for that.”

Hermione blinked. It had been a very long time since she’d had a real confidant. Someone she could trust. Draco had been there, sure, but she had always had Ron and Harry, even Ginny to rely on. Draco had been on the sidelines, seemingly unattainable, just out of reach. “Whenever you’re ready, Hermione. I’m not going anywhere.” But now he was telling her differently. He was telling her he was there for her.

Hermione decided she liked the idea very much. She was just about to reply when there was a loud banging at her front door. Both their heads snapped toward the sound, peering into the darkness of the living room.

“You expecting anyone this late, Granger?” Draco asked quietly, a cautionary note to his voice was evident.

“No,” she replied trying to step out of his arms.

Draco held her fast and pulled his wand glancing around the darkened space warily. He didn’t really think there would be any trouble, but Hermione was so skittish, she was making him nervous. Hermione immediately pulled his arm down. “Draco! This is a Muggle neighborhood. You can’t pull your wand willy-nilly like that.” She raised her eyebrows at him when he didn’t comply.

“Willy-nilly? Granger, you’re shaking like a leaf. You’re clearly upset. It could be trouble.” Hermione shook her head. “Don’t ever ignore your gut,” Draco warned as he set her firmly behind him and headed for the door, wand raised defensively.

Hermione sighed and tugged on the back of his belt loop insistently. He paid her no mind. “Draco, rest assured that my being upset has nothing to do with the present.”

That stopped him. Draco turned to eye her intently and after a moment he dropped his arm but still held his wand loosely. “I’m listening.”

Hermione glanced over Draco’s shoulder at the door; there was another insistent rap. She didn’t want to get into the specifics about her reactions just now because she was worried she may tell him what she saw that night and she didn’t want to.

Not because she didn’t want to share it with Draco, in particular, but because she simply didn’t want to relive that moment ever again, though it was never really out of her mind completely. She sighed impatiently. “Look, it…” she paused, clearly uncomfortable, “It’s the rain. I don’t like the rain.”

Draco tilted his head thoughtfully and after a moment nodded. “Brings back memories?” he guessed correctly.

“Ones I’d rather not dwell on. So –“ The rapping had turned into banging now and this time a woman’s voice could be heard calling Hermione’s name frantically. Hermione jumped and tried to get round Draco who spun around and yanked the door open wide, wand in hand and raised high.

Hermione gasped his name and grabbed hold of his belt loop once more and tugged him backward forcefully, pushing him behind her. She gave him a scathing look. “Honestly, Draco!” she scolded and whispered heatedly under breath, “Put that away. Now!” Hermione turned back to the doorway and gazed at the elderly lady standing at the threshold looking anxious and thoroughly soaked. “Mrs. Butterworth!” Hermione exclaimed, “What’s the matter?” She tried to lead the elderly lady inside but the lady refused.

“Oh, Hermione, dear! I apologize for barging in on you at this late hour, but it’s Waffle - she’s run out into the night! And in such a storm…” the lady wrung her hands nervously, she was shaking slightly. “You see, she’s fearful of the thunder and I was closing a window when she leapt right out…” she trailed off miserably catching a slightly worn looking wet shawl around the edges of her shoulders and pulling it tight against her.

Hermione glanced out at the front yard as a lightning lit up the sky. She shivered and turned back to the elderly woman. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll see if I can find her.”

Hermione was already turning, presumably to look for a rain slicker when Mrs. Butterworth cut in. “But, I already know where she is! She’s in your tree, in the front garden. I’ve been trying to get her down, but the storm is getting worse and I’m worried she’ll be hit by lightning! She looks to be hurt -” She grasped Hermione’s hands tightly and looked for the first time toward Draco where he was standing silently and jumped. “Oh! I had no idea you had a gentleman here. Oh no! Oh my! I’m so sorry!” Mrs. Butterworth began edging back out the door, deeply embarrassed. “I’m sure she’ll be along presently,” the woman mumbled and turned to grasp Draco’s forearm in a kindly gesture. “Please excuse my horrible intrusion.”

“Don’t be silly!” Hermione replied quickly. “You’re not interrupting anything.” She glanced hastily at Draco and noted the amused expression on his face and the slight grin that was tugging at the corner of his lips. “Right, Draco?”

“Absolutely not.” He reaffirmed. The tone of his voice however, conveyed the exact opposite.

Hermione rolled her eyes and reached for the first thing she had at her door, a cagoule, as she made the hasty introductions between her elderly neighbor and Draco. “We’ll help you get Waffle,” she reassured Mrs. Butterworth as she thrust on the jacket haphazardly and followed the grateful looking lady out into the rain. Draco sighed and reached for his coat as well. Looked like the rain was unavoidable.

-- * --

The three stood there in misty blackness, staring up at the large tree, trying to come up with a game plan to coax the loudly moaning cat down and getting good and soaked. The thick branches still had a few stubborn leaves clinging to the stalwart frame of the tree, and the twisted trunk looked downright otherworldly and frightening in the dark of the night. The rain had served to cool the otherwise warm evening considerably and whipped up a brisk wind with it that whistled through the trees and sent an unwelcome blast of cold shooting through the air. Draco grimaced from the chill and turned to Hermione and noted that the two women were more affected by the cold than he, as they were both shivering slightly. Hermione had slung a protective arm over the older lady as she peered into the tree to try and spot the errant cat.

Draco moved to stand next to Hermione. If she could just distract the old woman long enough, he could accio the stupid cat from the tree and be done with this silliness. He turned to Hermione and leaned over, letting his arm rest against hers and holding back a little grin when she jumped from the contact. “See it yet?” he asked glancing up and squinting from the droplets splashing in his eyes.

“No,” Hermione replied. She really didn’t want to be out here at the moment, but letting her elderly neighbor stand out in her yard in a storm trying to get some stubborn, frightened animal down from a tree wasn’t exactly an option either.

“You know,” he said quietly, pulling Hermione back slightly from Mrs. Butterworth who was at the base of the tree holding her arms out and calling to her pet, “I can get that beast down easily…”

Hermione shook her head slowly. “You’re not doing magic in my front yard, in a totally Muggle neighborhood, Malfoy. So, forget it,” she all but hissed. Her tone brooked no argument.

Draco paid her no mind. “It’s dark, Granger. It’s late and it’s raining. This is not exactly a night made for strolling. Just distract her and I’ll have the cat down and you inside in a flash.” His eyes traveled over Hermione and she shuddered a bit. “You’re all wet,” he stated, his voice low. His eyes were locked on hers as he reached out to pull a strand of hair that clung to her cheek away from her face. He let his fingers linger there for just a heartbeat before stepping back. He shot her a sly grin and whispered, “And, as much as I enjoy the idea of you being wet…” Hermione’s mouth dropped open and both her and Draco’s eyes shot for just a second to the lady standing next to them, before locking on each other again, his grin growing broad and teasing, “I’d much rather not have an audience for that.”

Hermione shook her head in frustration and walked past Draco, grabbing his hand and leading him to the base of the tree and pointed to his hands. He quirked a brow in question. “Well, don’t just stand there, Malfoy. Give me a boost.”

Draco looked at her as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind. “Excuse me?”

Hermione fought back a little grin at the oh-so-proper sounding tone in his voice. “Hoist me up and I’ll climb the tree and get the cat down.”

Draco looked aghast. “You’ll do no such thing, Granger!” He pulled his arms back sharply and took a step away from her.

“What?” She took the step back to him and he shook his head again. “Come on! I’ve climbed loads of trees when I was a kid.”

Draco looked dubious. “I doubt that,” he stated flatly.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in indignation, she turned to glare at him, swiped rain from her face in annoyance and folded her arms, her fingers tapping impatiently. “And why is that, exactly? You don’t think I was fit enough to climb a few trees when I was younger?”

Draco’s gaze swept over her, his look was nothing if not appreciative. “Your fitness has nothing to do with it. You’ve never particularly struck me as the tom-boyish type; wouldn’t you agree, bookworm?” His eyes lit up as he caught the somewhat flustered expression cross her face. He grinned. “Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”

Yes, yes, we all know Hermione’s smart, she groused to herself and opened her mouth to reply, but Draco only sighed exaggeratedly and glanced up at the tree as he shrugged out of his long coat. He walked over to Mrs. Butterworth, draped the heavy coat over her shoulders and squeezed her arm reassuringly. “I’ll get your pet for you, madam,” he professed. Draco made a big show of gallantly kissing the elderly lady’s hand and looked so dashing and handsome that she smiled gratefully through her haze of tears and rain-streaked face.

Before he began climbing he turned back to Hermione, who watched all this with her mouth slightly open and an awed look on her face. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You owe me, Granger.” The tone in his voice sent little shockwaves rippling across her skin and she gasped quietly in response. He grinned at her roguishly, unabashedly pleased at her reaction to his words, before turning and swinging agilely up into the tree.

As he scaled each branch, stalking his prey, Draco mused that although he certainly couldn’t have ever pegged tree-climbing in a storm as one of the activities he’d be partaking in tonight, he had to admit that this whole evening had made Hermione that much more intriguing...and it had been unquestionably entertaining thus far. Even with his clothes being ruined and Granger’s doddering old neighbor butting in, he was having a good time. Just seeing Granger’s reaction to his being so close to her moments before, made this whole crazy evening worthwhile. Even now his mind was busy plotting all the wonderfully wicked scenarios in which he could get Hermione to elicit more of those delicious, pleasurable little gasps. He chuckled, as he narrowed his gaze at a lowly growling cat just a hands-reach away and thought he’d have a very good time finding out.

For Hermione’s part, she found it hard to keep the ridiculously pleased smile off her face after watching Draco gently cover her Muggle neighbor with his coat. If she hadn’t already planned to give in to him and go to the gala as his date, he’d certainly secured her now. Hell, she’d even wear a costume for him. She stopped trying to fight the thrill of pleasure coursing through her and shook her head, as her smile grew wide. Hermione couldn’t help but marvel that Draco Malfoy, even after all these years, was still able to surprise her.

Draco glanced down at Hermione once, their eyes locking briefly before he scaled the last few branches, coming nearly face to face with a very sodden and forlorn feline. He began talking quietly to the cat and surreptitiously slid his wand out of his pants pocket. With one quick flick, he had the cat meek and pliant in his hands and was swiftly descending the tree.

After numerous thanks from a thrilled Mrs. Butterworth, she bid a teary-eyed goodnight to both Hermione and her ‘gallant beau.’ She and Waffle were finally happily reunited and back across the hedgerow, tucked in for the evening, safe and sound.

Draco had then placed his coat around Hermione’s shoulders, rebuffing her refusal to wear it and led her home. They were silent until he led her inside and closed the door, turning slowly to look at Hermione. She reached up and tugged self-consciously at her sodden hair, feeling incredibly nervous as Draco removed his coat from her shoulders and hung it up on a peg by the door. Somehow the simple act seemed extremely intimate.

They looked at each other for a moment, each silent, before Hermione spoke softly, “Draco…” She shook her head, a supple smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Thank you…for everything.” Her words were simple, but her eyes spoke volumes and Draco found himself closing the distance between them.

His eyes locked on hers and he smiled back. “No thanks necessary, Granger. All in a days work for dashing heroes, such as myself.” She chuckled, but the laughter died on her lips when she caught the expression on Draco’s face as his eyes descended slowly over her body.

The lightweight material of the soaking dress clung to her like a second skin, hiding nothing from Draco’s view. Hermione’s gaze followed his and her breath hitched and, to her dismay, she felt her nipples furl tightly in expectation just from the way he was looking at her. Before Hermione could even react, Draco reached out and caressed her cheek, his warm palm sliding down to graze her neck before settling on her shoulder and flaring goosebumps to life across her sensitive skin. His voice was low, almost a rumble when he whispered, “You’re cold.”

Hermione trembled. It had nothing to do with the temperature. “I – I’m fine.” Really, she wasn’t so cold anymore and she was getting warmer by the second.

Draco shook his head. “And you’re still wet.” Her eyes snapped to his, only this time there was no hint of teasing there. His eyes had turned a deep blue and as his hand slid down past her shoulder, he whispered, “We need to fix that.”

No more than the words were out of his mouth, did Hermione feel a soothing heat envelope her and realized in a haze that she was completely dry and blessedly warm. Draco took a step back to inspect his handiwork and a ragged sound rumbled from his chest. “Merlin…” was all he said.

Hermione looked up at him, her expression somewhere between bewilderment and awe. Draco was overwhelming her senses. It had been a very long day to begin with and her already jumbled feelings for him were now in absolute chaos. He was too nice this evening – to her – to her Muggle neighbor – to the stupid cat…too caring, too handsome and he was much too close to her. His scent was overpowering, making her dizzy, his skin was too soft to the touch, and every move he made and breath he took she felt like she was taking with him. Hermione had let her guard down with him tonight, sharing too many things she’d wanted to keep buried forever and now he was making her pulse pound and her body react like it hadn’t in so very long and she felt flushed and hot.

It was all too much.

Hermione blinked back as a flood of lightheadedness struck her and she swayed on her feet. Draco reacted swiftly, catching her against him. He paused for only a moment, seemingly battling with his thoughts, before he groaned quietly and scooped her up into his arms.

Hermione didn’t stop to think what she was doing; she didn’t stop to wonder what he was doing, she just wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in the crook of his shoulder. Draco’s response was instantaneous. He tightened his hold on her possessively, his cock surging to life, and he bit back another groan. “Where is your bedroom, Granger?”

Hermione pulled her head back from his shoulder and was surprised to see the undisguised desire in his expression. She answered him at once and Draco tried to ignore how willingly she was clutching to him and fought to keep his eyes from roving lustily over every inch of her body pressed so tightly against him. Within moments he’d made the short trip down the hall and was laying Hermione gently on her bed.

Draco’s lips were a breath away from hers as he set her down, and Hermione, inhaling his scent, found it hard to resist the wild urge to yank him on top of her. He pulled back, releasing his hold on her and Hermione sat up and reached out to stop Draco when he would have pulled away completely. “Where are you going?” she asked breathlessly. She wasn’t going to think too much about what she wanted at the moment. She’d have plenty of time later to analyze and over-analyze her actions; but for now, she wasn’t going to worry. Right now she was busy taking in all of Draco and the way his undoubtedly expensive and now undoubtedly ruined shirt was glued to his broad shoulders and chest, giving her an unhindered view of his masculine frame and how his legs and, oh lord, his very prominent, very big bulge were perfectly outlined in his soaked pants. Her mouth went dry.

Draco seemed torn; he didn’t pull away from her grasp, but he finally took a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t want to get you wet again…” He was trying for humor, but the electricity buzzing between them was distracting them both.

She managed a shaky smile and tried to keep her voice even. “You can stay while I dry your clothes. I don’t mind…” She looked up at him through her lashes and Draco clenched his fists trying to keep himself from boring her into the bed. “I’d like you to stay.”

Draco raked a hand through his hair in indecision and he chuckled ruefully. “Ah, Eve…Now I fully understand the temptations that you present. But, as much as I’d like to take you up on your offer, it’s late and you’re tired.” He noted the look of disappointment and hurt that flashed across Hermione’s face before she turned her head so he wouldn’t see how embarrassed she was.

He came and knelt down beside her bed, resting on one knee and took her hand gently in his. “Granger, hey…look at me.” Hermione reluctantly met his gaze. “As much as I want to stay for a bit longer, I’ve got to get home. I’ve got a date tomorrow, you see and I can’t stay out all night.”

Hermione pulled her hand sharply out of his; she looked like she’d been slapped. It took her a moment, but she masked her anger and hurt fairly well. Or so she thought, until she heard herself speak. “Well…that is certainly understandable.” She couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I wouldn’t want your date to suffer with an inattentive Draco because you were out all night with me. I’m sorry to have kept you this long…”

Draco stood up and began retreating. He reached her doorway and turned back to her. “No worries, Eve. She’s a very understanding sort. I’m quite fond of her, actually.” He lounged in the doorframe, casually crossing his arms over his chest and grinned at her. “You’d like her, she’s awfully bossy and insufferably smart.” He paused, then added, “And rather beautiful.”

Hermione sat up a bit more in her bed and glared at Draco. “She sounds like quite the catch.” She pasted on a fake smile. “Can’t wait to meet her.”

“Mmmmm.” Draco pushed off from the doorway, “Well, I’m off. Goodnight, Eve. Dinner was superb.” He turned to go, but then turned back once more. “You, ah, don’t mind if we do lunch next time. My treat of course. Say... tomorrow?”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. He wants to do…“Lunch?” What was he playing at?

Draco nodded. “Lunch; the meal that comes after breakfast and before dinner. I presume you’ve heard of it?”

She narrowed her eyes for a moment before replying dryly, “You have a date. Remember?”

Draco snapped his fingers. “Quite right. Absolutely.” He nodded agreeably holding back his grin. This was the most fun he’d had in – well, as long as he could remember. It was just too easy to tease the normally brilliant Granger. He mused she must be tired. All the better to my advantage he thought.

“She’s a lovely girl.” He continued cheerfully. “Did I mention it’s a shopping date?”

Hermione was clearly not getting it.

“You didn’t.” she snapped. “How lucky for her.”

“Quite right, again.” Draco could not resist goading her just a bit more. “She is a lucky girl indeed. So, lunch then?”

“Won’t your lady mind?” she bit out. Then something struck her and her heart sank. It must be set for the evening…Of course. Hermione was crushed. “Don’t go out of your way for me. Your date might get jealous.”

Draco tutted. “Nonsense. She’s quite the agreeable sort. So, lunch it is!” He gave her a jaunty salute and strode out, but only moments later poked his head back in. “You do recall I said you owe me – yes?”

He was greeted with Hermione’s irked stare. Clearly she had expected him to return. “I seem to remember something like that, yes.” She folded her arms irritably.

Draco smiled. “Excellent. I wish to collect.”

“What is it you want exactly, Adam?” Hermione grumbled.

“Exactly?” Draco quipped. “Talk about loaded questions.”

Hermione pulled her legs over the side of the bed intending to get up now and Draco stopped her. “I can let myself out, Eve. And what I want,” he paused, “among other things,” clearly ogling her, “is a costume.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Just a costume?”

Draco nodded. “For the moment, it’s the only thing on my mind.”

“I see. I’m sure you’ll be dazzling in whatever you decide to wear.”

“Naturally.” He agreed. “But, I was referring to your costume.”

Hermione let out a little disgusted sound. “I don’t have time to get a costume, Draco. I’ll try to find something to wear later on this week. We’ll talk about it on Monday. Okay?” She felt a headache coming on.

“Rubbish. You have plenty of time. And, have no worries, I’ll find you a spectacular one.” He turned to leave. “I’ll pick you up at noon.”

Hermione bolted up, “What? Noon? When?”

“Why tomorrow, of course.” He looked at her like she was a little child who didn’t understand his big words.

“What for?”

Draco spoke slowly, “To. Go. Shopping.”

“I can’t go shopping tomorrow, Malfoy. I have other plans.” Hermione shook her head tiredly, thinking it was probably a good thing that Draco was otherwise occupied tomorrow, because she was already starting to catalogue all the work she had to get through, when Draco turned abruptly and strode to the edge of her bed. She looked up at him surprised.

“With whom?” His voice was low and tight. Perhaps he hadn’t made his intentions clear enough.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “With work. For heaven’s sake, it’s less than a week before the Gala.”

Draco relaxed instantly. “Well, those plans have been cancelled.”

“Is that so?” Hermione raised a brow. “And why is that?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention, Eve? You’re afternoon is already spoken for. You have a previous engagement with a devastatingly handsome bloke, who doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Draco stood patiently waiting for the realization to dawn and watched with a raised eyebrow, as a series of emotions played across her face, before finally settling on something he would deem, chagrined pleasure.

Hermione fought to hold back a wide grin, but most of it managed to break free. “ I see you’ve finally caught on, Granger.” Draco’s eyes met hers and he grinned back. “Go to bed.” He said softly. He turned and walked out of her room, calling out over his shoulder, “I’ll pick you up at noon.”

She heard the door open and close and then the faint sound of Apparition outside. Hermione flopped back onto her bed, her head swirling. Did he just ask me out?...And, did I just agree?

Hermione groaned and tossed an arm over her eyes. She wasn’t sure how he’d pulled it all off, but in the span of less than twenty-four hours Draco Malfoy had somehow managed to get himself invited to her house for dinner (okay, so she had asked him) – and now he’d secured not only a date with her to the Gala, but one to go shopping to boot – and here was the kicker: he’d managed to do it all without asking her out even once.

Hermione felt a little thrill run though her at the idea of going out with Draco and her hand trailed down over her breasts and belly. It was only then that she noticed the fabric of her dress was different. She looked down and gasped, hopping out of bed and grasping a piece of the filmy fabric in her hand. Her dress had been knee length and wrap-around style, but now it skimmed past her ankles and fell in filmy, gauzy waves around her. She flipped on her overhead light and went to stand before the full-length mirror and her mouth dropped open.

Draco had changed her plain blue dress into a stunningly beautiful negligee. It had tiny straps and a silky bosom that outlined her breasts perfectly before flowing into a dramatic sweeping skirt. But the thing that made her catch her breath - the color was the exact shade of Draco’s eyes.

Hermione spun around and watched the nightgown whirl in a dreamy circle about her and giggled.

She would keep it forever.

She flipped her light off, floated back to bed and before she knew it, she was falling peacefully to sleep, surprisingly soothed by the feel of the gown against her skin.

It was almost like a lovers caress.

She let her eyes drift closed. After all, she had to get her rest.

Because like it or not, it would appear that tomorrow Hermione Granger had a date with Draco Malfoy. She snuggled into her pillows and sighed happily.

She definitely liked it…


Special thanks to my darling beta, Ronnie / Rahnee - for her love and support and awesome 'grammar girl' super-powers. LOVE YOU, darling.

PS - Since you're here and all - please remember you don't need to be signed in to leave me a review and hey you know I'd love to hear from you!

What's happening in CH 4 - costumes, dancing, romance and lurveee...and, of course, hot sex! WHEE!

SHAMELESS PLUG: Hey - since you're here and all *shuffles toe around* - and, if you liked this fic thus far - perhaps you might want to go check out my other stories posted here at AFF! Click on my name there at the bottom right hand corner, and that will shoot you right to my author page where you can read to your heart's content. Let me know you've been cross-pollinated too in a review, so I know my shameless self promotion is working!

Cheers,

Lorett