Shout out to my friend and beta, SaintDionysus!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

You know that expression, every time a bell rings, two difficult people find each other?

No? Never heard that one?

Okay, back up.

James Potter turned four-years-old today.

This was why Hermione Granger found herself unironically wearing a conical party hat whilst snapping photo after photo of the kid trying and failing to successfully extinguish the four candles atop his multi-tiered triple chocolate cake.

"That's it. Work it. Work it," she said as James made love to the camera in the adorably narcissistic way only toddlers can pull off. The kid was a total attention whore, but Hermione was only too happy to play the part of dutiful godmother, and rapt audience member as the mini-copy of her best friend cheesed it for the camera.

This was the perfect dosage of child. Play with them, laugh with them, buy them presents, allow them to shower you with affection and totally ignore their parents when you were in the room, then leave the minute it was bedtime so you wouldn't have to do anything resembling discipline.

Ginny, who was visibly, audibly, and otherwise blatantly bored watching her son fail at candles, lost her patience with Britain's Next Top Model. "James, stop hamming and blow out your candles so we can all have cake. You do want cake, don't you?"

Ginny was eight months pregnant, and she wanted cake. Sue her.

"Cake!" Albus, the one-and-a-half-year-old, enthusiastically started clapping in agreement that it was high time they all had cake.

"Cut him some slack, Gin," Hermione said. "His birthday is on Christmas Eve. His life is hard enough as it is."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "His present pile is slowly becoming the Eighth Wonder of the World. He's fine."

The doorbell rang.

"I wonder who that could be," Ginny said with the subtlety of a thousand trolls on roller skates.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought that her red-headed friend could ever possibly think her over-the-top smirk and bounce in her step was fooling anybody.

After Ginny darted away to answer the door, Hermione shot Harry a scathing look. "I'm guessing there's a thousand percent chance that whoever is at the door is yet another single guy I'm destined to despise."

"I can neither confirm nor deny," Harry said, mindlessly sipping his beer.

"If I also had to guess, I'd wager that the phrase, 'thought you two would really hit it off,' will be whispered into my ear within the first couple of minutes." It was a classic, and yet Ginny had never been right in this supposition. Hermione sincerely doubted that Ginny had the foggiest idea as to her taste. "She's worse at this than my mother."

Harry sniggered. "You mean 'Mrs. I Know Seventy Single Male Dentists Under Fifty Who Would Be Perfect For You?'"

Hermione considered him for a moment as he chuckled into his drink before thumping him hard on the forehead.

"Ow, you bint!"

"Bint!" Albus screeched.

Hermione smirked at Harry. "If you can convince your wife to get rid of whatever boobie just rang your doorbell, I won't tell her you taught Albus that word."

"Harpy," he said tonelessly.

"Harb-ee!"

Harry facepalmed himself. "Fucking hell, that kid."

Ginny's voice rang through the dining room. "Look who just dropped by, everyone!"

Hermione's face fell.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway wearing the sleekest, blackest suit that had ever existed, levitating a present so large, it could easily have contained two Jameses.

Hermione snarled as she shot a warning glare at Ginny who just happened to look away the very second she felt Hermione's eyes on her.

"Draco mentioned he didn't have plans for Christmas Eve, so obviously I couldn't let him sit at home alone."

"Right. Because what fully grown adult man isn't clamoring to get invited to a four-year-old's birthday party?" Hermione intoned.

Draco regarded her with amusement. Since he and Harry started working together in the Auror Department, they had become friends. Unfortunately for Hermione, this meant she had been forced to endure his company on more than one occasion. These bouts of compulsory socialization were never too successful and never lasted long before one of them made an excuse to leave. "Am I not good enough for your godson, Granger? After all, I did bring a gift."

"Dwaco," Albus said, bouncing in place, signaling that the blond man had his keen permission to pick him up and place him on his shoulders.

Hermione felt a stab of self-hatred that she found Malfoy mildly attractive at that moment. Although, she could hardly be blamed. A doting toddler was to men what high heels, a push-up bra, and lipstick were to women—instant sex appeal.

Ginny purposefully walked by Hermione and whispered loudly into her ear. "Just so you know, I think you two would actually really hit it off."

Hermione stifled a triumphant snigger at her spot-on prediction of her friend's behavior. However, her moment of smug victory was quashed with the realization that his particular occasion did not call for an 'I Told You So.'

It called for a healthy punch to the throat.

Or at least it would if it wasn't frowned upon to do such things to pregnant women.

She opened her mouth to protest Ginny's epic, record-setting fail at assessing Hermione's type.

Ginny beat her to the punch. "And before you say anything, Harry happens to agree with me."

Hermione whipped around to confront her traitor best friend only to find he had reclaimed his youngest son from Draco and was currently hugging him tightly to his chest, effectively using him as a human shield.

She snarled. "This isn't over, Potter," she muttered under her breath.

"That's my line," an arrogant drawl said, interrupting her thoughts.

She rolled her eyes. "Why would you ever allow yourself to be roped into such an obvious setup?"

"You've met Ginny, right? Pregnant? Emotional? Terrifying?"

"Wuss," Hermione said, popping a cube of cheese into her mouth. "Having that hard of a time securing a shag, are you Malfoy?"

He scoffed. "What about you? Never had a boyfriend who's lasted more than a month, married to her job, poisonously bitter—"

"Watch it," she growled.

"—if anything, I'd say you're the one who needs help, Granger. In fact, you should probably feel flattered that Harry and Ginny think you're good enough for me."

Hermione seethed. "You are the worst."

His eyes sparkled with amusement. "I'll bet you say that to all the boys, don't you Granger?" he said as he tucked a curl behind her ear.

She gaped at him as he disappeared to pour himself a drink. Hermione stomped into the living room over to Harry who hugged Albus even closer to him. "Are you out of your mind?"

"What? You mean you two aren't madly in love yet?"

"Cut the crap, Harry."

"Crap!" Albus repeated joyfully.

"See what you've done now, Hermione?" Harry said, cupping his son's innocent ears. "I am, however, feeling generous. If you promise to attempt a civilized conversation with Draco, I won't tell Ginny you taught our child that word."

She narrowed her eyes. "What exactly are you playing at?"

Harry rolled his eyes and whispered in Albus's ear. "Hey, mate. Your Aunt Hermione and I need to have a serious grown-up chat. Do you think you could go sit on your gran's lap?"

"Gran!" the little boy exclaimed as his father set him down on the floor. He wasted no time in running into Molly Weasley's willing arms.

"I'm going to be straight with you, Hermione. Ginny and I are worried."

She scoffed. "About what, might I ask?"

"Your taste in men."

"What's wrong with it?"

Harry chuckled for a moment before he realized that she wasn't joking. "Well…it's appalling isn't it?"

"How would either of you know anything about my taste in men when you do nothing but get it horribly wrong every single time?"

"We're trying to help you, Hermione. Most of the guys you date are pricks, a rare few are too boring to be allowed to exist, and the few who are actually nice blokes, you've no interest in, and you break up with for the stupidest reasons."

She snorted. "Name one."

"Krum."

"All he talked about was Quidditch, Harry. I can't live like that."

"Hermione, he is a professional Quidditch player."

"He's boring."

"Okay. What about Oliver Wood."

Her eyes narrowed. "Please see my earlier comments."

"Please see mine."

"You're wrong."

"Okay. Fine. Here's one. What about Ron?"

"Hey! Okay. Go for the jugular, why don't you? We broke up five years ago."

"Correction. You dumped him because he tried to take you to Nando's on your birthday."

"It was more than just that, and you know it, Harry. He never paid any attention to details. It drove me crazy. And he's better off for it, isn't he? Is he, or isn't he off on his honeymoon with Lavender right now?"

"That's not the point, Hermione. The point is, you might have known Ron was wrong for you from the very beginning if you'd bothered to consult any of your friends who tend to be a better judge of these things than you. It would have saved you and Ron months of awkward romantic non-interest after you bashed his heart to utter shit."

"You're exaggerating."

"And another thing. You do realize why you largely fail at relationships, right? I mean besides the fact that you insist on choosing men who are completely wrong for you?"

"No, but I've a feeling I'm about to find out."

"You have impossible standards."

She released a self-indulgent scoff. "I do not."

"Oh, really?" Harry asked with a note of incredulity in his voice. "You know, it's actually a good thing you cut your men loose so mercilessly. Merlin forbid you actually married and procreated with any of those poor chaps. Because you set standards that no family activity can live up to."

'The Scoff' was truly the characteristic of the evening for Hermione. "When have I ever done that?"

Harry dropped his jaw in awe that his allegedly genius friend was so oblivious to her own personality. He began to hold up fingers, counting away as he listed his examples. "Birthdays…"

"He took me to Nandos, Harry! What am I, a chav?"

"…Weddings, anniversaries. Funerals!"

"Well, I apologize if I was concerned about the number of people who attended Miranda Goshawk's funeral! There weren't enough, Harry. She wrote The Standard Books of Spells for fuck's sake! Her students were literally legion."

Harry ignored her and continued his list. "…Holidays, vacations, graduations…"

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'm a pampered little diva."

Harry smiled fondly at her. "Hermione, you are not wrong to be opinionated. You know what you want, and you won't accept less out of life. There's nothing wrong with that. But my point is that you insist on going out with these men who aren't compatible with your values. They don't want the same things out of life that you want. But Draco is different. He's more like you. And you would know that if you gave him a chance. Plus, I think he likes you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh really? And what did he say to give you that impression?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. "…Well, last year a bunch of us were in Kiev finishing up a case that had been going on for ages, and we figured we'd all celebrate…"

"I know where this is going," Hermione drawled.

"…And we all got plastered. Just out of our minds, stupid drunk."

"Of course you did."

"And, of course, we all thought it be a good idea to play Truth or Hex because Clarke got his hands on some low-concentration Veritaserum."

Hermione gasped. "Harry! That's illegal!"

Harry squinted his eyes and waved his hand back and forth. "Ehh. Ish."

"You're an Auror."

"Anyway. Draco said some things that…well…"

Most of that night, Harry couldn't remember in great detail, but Malfoy's confession….

It was burned into his skull.

"Don't you think we're all too old to be playing this game?" Draco asked. At some point in the evening, he had wrapped his tie around his head and knotted it, the tail flowing down the side of his head to make him look like half an Armani basset hound.

"Nonsense, Malfoy. Have another vodka," Dean Thomas said as his eyes covertly raked over the ex-Slytherin. "Your turn. Truth or Hex?"

"Well, considering that you're about as useful with a wand as tits on a boar, I should probably pick Hex, but I think I'll actually stick with Truth."

"Alright!" Dean poured him a shot of Veritaserum, watching lecherously as Draco downed it. "If you could fuck anyone in the entire world, who would it be?"

Dean had a long-running theory that Draco was secretly gay. Seamus, his skeptical lover, disagreed. So the two had an ongoing bet. If Seamus was right, and the Malfoy heir was a diehard breeder, Dean simply owed Seamus twenty Galleons.

But in the excellent event that Draco was actually a closeted bone smuggler, Dean would attempt to rope the hot blond into a threesome with himself and Seamus.

Needless to say, Dean practically rubbed his hands together waiting for Draco to answer.

Draco smirked and looked up at Harry. "You're going to punch me in the face when I say this, Potter."

Harry's eyes widened. "If you say either me or my wife, then you're right. I will deck you in your pointy ferret face."

Draco sniggered drunkenly. "Not to worry, Potter. S'not either of you. Redheads don't do it for me. And I'd rather cut off my arm than fuck a bloke."

Dean rolled his eyes, mourning the loss of twenty Galleons and the possibility of smoking hot threesome sex with the ex-Slytherin and his favorite Irishman.

Draco continued. "But fucking shit, if I ever got my hands on Granger, do you know what I'd do to her?"

Harry coughed up a significant amount of vodka. "Oi, that's my best friend you're talking about." His eyes narrowed. "But go on then. What sort of things would you do to the woman I love like a sister?"

Draco licked his lips lustfully, his gaze unfocused and distant. "She'd probably kill me before I ever got close enough to do any of them to her. But Merlin I've wanted to fuck that woman ever since sixth year when she sprouted that sweet pair of tits and finally discovered conditioner."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Alright, mate. I think we get the point." Draco's candor was deeply felt by the room, as evidenced by the whooping, encouraging mirth of the other Aurors. Harry couldn't help but feel like a pig even existing near this conversation.

"And that fucking smart mouth of hers," Draco continued, ignoring Harry's tone of finality. "Sweet Salazar, I love a woman with a mouth."

"Oooo-kaaay," Harry said, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to change the subject. "Anyone up for a friendly game of Russian Roulette?"

Draco ignored him. "You know, I don't fancy blokes, but I want to shag Granger so bad, I would swim the goddamned English Channel just to suck the cock of the last bloke who fucked her."

Harry shook himself from the crass memory. "He said some lovely things about you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed. "I'm sure. You lads and your obnoxious ladding."

"Oh, look. My son's about to open his birthday presents and I'm going to stand somewhere else now," Harry said, walking inside the living room.

As Hermione followed behind him, she felt a warm, arrogant presence materialize next to her. "Oh, to be four again," Draco said as they watched James Potter tear into his gifts with gleeful violence.

"Lucky for you, you're not too far off. Mentally, at least," Hermione retorted.

Draco smirked. "Careful, Granger. My fragile masculinity can only survive so much of your bullying."

She pulled a face at the notion that he would accuse her of bullying. "You're a big boy. You can take it."

"I thought you just implied I was still a child."

"Go away, Malfoy."

He edged closer to her. "No."

"You're in my personal bubble."

"Says who?" he asked, his breath ghosting over her ear.

She dodged the warmth of his breath as it sent shivers up her spine. "You're drunk."

"I'm at a four-year-old's birthday party, Granger. How dare you make such an inaccurate allegation."

"What do you want?" she asked, turning to face him finally.

He shrugged, swirling his wine in his glass. "Ginny and Harry seem to think it would be a good idea for us to talk. It'd be terribly rude not to, don't you think?"

"Ginny's just suffering from pregnancy brain and Harry's too afraid of her to disagree. They don't know what they want."

"What's wrong, Granger? You still pining after that last bloke you broke up with? What was his name…the guy who didn't have a chin? Looked like his mummy still bought his trousers for him?"

"Gary."

Draco snapped his fingers. "Gary. That's the one. Handsome, wealthy, and intelligent not your cup of tea, Granger?"

"You're not my cup of tea, Malfoy. I don't know why Harry insists on being friends with you."

"That's a bit harsh. You don't even know me. I might surprise you."

Hermione was swiftly becoming frustrated with this conversation and Malfoy's stubborn refusal to leave her in peace. "Why are you still standing here?"

He smirked and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Well, Granger," he drained the rest of his wine for courage, steeling himself for the imminent physical retaliation that would probably follow his next line. "I have a perfect view down your dress right now. Why would I give that up?"

She scrambled to hide her cleavage, resisting the urge to wallop the pointy git in the face. After all, this was her godson's birthday party. "You fucking prat."

"Mmmm," he said, humming close to her ear. "Keep talking like that and see if it gets me to leave any faster."

"I need more alcohol," she said, woefully mourning the fact that she could now see the bottom of her glass.

"I'll get it for you."

"That's not necess—" Too late. He had already gone. She shrugged.

Whatever.

She now had about a minute of Malfoy-free time to herself and more alcohol on the way. Might as well let the boy fetch.

Covertly peeking to her décolletage, she checked to see which bra she was wearing. Baby pink lace. Very nice. Not that she was vain.

Not at all.

But if Malfoy insisted on being a pervert, then she might as well be as presentable as possible.

"Mulled wine?" Draco returned, handing her a warm cup full of rich, crimson-colored, cinnamon, orange, clove, and cardamom-scented wine.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure. After all, what kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't fetch my date a drink when she was thirsty?"

"I'm not your date, Malfoy." She took a healthy gulp of her wine. "Have you always been this single-minded or have I just never noticed?"

"Usually you never spend enough time with me in the same room to find out." He sipped from his own glass. "But yeah."

"I don't need Ginny and Harry's help getting a date."

"Never said you did, Granger. You're a gorgeous, intelligent, successful witch. I'm sure you could have your pick."

Taken aback by the sincere-sounding compliment, she found herself speechless. "Th-thank you."

"However, it's your picks thus far that have been the problem. I swear, Granger, you could be standing in a room full of princes all desperate to give you half their kingdom, and you'd still end up chatting up the rube bartender."

"Maybe I'm just not a snob! Ever think of that?"

"That's the problem, my dear," he said with an infuriatingly handsome smirk. "You are a snob. And there's nothing wrong with that. Just like there's nothing wrong with being a rube. Weasley has proven to have a few good qualities."

She would never understand how Harry and Ron ended up being friends with this guy.

"But a snob and a rube are incompatible romantically, Granger. Surely a woman as cultured and sophisticated as yourself can agree with that in theory, even if you can't seem to apply it in your own romantic life."

Maybe it was the mulled wine. Maybe it was the just right way the fireplace heated the room to enhance his clean, slightly spicy cologne.

Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't had a good shag in months and his smell, voice, and warmth were doing things to her body that she didn't particularly agree with.

But, damn it all, what Malfoy said made sense to her. Granted, it was the very same thing Harry had been trying to get across to her for ages, but Harry lacked Malfoy's graceful presentation and opportune timing. Maybe if Harry smelled like that, and waited until she had consumed two and a half mulled wines, she would have gotten the message earlier.

She shrugged, sipping her beverage. "Perhaps." No need to let the git know how agreeable she found him in that moment.

Draco smiled, amused by the way she pointedly refused to look at him. If her flushed cheeks and hardened nipples that he could happily make out through her dress were any indication, she didn't actually find looking at him to be such an offensive endeavor.

Poor thing. She really was trying her best to hate him. It almost made him want to take pity on her.

Almost.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "I happen to know that Potter's got a two hundred year old bottle of Ogdens Reserve in his study that he only breaks out for special occasions. What say you and I liberate it?"

She rolled her eyes, still not looking at him. Only the slight way the corners of her lips quirked up indicated she was amused by the proposition. "You mean 'steal.'"

"No, I mean 'borrow.' I'm obscenely wealthy, Granger. I'll buy him a new bottle. But the man is so fucking stingy with it. It's like he's afraid to drink it. And that's a crime in my book. Whisky that splendid should be enjoyed, don't you agree?"

Her teeth worried the bottom of her lip. "It's my godson's birthday party. I should—"

"Did you, or did you not contribute to a good quarter of that ostentatious hillock of gifts the little sprog is opening now?"

She smirked. "Good point."

He leaned in a bit closer. Hermione could feel her body immediately react to his warm presence, wine-scented breath, and delicious man-scent.

And he fucking knew this. "I'm sure little James wouldn't mind if his favorite godmother popped away for a bit so she could play too."

Okay, that. Fucking hell, if he didn't stop saying things like that, she was going to climb him like a damn Christmas tree.

"Come on, Granger."

Her eyelids fluttered a bit, much to her internal embarrassment. It wouldn't hurt. So, you're mildly attracted to him. That doesn't mean anything. You should go with him just to prove to both of you that the two of you are incompatible. You'll chat, you'll drink, you'll have a miserable time, and Harry and Ginny will drop the matter.

"Fine." Her voice came out a little huskier than she would like, which would not have been a problem if Malfoy didn't look so insufferably smug about it.

"Oh, my God. So fucking amazing." Hermione's head leaned back in Harry's overstuffed leather chair in ecstasy as she felt the silky, smoky burn of the best whisky she had ever tasted slide down her throat.

Draco looked like he was about to come in his pants watching her enjoy it. "It is good," his voice came out croakier than he meant it to. "So goddamned good."

"Why does Harry not drink this exclusively? He can afford it."

"Potter's a Philistine, Granger. He's hopelessly set in his middle-class sensibilities and he prefers quantity to quality. You've known this for years."

"True," she said swirling the caramel-colored liquid in her glass. "How did the two of you end up as friends?"

Draco shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He wore me down with his friendship. When we first started in the Auror Department, he must have asked me to join him and the other lads for a pint at the pub every single night after work. I, of course, always declined."

"Beer not really your thing, Malfoy?" Hermione teased.

He smirked. "I don't know about that, but I can say with absolute certainty that this whisky is definitely my thing."

She laughed. It occurred to her that she had never seen him so relaxed before. "So what changed your mind?"

"Well," he started, licking his lips in contemplation of how to continue. "My mother died. And that day would have been so much harder but Potter was just so fucking nice to me. I didn't understand it. Nobody in Slytherin would be so bereft over the death of someone they hardly knew."

Hermione frowned slightly. "I'm so sorry, Draco. Your mother was…" she sighed. "Let's just say we all owe her a lot."

"She would have liked you," he said, smiling brightly.

Hermione released an unlady-like snort. "No, she wouldn't have, but that's nice of you to say."

Draco laughed at her candor. "Anyway, Potter and I actually clicked pretty well together. He didn't talk as much as I assumed he would, and I wasn't as much of an arsehole as he thought I'd be."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "I never thought it could happen. You being friends with Harry and Ron."

"Did you ever think you'd find yourself locked in Potter's study with me, stealing his good whisky?"

Her smirk made his trousers feel conspicuously tighter. "I thought we were just borrowing it."

"Semantics, Granger." He returned her smirk with interest and Hermione shifted in her chair to adjust to her knickers' sudden dampness.

"So," she cleared her throat. "Do you still keep in touch with the Slytherins?"

"A bit, yeah. Zabini and I still get together for a laugh every now and then. Nott apparently is marrying Parkinson, which is just the most hilarious thing I've ever heard."

"Why?"

"She's a money-grubbing shrew and he's a sociopathic wank who prefers the company of men."

Hermione grinned at this information. "Does she know that?"

"Probably. I'm assuming it doesn't matter to her, so long as she can spend his money. And he doesn't mind that she's fellating every single member of the Chudley Canons because he has no interest in her."

"That's horrible!"

He shrugged. "That's pureblood marriages."

She bit her lip and took a sip of her whisky for courage. "Why aren't you married to some spoiled, fabulous pureblood girl?"

His grin slowly crept up his face, making him look almost predatory. "I guess I'm a romantic, Granger. Surely after the small amount of time we've spent together this evening, you can discern that I don't tick every box on the pureblood stereotype."

"I know nothing of the sort," she said teasingly.

He stared at her for a moment before jumping up and moving to the chair next to hers. "You know, I would ask why you aren't married, but I think we've already established the answer this evening."

"I'm picky."

"Selective in your expectations. A woman like you, Granger, most men will constantly disappoint you."

"What do you know about 'women like me?'"

"Not much. Although I'd very much like to."

She hid her blush as she took a sip of her drink.

He smirked at her bashfulness. "Get ready, Granger. Because I'm about to lay down some serious knowledge on you." He leaned in. "Men are scum."

She giggled into her glass. "Wow. Really? That's the knowledge were going to lay down on me? I already knew that."

"No. You don't get it. Men are pigheaded, absolute garbage humans. If you could read our minds, you'd immediately swear us off."

"I think I've got a pretty good idea what men think about most of the time."

"Yeah, but if you knew exactly, Granger, I think it would shock you to your core."

"Is that a fact? What about you?"

"Me?" He set his glass down on the nearby desk and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "If you knew what I was thinking about doing to you in that dress, you'd slap me."

Every last bit of moisture in her throat dried up at that. She gulped. "Oh?"

"Absolutely. And it would probably eclipse The Great Slap of 1994."

She swallowed loudly. "How dare you?" Her voice came out breathy, low, and utterly devoid of any conviction to reprehend him.

He bit his lip to keep from smirking. "I would apologize, but that is a very fetching dress. And I do have a very active imagination."

Her brain left the building. "M-maybe we should change the subject."

Peacocks weren't this cocky. "Whatever you want, Granger."

The bottle was about a third lighter than it was at the beginning of the evening and Draco spoke with unparalleled animation. "I mean it's Miranda Goshawk, for Merlin's sake. She basically—"

"Taught everybody." Hermione bit her lip. "The Standard Book of Spells series. Yes, I know. I've been saying the exact same thing."

Draco's lips quirked up in a little smile. "It was a disgrace how few people showed up to pay their respects to her."

Hermione bit her lip. "I agree."

About a third of the bottle remained and laughter rang through Harry's study as Draco and Hermione examined his DVD collection.

"Legally Blonde? I can't believe he's got that one," Hermione said.

"Maybe because I'm new to the whole movie thing and I've only ever learned about them from Potter and Weasley, but none of this surprises me in the slightest." Draco's eyes widened as he spotted one of his favorites. "Please tell me you've seen this one."

Hermione examined the cover, not even caring that her fingers brushed against his when she took it from him. "Brazil? Can't say that I have."

"It's fucking brilliant. You'd love it. British science fiction at its finest."

"You've really gotten into film, haven't you?"

"Art is art, and so long as it's good, I'm on board. Shall we put it on?"

Hermione nodded. "Go on then." The alcohol had taken flight and she had convinced herself that watching a probably boring film with Draco was the perfect opportunity to get him to snog her; something she had decided about a finger and a half of whisky ago, that she very much wanted.

Draco set the television up for the DVD while Hermione made herself comfortable on the couch. Right before it played, he turned around to face her. "Okay. What you have to understand about this film is that—"

She grumbled and sighed dramatically. "I don't need a prelude, Draco. Just play it."

Draco bit his lip in amusement. "Am I mansplaining? I'm mansplaining, aren't I?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not at all. I love when men feel the need to test my taste."

He chuckled and put the film on, taking his spot on the couch with her. His knee knocked into hers. "So, basically, the plot is…" He cut himself off with a charming grin and wasted no time leaning into Hermione to capture her lips in a fierce, hot snog, dropping all pretense of caring about watching the film with her.

Hermione squeaked in surprise, but quickly responded. He worked her mouth like a pro, drugging her with every pull of his lips and swirl of his tongue. She sighed so sweetly, it left a powerful hurt in his groin. He swallowed every moan, every gorgeous sigh. Her body under his hands felt like heaven. She was soft, warm, sexy as hell.

Fuck me, she was worth the wait.

"Draco," she sighed between kisses.

He didn't want to let her talk. Talking meant stopping and stopping was out of the question.

"Draco," she repeated.

"Mmm." He refused to release her lips. They were the best thing he'd ever tasted; like the exquisite whisky they'd been drinking with undercurrents of cinnamon and orange from the mulled wine and a clean, crisp, endlessly wonderful taste that was all her own.

"Draco."

"Mmm," his lips moved to her jaw, sucking the tender flesh between his teeth.

Uhhhhhhh. Hermione could hardly think with him placing these hot, open-mouthed kisses to her pulse. "Draco."

"Hermione," he said, running his teeth over the hollow of her collarbone. When his roaming hands grazed over a nipple, Hermione lost her mind.

"Unggh, oh, Draco."

Fucking hell, this is happening. He ground his hips into her, wanting more than anything to pound her into Potter's couch until she saw stars.

Hermione came to at the feel of Draco's prominent erection digging into her hip. "Okay, okay, okay. Stop for a second."

He'd never been so disappointed. Not even when his mother bought him a Crup puppy for his seventh birthday and Lucius insisted on taking it away because he feared it would "make the boy too soft."

Well, there was certainly nothing soft about him now. In fact, he was so hard he was in agony. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, no. You're lovely. I just…we…I mean don't you think us going at it on Harry's couch while my godson is down the hall turning four, is a little gauche? Not to mention we've had a lot to drink."

She took in his crooked grin, his rakishly disheveled hair from where she buried her hands in it, his tight trousers from where he obviously still wanted her. Somewhere around 'you're lovely' he allowed himself to preserve that this wasn't just a fluke and that it would happen again. "I suppose you're right. You really are a quality woman, aren't you?"

She blushed hotly. "This is just so out of character for me."

"I believe it," he cupped her face gently, rubbing his thumb across her jaw. "Hermione, I'd like to take you out to dinner."

She bit her lip to hide her smile. "Um…I've already eaten."

His smile reached all the way up to his eyes. Gods it suited him so much better than that sneer he used to wear back in school. "Whenever you'd like. Although, preferably soon."

She was powerless to stop the bright smile that blossomed across her face. "This is so crazy. I can't believe you're asking me on a date. I'm...I'm Hermione Granger. I'm an insufferable, know-it-all swot, remember?"

Draco shrugged. "And I'm a spoiled, arrogant prat who wants to give it to you. Don't worry so much about labels. This could work, you and I." He leaned forward and captured her lips in a light kiss, which turned into another, which turned into a deeper kiss.

If there were Olympic Medals in kissing, Hermione thought. His kisses dissolved her brain to mush and her resolve to shit. She completely forgot about why it wasn't a good idea to have sex with Draco Malfoy in Harry's study as she wiggled her hips against his.

He hummed low in his throat, signalling his appreciation.

She smirked into the kiss, and all sense of propriety went out the door when she felt his fingers slip over her collarbone and under her bra cup.

Sweet Circe, help him. He would wank for weeks to the memory of how it felt to have Hermione Granger's nipple pebbling under his thumb.

The kiss turned into something open-mouthed and dirty as she spread her legs a little wider, granting him closer access to her body, which he accepted with randy enthusiasm. Just as his hand started to creep down to its hot, damp goal, the door swung open.

"Merlin, you two!" Harry said, averting his eyes.

Draco pushed himself off Hermione as gracefully as he could manage with a leaking, tortured, monster hard on between his legs. "Potter could you fuck off?"

He was so close. If Potter had waited just a few minutes more, he probably would have walked in on Draco balls deep in the girl he had been fantasizing about since he was sixteen.

"This is…" Harry squinted his eyes shut, alternating between sputtering his indignation and snarling. "It's fucking…my house, Malfoy. My couch. My study. My whisky too, by the way. You're welcome for that."

"I'll buy you another bottle, Potter," Draco said, adjusting his trousers and flattening his hair.

Harry couldn't be too upset as he witnessed two of his closest friends try to straighten their clothes and hide the love bites they left on each other. He knew Draco had wanted this for ages and couldn't help but feel proud of him. Still, that didn't mean he wouldn't take the ever-loving piss out of both of them for it. "Brazil? Administrative breakdown and literally drowning in paperwork is what gets you in the mood, Malfoy?"

"Harry, don't be a prat," Hermione said. "Is James still up?"

"We just sent him to bed."

"I feel terrible for missing the rest of his party."

"Why? You spent an obscene amount of money on him, which by the way, Ginny will probably want to have a word with you about. And don't worry. I made your excuses. I noticed the two of you were missing and I figured you probably left together. But, silly me, I just assumed you made it further than my study. Where I do my very important Auror things."

Draco scoffed. "Please, Potter. You use this room to drink beer, watch movies, and hide from your wife when she asks you to rub her feet."

"And how, exactly does that give you two any right to use this room to fornic—"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you, Harry James Potter," Hermione said. She turned to Draco and kissed him on the cheek. "Owl me tomorrow?" she asked quietly so Harry couldn't hear.

Draco had to pinch himself to keep from falling over to agree. He smiled and raised her hand to his lips, placing a soft, gentlemanly kiss on her knuckles. "Tomorrow."

Harry could just make out a rosey pink bloom across her cheeks, which she tried in vain to hide. She wouldn't even look at Harry as she darted past him, leaving him alone in the room with the man she had just been caught engaging in outercourse with.

As soon as she was out of the room, Harry turned his smirk on Draco. "So…you two?"

"Shut up, Potter," Draco said, barely concealing his grin.

"I knew this would be a good idea."

"I repeat. Shut. Up. Potter."

"Should I recruit Molly to help with the wedding planning?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It is truly inconceivable to me that you actually find yourself amusing."

"Consider it my Christmas present to both of you."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "That's what you're getting Granger for Christmas? Me? You really think she'll go for that? You know how she is about these sorts of things."

"Well," Harry said. "That is entirely dependent upon how good you are in bed, Malfoy."

Draco fixed Harry with a serious look. "You will receive no details."

"I don't want any details. I'm just the Christmas Cupid. You two keep your nasties to yourself."

In that moment, Harry was filled with the Christmas spirit. He felt so damned proud of himself. Malfoy was not some schmuck Hermione would kick to the curb for a ridiculous reason. He would challenge her, dote on her, probably complete her.

Harry sighed in satisfaction. Shortly before Hermione had dashed out the door to escape his impending interrogation, Harry had seen something in her eyes he had never seen because of a guy, until now, that is.

Hope.

Hope that love, perhaps, didn't have to be a bore. Maybe love...perhaps...could be a little bit more.

"Kreacher!"

With a pop and a scowl, the house elf materialized. "Yes, 'master'," he said, using air quotes.

"Please scrub all the flat surfaces in this room."

THE END