Disclaimer: The characters and universe of Harry Potter remains the sole property of J K Rowling - yes, even after a decade. I don't think we can challenge the copyrights for the rest of our lifetime. I'm just responsible for extending Draco and Hermione's relationship.

A/N: Written for the dmhgficexchange LJ tenth anniversary challenge "Darkest Against The Dawn". Written for jayabear and thanks to swirlsofblack for the beta!

She folded the table napkin on her lap into half.

Then again.

Then she unfolded it and laid it out on her lap again.

"Granger, I can't see what your hands are doing behind the table, but I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing."

Hermione jerked her head up, flushing red at the smirk her dinner partner wore on his face. That pompous, dirty-minded git. "Only a mind like yours would venture into such territory, Malfoy. Now, what is taking the appetiser so long?"

"It can take its time for all I care," said Malfoy, sipping his wine. "Being in the company of a Ministry employee is always a pleasure."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. It was taking more than just patience to sit down at dinner with him. He was the picture of perfect, classy elegance in a crisp white shirt and grey vest, but somehow, he emanated a sense of uneasiness that he never shook off since their Hogwarts days. Maybe it was because everytime he smirked, she was always tempted to sock him in the face.

Or maybe it was the way he smirked as a front when he was actually so lost and helpless, when she was at his house.

At his house. As if she had been there for scones and tea.

She tried her best to focus back on the jazzy tunes of the restaurant to clamp down on the uneasiness. Then she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "Well, I don't have as much leisure time as you do. There's a proper reasonwhy I'm here in Muggle London."

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "Really? I was under a different impression."

Hermione frowned deeply. "What would you know about anything?"

The irritatingly superior look on Malfoy's face was making her itch to draw her wand. It was hard though, to see the first-year Draco Malfoy in his expression now, when the horrified look of the seventh-year Draco Malfoy had been so wretched and torn that she thought he would never be the same boy again.

The arrival of the appetiser distracted her from those thoughts, as her eyes were drawn to the colourful salmon and asparagus roll with cream before her.

"Ministry food in London's always about fish and chips, and they never give enough vinegar. Poor Granger, you must be starved."

"I see you've been a regular visitor to the Ministry headquarters."

His eyes flashed, and she rejoiced inwardly for having hit a raw nerve.

"It's the only place I can get my news of the wizarding world," he said thickly. The smirk had disappeared, and in its place was a scowl that had a tinge of something she couldn't quite figure out what.

"Sure. News that I thought you wouldn't be interested to hear."

It was Malfoy's turn to narrow his eyes. "What are you on about?"

"You came to London to hide from the wizarding world, why would you bother listening to news about it?"

Seeing that he was taking time to come up with a credible response, she spooned the salmon roll into her mouth. It was a waste that such good food came in such little portions, but since this meal was all-expenses paid, she wasn't about to complain.

"Don't assume you know my life very well, Granger," he said, at last. Then he, too, ate the salmon roll. Watching him chew on it was a little too hypnotising, so she focused on her empty plate instead. She could feel a sad smile forming on her face; the irony of them seated here having such a redundant conversation was both stupid and sad at the same time.

"Another roll is not going to materialise on your plate no matter how much you stare at it, Know-It-All. Your wan – your skills are not as good as you think."

"Your insults have mellowed quite a bit, Malfoy. I was expecting something spicier."

There was silence again. This time, it was very discomfiting because of the way he was glaring at her.

"What?"

"Hasn't life been extremely cutting for you already?"

She returned his glare. Now she was regretting her statement.

He picked up the wine glass, then set it down again. "I'm surprised you want more, when–"

Lightheadedness was settling in. Okay, very bad move. "Malfoy, that's enough."

"–all you have to do is–"

"Malfoy!"

"–roll up your sleeve to–"

"You freaking – shut up!"

Her eardrums were filling with the thick, heavy void that often set in along with the memories. It was her defence mechanism at work, trying to block everything from the day out. Ron had told her she had been screaming her lungs out, but she hadn't heard herself. All she knew was that she had opened her mouth, but nothing had come out. Because there had been nothing to stop the sheer agony boring into her arm, nothing to stop the nauseating stench of burnt flesh as the words 'Mudblood' were carved into her skin for life.

A cool, damp touch met her skin, and she blinked rapidly. An unfamiliar face was hovering before her, holding a wet towel against her forehead.

"Miss, are you alright?"

She blinked again. "Y-yeah." She took the towel from the waiter. "Thanks."

As the waiter left, Malfoy came into view again. This time, his lips were pursed and his eyebrows furrowed. She opened her mouth to tell him she had to go, but he spoke first.

"I shouldn't have said that."

Damn well you shouldn't have."Is there anything else important, Malfoy? Or else I'll just skip the main course. I'm not in the mood for even the juiciest rack of lamb."

"Not really. But as it is, you happen to be my lucky guest."

"Lucky guest, my foot. I don't believe in coincidences, Malfoy. You planned this!"

Malfoy laughed, a little ruefully. "Say what you want. But I must admit I'm a little lonely tonight, and would probably want some cutting words from that sharp tongue of yours to stimulate my mind."

Hermione scowled. This free dinner was not going as well as she had thought it would. Not least because it had sprung an unintended dinner partner on her. She had known that he was in London too, but to have him materialise before her instead of her colleague Terry Boot was more than shocking. His excuse that he had just been 'passing by with an empty stomach' was so flimsy that it was almost hilarious. But she was the most awful of liars, and Rose would certainly guess if she hadn't finished the dinner. Oh, Rose, I would have definitely finished it if my dinner partner had not stood me up and left me with the man I am least interested to have dinner with.

"I'm not a social escort, and am certainly not here to attend to your loneliness," she said.

Malfoy sighed, then he raised his wine glass. "Forgive me?"

It was more than strange hearing it come from him, as if he was speaking a foreign language.

"You ask for forgiveness like asking for a piece of tissue. You know something, Malfoy? I've tried to forgive you since a damn long time ago. Even though I want to throw up every time I see you, I've tried. I've not pressed charges against you for abetting torture. I've not conducted over-limit checks on your corporation for signs of violation of creature rights, even though I'm fairly sure every time after a check is conducted, you hire at least a hundred temporary house elves to do the dirty work. I've not restrained my child from making friends with yours even though it means I have to make small talk with you every time we send them off to Hogwarts. But every single time, you never fail to remind me of the deep-seated prejudice you had against me and how you made my life so miserable in school. And at the very end, you made your own so miserable. Even if I forgive you, can you forgive yourself?"

She threw up her hands. "I don't even know what possessed me to let you sit down to dinner with me!"

The soup dish was served, but the aroma of fresh mushrooms failed to stimulate her appetite now that she had thought about throwing up.

"Well," said Malfoy, after a while, and picked up his soup spoon. "We could start with a simple conversation. Like you could tell me what you are doing in London."

No, she was not going to sit here and tell Malfoy her life story. She would leave and go back and tell Rose the spa treatment was more than enough; there was no need for a free dinner and she had given the treat away to a homeless beggar.

A Michelin-starred restaurant treat. Yeah right, Hermione. Rose would buy that.

Something in Malfoy's expression changed the direction of her thoughts. "Why should I be telling you such things?"

"Maybe that might make me want to tell you things about my life, which you'd never get to hear otherwise," he said, his face shutting down the tinge of emotion that had peeked through earlier.

Hermione picked up her spoon and twirled it in the soup. The offer was tempting. She had to admit she was rather intrigued by what was happening in the Malfoy family. Rose's account had been vague at best, and Scorpius was unlikely to have known the true cause as well as Malfoy did.

"Work."

Malfoy snorted, unceremoniously choking a little on his soup. Hermione fought hard to suppress a grin.

"Granger, I'm not a fool. Ministry employees are so primly married to their work that an indulgence at a renowned restaurant like this would be considered a travesty."

She flushed red again.

"Maybe," Malfoy dabbed his napkin against his mouth, "you could start with whether you are really here on Shacklebolt's orders, or if there's something else."

She stared at him suspiciously. Somehow he didn't look like he was going to mock her, for the smirk had slid off his face. Instead, he actually looked interested in her potential answer. Although she wasn't sure why she felt the slightest compulsion to let him know anything about her private life.

"I just needed a breather. And I'm guessing you did too."

Malfoy sucked in his bottom lip a little in response. But his eyes remained focused on her in a way that made her suddenly very desperate to let it all out of her.

She scooped up the last bit of soup. "Everything was supposed to be perfect. The good guys win, the bad guys lose. Plenty of offence meant in that," she added, as Malfoy arched his eyebrow slightly. "Harry, Ron and I remain best friends, and I marry Ron while Harry marries Ginny. Perfect to a T."

He lowered his eyes to his bowl. It made her feel a little better.

"Then we go on to have kids. Adorable kids who take after both Ron and I. Scallywags with brains. I go on to get a job with the Ministry and Ron becomes an Auror like Harry. We wake up, go to work, come home and have dinner with the children. We do some more work, sit in the garden for a bit, then go to bed. And the whole cycle starts again."

She paused, fingering her napkin. "That was what I've always hoped for. Now I have it."

"But something still doesn't feel right, does it?" Malfoy raised his head as the waiter came to take their soup bowls away.

Hermione continued smoothening out her napkin.

"What do you think about Weasley?"

"That's none of your–"

"A trade, Granger. I'm a man of my word."

She nearly snorted, but decided against it. "Fine. I think Ron's a loving, committed, brave and generous man."

"That was fast. Have you been spending time with the thesaurus to find those apt adjectives?"

She gaped. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged.

This was not going so well. "I think I'd better–"

"Leave? Come on, Granger. Just a few probes, and you're getting all defensive? What happened to the bitch who gave me a sock in the face to prove a point?"

"I'm glad you remember my non-magical capabilities," she muttered. "Fairly useful in a setting like this as well."

"Sometimes you have to get to the unpleasant in order to figure out what's wrong with your life."

"Oh, and I'm supposed to listen to Dr. Malfoy's prescriptions?"

"Don't say what you're tempted to say next," he said, coolly.

The waiter served up the main dish: a juicy lamb rack with potatoes and carrots.

"You've got a knack for predictions," said Malfoy with a smirk.

"It's not that hard, seeing your predatory wolfish look." Okay, what did she just say?

"You can't possibly be finding exchanging such lame banter with me exciting, Granger."

"Shut up!" She snapped, picking up her carving knife and trying her best to look positively murderous. "I wasn't even supposed to have banter with you."

"But you were supposed to have some with another man at this table? What would Weasley say?"

"I'm stopping my story here. You're supposed to offer me some insight as to your purpose here."

Malfoy fell silent, only concentrating on carving up his lamb.

"Who said he was a man of his word?"

"Funnily enough," he said, rather emotionlessly. "It seems your reason isn't too different from mine. Except that I wasn't dreaming up all these pathetic fantasies of marrying my childhood sweetheart and being a heroine–"

"I wasn't dreaming to be a–"

"I was just hoping to have a normal life."

Hermione clammed her lips together.

Malfoy chewed on his potato, and they both fell into silence just cutting up the mutton and sipping their wine. Hermione stole a couple of glances at Malfoy, but he remained expressionless. Did he ever realise how perceptive his son was? For Scorpius was the one who had told Rose that something was not quite right between his parents, and that was why Malfoy had chosen to leave a hysterical Astoria behind with the excuse of taking a solo holiday. Rose thought Scorpius was thinking too much into things, but Hermione was fairly sure that Astoria was no different from Ron.

They both knew that once their other halves left, it would be difficult to keep them from staying anymore.

It was no secret in the wizarding world that Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass had entered an arranged marriage, but the image they had kept up in public was a romantic, stable relationship that Hermione found herself being slightly jealous of. Granted, hers wasn't very different in public either, but seeing that Malfoy looked sufficiently happy made her heart ache; for even if he wasn't directly responsible for all that had happened, he really didn't deserve this happiness.

Not as much as she did.

Why was she even thinking along these lines?

"Granger, even if you don't appreciate the juiciest of lamb, leaving it lying on your plate in a renowned Muggle restaurant – from what I know – is not only incredibly rude, but reflects poorly on your upbringing."

"You're the one teaching me Muggle manners now?" She popped a piece into her mouth, highly disgruntled.

"Of course. I'm rather well-educated in them."

She waited for him to draw their social disparity out with the dreaded 'M' word, but he didn't continue. Then she realised that that sentence of his was so much more than arrogance and prejudice. It was a sign of how sad his life in the wizarding world had become, that within the past decade, he had spent more than enough time in the Muggle world.

She looked at him expectantly. "So... have you really loved Astoria then?"

Malfoy smirked again, but this time it carried the hint of sadness she knew existed, and despite that, it was still disconcerting for Hermione to see. But somehow, she understood that feeling. The feeling of wanting to say 'yes' so badly when everything in your heart was pulling you in another direction. The feeling of wanting to say 'yes' not just because of moral obligations, but because you really, truly, meant to love him. The way you would fry his egg perfectly in the morning, sunny side-up with crisp edges so that it would make him glow with pleasure every time he sat at the breakfast table. The way you would run your fingers through his red curls to smoothen them out, but really because you knew he liked the way your fingers rubbed his scalp. The way you would kiss the back of his neck while he was doing work late at night so that he would be tempted to scoop you back into bed and ravish your lips, and you would hope that with every kiss, you'd be sucked back into the fairytale wishes of before, that you'd wanted to marry this man and live your whole life with him.

And then the roar of flames in the fireplace would awaken both of you from that dream, and Ron would roll over, his eyes glassily fixed on the ceiling while you slowly clamber off the bed, away from him and back into the pile of work that was reality.

"Granger?"

"Eh?" Her eyes focused back to Malfoy, who was staring thoughtfully at her.

"Good times?" His voice held no malice.

She chewed on a carrot.

"Everything was supposed to be perfect," he echoed. "And we were foolish enough to believe that."

"And we have to continue to believe in that," she whispered, trying to fight back the tears forming in her eyes. "We have to. For Rose. Scorpius."

"No, we don't."

She looked up at him, this time fiercer than ever. "What do you mean we don't have to? How could you wish a broken family upon your precious son? I look into Rose's eyes and I see pain when Ron and I have a fight. She tells me, 'Forgive Daddy,' and I want to do it so badly so that I can see her smile again. How could you possibly wish for Scorpius to–"

"–live in a family where he knows perfectly well his father doesn't want to be in anymore?" Malfoy finished coldly. "Even Astoria knows she's grasping at straws. Don't be naive, Granger. You're ruining your daughter even further if you stay in a sham of a marriage just to lie to her. As much as I hate to compliment you, or any member of that flaming red head colony, your daughter has inherited your intellectual genes, and it'll be looking down on her to assume that she has inherited your pathetic emotional intelligence as well."

"What do you mean by that? Has Rose been telling you, I mean, your son, something?"

There was a pause. Then Malfoy chuckled. "Well then, it seems like you really are quite clueless."

Hermione frowned.

"Did you think your daughter sent you a voucher to this restaurant in hopes that you might hook up with a wimpy loser like Terry Boot? I knew from the moment I stepped into this place and saw you alone, that my son was up to no good."

"Wait, I'm not following you."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. Then he pulled out something from his pocket and slapped it face up on the table.

It was the same voucher Rose had given to Hermione.

Hermione's eyes went round. No wonder Rose had made it a point to tell her Malfoy was in Muggle London, and for what purpose. "Merlin, those imps..."

"Before you get your knickers all twisted, let me remind you that Scorpius knows very well my distaste for you and would never get me to go on a dinner datewith you."

"As Rose would know very well too," Hermione hissed. "Not least when you–"

"I see you make it a habit of describing your vengeances to your children very vividly."

"Malfoy, I've made it clear to Rose that while you've done some unpleasant things–"

"Very nice understatement, Granger."

"–that I don't regard you as an enemy. I just don't have any emotions towards you."

"Do you feel differently now?"

The napkin twisted in her grip. "Eh?"

"I'm quite sure those imps of our children sent us both here with a purpose," said Malfoy, leaning back. "Although I'm quite sure I would have thrown up from the idea of sitting down to a counselling session with you."

"So would I," said Hermione, hurriedly. "It's already bad enough that they're such good friends at school that I keep hearing the word 'Malfoy' resonate in my household."

Malfoy ignored her words. "Don't you realise that this also means they've given us their blessings to pursue whatever we want? What did Rose tell you before you left?"

Hermione thought hard. "She said..."

Then she realised. This time, Rose had not said, 'Forgive Daddy'. This time, she had held onto Hermione's hands and said, 'It's not Daddy's fault. But I know it's not yours either. Mummy, just be happy, okay? Please.' And she had sat down with Rose, pleating her hair and trying not to notice as tears ran down her daughter's face. At first, she had thought Rose wanted her to smile and make it up to Ron.

But now, she realised that she, too, had not noticed how perceptive her own daughter was.

"How did you even know I was supposed to meet Terry?" she asked, a little sulkily.

"I was at the Ministry earlier on," he replied, his eyes daring her to make another comment about his visit to the Ministry. "And he said he wasn't sure if he should reciprocate your date. As highly as you rate your non-existent charms, Granger, I think that boor of a Boot knows better than to test certain moral boundaries. And while Weasley might be slow to respond to such things, I seem to recall your shrewish sister-in-law as being rather adept at stinging jinxes and hexes."

"Way to insult fourpeople in a breath, Malfoy."

"My pleasure."

"Fine. Rub it in that I was being stood up."

"By someone who would have only strengthened your resolve to go flying back into the weasel's arms."

A lump came into her throat. "Notice I haven't given you a single word of advice."

"You know I don't need it. I've already made up my mind. It's better for the both of us. And for Scorpius, because the silence in the house is more unbearable than when words are spoken. It's not like I haven't tried, but it's going nowhere. I just wanted something that would remind me that I was just an ordinary man, someone who took a wrong path and was led back to the right one. I believed it as much as I could possibly manage."

Hermione closed her eyes, willing the wave of emotion in her to go away.

Malfoy picked up a slice of mutton, contemplated it for a while, then put it on his plate again. "Take your time, Granger. Just because one fairytale ended doesn't mean another can't start."

"Since when," said Hermione, struggling to control her tears, "did you become so philosophical, Malfoy? Since when were you the one who started to teach people how to live their lives?" And then she couldn't take it anymore, for the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

He picked up his wine glass and swirled the red liquid within. "Since I decided to take control of my own life."

She couldn't take it anymore; she had to excuse herself to the Ladies. As she stared into the mirror, a face full of smeared makeup looked back at her. After five full minutes, she turned on the tap, splashed her face with water and rubbed vigorously, then stared back at the mirror.

When she got back to her seat, Malfoy had finished his lamb rack. Half of her plate was still full.

Malfoy was staring so hard at her that she couldn't help but meet his gaze. Then he smiled.

It was startling to see that expression on him. Draco Malfoy never smiled; he only smirked. He never laughed; he only sniggered. He never spoke; he criticised and cursed so cruelly that it always hurt her beneath the skin even though she had tried her best to ignore him. All of a sudden, the Draco Malfoy before her had grown up and shed the skin of the one who had been stuck in her mind all the time.

"Finish your food, Granger. It's now not only impolite to leave so much on your plate, it's fairly disgusting to see so much good food go to waste."

She obliged, trying to wrap her head around the irony of his statements. When she had finished, and the dessert of strawberry cheesecake was served, Malfoy didn't touch his plate at all.

She arched an eyebrow. "Why aren't you eating?"

"What are you going to do after this meal?"

She bit her lip. It was so tempting to say, go back and finish up my work. Finish it up in a week so that I can go back home to Ron and Rose. Go back to the bubble that is my life.

"I'm going on a little night cruise ride down the Thames. Helps to clear my mind a bit," said Malfoy, his eyes now focused on his lap. "Care to join me?"

No, Hermione Granger-Weas – Granger. You do not just join somebody like Draco Malfoy on a cruise ride. He might just – well, you might regret it for the rest of your life.

She picked up her dessert spoon. "Well, since it so happens that I have an extra ticket for a cruise ride as well, I might as well make full use of it, shouldn't I?"

"It's not a date, Granger."

"No, it isn't."

"A specially planned tour."

"Mm-hmm."

"You don't happen to have... gotten a spa voucher too... did you?"

"I'm glad they have gender-differentiated spas."

FIN

Additional Note: Written for the prompt: Scorpius and Rose's most excellent plan.