The combined bachelor/bachelorette party cleanup was turning out to be more difficult than Hermione had anticipated when she volunteered to host everyone at her London townhome.

For one, instead of staying contained to the sitting room and attached formal dining room (as specified in the invitation), the celebration span the entirety of the house, from the third-floor bedrooms all the way down to the kitchen on the first. Even the front hall closet was utilized in a rousing game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, which Hermione soon regretted teaching them about ("It was supposed to just be a laugh!" she had said. "We weren't supposed to actually play!").

Secondly, the guest list she had been provided, as it turned out, could not predict the people who showed up through the Floo. What had been planned as "an intimate get-together for the happy couple and their closest friends" became the event of the year, with guests bringing plus-ones, plus-ones bringing plus-twos, and so on, until the idea of an intimate gathering was just a faint memory in Hermione's mind, like a dream that she just couldn't keep hold of.

Maybe she was being dramatic.

The third reason was one that she should have planned for. It should have been obvious that Theo would try to turn a tame observance of love into a night full of shots, loud music, drinking games, teenage party games ("Seven Minutes in Heaven is about love, Granger!") and hangovers-in-waiting. She had been to enough of the same events to know his true nature. Even Harry should have foreseen the antics that his friend and former partner (and, as of two months ago, current subordinate) would get up to.

It didn't help that she was in a terrible mood, the source of which had been crumpled up and shoved deep into her pocket. She had hoped that she could forget Draco's brusque cancellation, but the hole his note was burning in her jeans was only increasing in prominence. She didn't really think he would follow through, not after he failed to follow through the night before, but having the physical confirmation was a punch to her gut.

It gave her more time to clean, at the very least.

In any case, she had quite the job ahead of her. What she had once hoped would be a few hours the morning after cleaning up empty bottles and used napkins had turned into a full day (multiple day?) cleaning extravaganza. The kitchen was easy enough, and with the exception of two used condoms in the corner of the front closet ("In only seven minutes? Really?" she had said to no one, and she now dreaded what she would find in the bedrooms), she hadn't found anything too shocking.

But as she stood in the large doorway into the sitting room, she began to think she was in over her head.

Theo had pushed an end table into the far corner to create a makeshift bar, with bottle after bottle filled with different kinds of alcohol (all of which he brought himself). Cups were lying on every surface as well as on the floor, beside empty beer bottles and shot glasses. There was even a shoe lying against the left wall – just one. Seamus's shirt, which had come off earlier than usual last night, was laying over one of the wingback chairs, and Dean's, which had come off not long after, was on another.

She placed her memories at various points of the room as she moved through it. The table next to the doorway was where Neville had recited a sonnet about Harry and Ginny's love – complete with a few too many plant metaphors – before spilling his drink all over the floor, and right there by the ottoman was where Blaise had announced – joked? – that he was going to move to Italy ("because you're all terrible, and I hate you all," to which Theo had topped off Blaise's glass and said "cheers, mate," clinking their glasses together with a grin). And there, on the stretch of wall next to the adjoining room holding the Floo, is where Ron had approached her, and told her – had told her – and then he –

Well. Hermione blinked once, twice, three times to clear the memories from her head, and loosened her grip on her wand as she continued to clean. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of alcohol and sweat that seemed to permeate the air and had probably sunken into the furniture.

Cups and shot glasses were levitated and moved into the kitchen, placed on her table until she got around to washing her dishes. Beer bottles were recycled, as well as the empty bottles of Theo's alcohol. The remaining Gin and Whiskey were moved to Hermione's liquor cabinet. What Theo didn't know wouldn't kill him.

Her furniture, which had migrated across the room as the night wore on, was moved back to its original layout. Two wingback chairs, sitting across a modern, glass top coffee table from a navy loveseat; three short bookcases lining the back wall; a large cream-colored rug placed in the center of the room (which had to be spelled clean due to various spills of coke, juice, beer, and red wine).

When she first purchased the house, she had a small room built off to the side of the sitting room and had the Floo moved to the smaller space. It assured that people wouldn't be appearing directly into her home (which had always made Hermione uncomfortable, after growing up in a muggle home), and it would keep the Floo powder and ash away from her living spaces.

She was grateful for her decision that day. The small greeting room that contained her Floo was a disaster. There were multiple spots where drinks had been spilled – Hermione had told them not to stand close to the fireplace in case someone came through – and her Floo powder had at some point fallen off of the mantle and scattered across the floor. Which meant she had no Floo powder left.

With a sigh and a flick of her wrist, the tile floor was scourgify-ed. Satisfied, she turned back towards the sitting room, only to turn back on her heel at the tch-tch-tch sound of something skittering across the porcelain. The light caught a glint of silver on the ground by the fireplace and she knelt down, the floor cold and hard against her knees.

"What the–" she muttered, picking it up and rolling it around in her hand, taking in the onyx inlay and the bullet back of a silver cufflink.

Hermione slipped the cufflink into her pocket on Monday morning and headed straight to Harry's office upon entering the Ministry.

"Hermione," he grinned when she stepped inside his office. Harry was sat behind his desk with Theo sitting in one of his visitor chairs, his legs resting up on the desk and his arms crossed against his chest.

"Granger." Theo raised a brow and stretched his arms overhead. "Great party on Saturday. I think I might still be hungover."

"Oi!" Harry pushed Theo's feet off the desk and narrowed his eyes. Theo lurched forward as his feet fell to the floor, catching himself with a hand on the edge of the desk. "Don't tell me that. I've already assigned you to the field today."

"Thanks for that," he muttered. Then, louder, "You can relax, anyway, I'm obviously joking. Although it wouldn't be the first time I was hungover out in the field." He sent a roguish grin Hermione's way and propped his feet back up on the desk.

Harry nudged his foot and gave him a pointed look. "As long as you're ready by this weekend."

Theo dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "It would be foolish to give up the opportunity to be involved in the wedding of the century. Do you know what you liking me has done for my reputation?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "I have you to thank for the party, I think. I was planning something very different."

"That was clear from the two bottles of wine only." Theo leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair and gave her a cheeky grin.

"It was meant to be intimate."

"Boring, you mean."

"I do not! It would have been a very—"

"Actually, Hermione, I'm glad you're here." Harry scowled at Theo. "First, I'm sure your dinner party would have been just as well appreciated as what did actually happen." He rolled his eyes at Theo's answering scoff. "And second. I think I may have left something at your house."

Hermione's pulse jumped in anticipation – maybe this would be easier than she thought. "Is it a cufflink?" She slipped her hand into her pocket and wrapped her finger around it.

"What?" Harry cocked his head. "A cufflink?"

Maybe not. "Yes, I–" Hermione pulled the cufflink out of her pocket and held it out in her palm for Harry to inspect. "I found it while I was cleaning. I don't know whose it is."

Hermione held out her hand and Harry plucked it from her fingers. He rolled it around in his hand and brought it up to the light. Even Theo leaned over the desk to peer at it.

He handed it back. "It's not mine." He leaned back in his chair, looking apologetic. "It's nice, though. Where'd you find it?"

"By the Floo," Hermione said, wrapping her fingers around it in a fist. "Whoever it was must have dropped it while they were leaving."

"I didn't realize anyone was even wearing cufflinks."

"It's not something I look for, usually. However," she shot Theo a pointed look, "the invitations that I sent out did say black tie."

Theo held his hand out, his brow furrowed. "May I?"

Hermione nodded and dropped the item into his palm.

"I didn't leave that," Harry pointed to the cufflink, "but I did leave. Er. A shoe? I think – in the sitting room."

There was a pause, and then Theo burst out into raucous laughter.

"A shoe? Just the one?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he cackled, shoulders shaking. "Did you go home with only one shoe, Potter?"

Harry frowned. "Gin had the same reaction." He brought a hand up to his hair, smoothing it over his head. "I didn't even realize until this morning. I had to wear my nice shoes. You know, my gala ones." To illustrate, he threw one leg up onto the desk and rucked up the bottom of his robes to show off a shiny black oxford.

Theo's laughter eventually subsided into residual chuckles. Harry dropped his leg.

"So, Theo," Hermione said, bringing him back. "Is it yours? Do you recognize it?"

Theo's lips were still tilting into a smirk. "Not mine. You know who would own something like that, though? Draco. Have you asked him?"

Hermione was afraid of that. "He wasn't at the party, though. I had thought the same, actually. But." She shrugged, shifting her weight back and forth between her feet.

He had been on the original invite list and had confirmed with both Harry and Hermione that he would be attending, but he had never shown up on Saturday night. Hermione was hanging around the greeting room for most of the evening (not waiting for him), and when she wasn't, she would find her eyes drawn to the area every few minutes. She had been hoping, after dancing around each other for the last several months, that that would be the night they would stop beating around the bush and –

– but it didn't matter now. Because it wasn't, and they weren't, and that was fine. They had plenty of time. There was no need to rush into a relationship, and it was nice spending this time getting to know each other better and enjoying each other's company. It was nice. She was fine with it. She was.

Well, she was trying to be.

"Oh." Theo paused, considering. "Right." He scratched his jaw, the sound of his nails catching on his days-old scruff floating into her ears. He continued to stare at the item sitting in his palm. "But he could have dropped it some other time, no?"

"Some other time?" She could see Harry looking over at her, questions written all over his face. She had been quite conservative with the information she shared about her relationship with Draco – primarily because as it stood there was no relationship. Nothing official, just Monday lunches and innocent flirting and playful touches for the last six months.

"Yes, you know," Theo waved his hand in the air, gesticulating, "the last time he was over, perhaps."

"Oh." Hermione looked away, neck tingling. "Theo...we don't – he's never been to my house. We aren't...it's not like that."

Theo was fishing, but there was a distinct lack of information to fish for. Harry liked to do this with her as well, and it was becoming tiresome, having to keep vocalizing everything their relationship wasn't. Not for the first time, she wondered if Harry and Theo talked about them when they met in his office like this. They could have been talking about it right before she came in.

"You don't – he isn't...ah." His hand came up to rub at the back of his neck and his eyes darted between Harry and Hermione, looking abashed.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned back to Harry because what she wanted to ask him was even more uncomfortable: "Do you think it could have been Ron's?"

She could make an educated guess that Harry already knew how Ron felt, but he also knew how Hermione felt. They had talked at length after the breakup, and it took him two months of explaining all her reasons for ending it before he stopped trying to convince her to go back to her ex.

Harry's eyes were sparkling with amusement before he opened his mouth. "Ron? Wear that?" Gesturing to Theo, who still held the object in question.

Hermione shook her head. "I know, I know, and that was my first thought too, but." She sighed. "But doesn't it seem like something Percy could have given him, maybe? Or Bill?"

"I honestly doubt it," he said, leaning back in his chair, looking relaxed, "He'd never accept a gift from Percy. And even if he did, he wouldn't wear it."

"Fleur, maybe?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Fleur wouldn't get him something that nice." He paused. "Would he even know how to wear them?"

Hermione's lips turned up in an anxious laugh, and even Theo chuckled into the folder he nicked from Harry's desk to appear occupied and not like he was eavesdropping.

Harry continued. "You may just have to ask him."

Her fingers twitched. "I was worried you'd say that." Wringing her hands together, she took a step forward. "I – I'm trying not to see him yet. Something...happened at the party and, well. I don't want to deal with it just yet. Until I figure out how." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Theo leaning closer.

Harry didn't look at all relaxed now. He bent forward over his desk, resting weight on his elbows. "What do you mean, happened."

"He...he –Theo, do you really need to be here right now?"

"Hm?" Theo looked up from the papers that he hadn't been reading, his face the picture of innocence. "Oh. Yes."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Just – fine. He...I was over by the Floo to greet guests," – she risked a quick glance at Theo, who was smirking because of course, he could see straight through her – "and he...caught up with me at one point, and we got to," she swallowed, "talking."

Theo wasn't smirking anymore. He was frowning into the borrowed folder, an ankle resting on the opposite knee.

Harry watched her carefully. "Talking."

"Mhmm. Talking. And, well, he – then he…" Hermione grimaced and broke off.

"Do you...you don't have to–"

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's...it was nothing, really. He told me that he wanted to try again. And then he kissed me. So stupid," she added, under her breath. Her words came out in a rush, her lungs squeezing. Her hand came up to touch the ends of her hair, wrapping the strands around her finger.

When she looked up, Theo was looking right at her, his expression inscrutable. He closed the folder and placed it back on the desk.

As if sensing the change in atmosphere, he clapped his hands together and said, "Well, I should get back to work. Potter, Granger. As always, a pleasure." He gave her a curt nod as she felt a small metal object being pressed into her hand as he passed, and she closed her fingers around the cufflink that she had forgotten he still had. She opened her mouth to say something, but he pushed past her and out of the office.

Hermione watched him go and then turned back to Harry. "I do have your shoe, you know."

Harry stared at her for several seconds, reading her as well as he'd always been able to. "I'll come by tonight. And – about Ron."

"Please don't, Harry."

"No! No, of course not. I know you can handle yourself. I was going to offer to ask him about that," he waved his hand toward her fist, "that. I don't think it's his, but if you're really worried about it."

Hermione accepted his offer and left his office. Theo was not at his desk when she passed by.

The first time Draco came to see her in her office was two weeks after he had started as the administrative assistant for the Aurors, a job that was, at the end of the day, unnecessary, but which Theo had lobbied hard for, and being the partner of one of the most influential people in the ministry had its perks.

His tenure began with little fanfare, tucked away in the corner of the Auror office, situated next to the filing room. It was an office that you wouldn't find unless you were looking for it, perfect for someone who was respected by almost none of his co-workers (as he put it).

He had knocked on her office door at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, dressed in his work robes and holding a red case file.

They weren't strangers, nor were they enemies, or casual acquaintances. As a result of Draco's friendship with Theo, and Theo's subsequent friendship with Harry, they saw each other on a semi-regular basis at pub nights, get-togethers and other events that are appropriate to attend with friends. Even Ron, while still adamant that they were not friends, had warmed up to a cordial acquaintanceship.

He didn't wait for her to invite him in. Instead, he stepped over the threshold and looked around. "So, this is your office," he sniffed, looking around. He stood in front of her bookcase and ran his fingers over some of the spines before turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. "It's quite small. I thought you were head of the department."

"Deputy head." She watched as he sauntered around her office, fingering the fabric of her tapestry and picking up her photos to examine them with more attention than she thought necessary. "And I like my office. I don't need all that space." She waved her hand into the air, gesturing to all that space that she didn't have.

He eyed the stacks of books on the floor that didn't fit into her bookcases. "Is that so."

"Did you need something?" She gestured to the chairs on the other side of the desk. "You can sit."

He dropped into a chair and turned his attention to the pictures and knick-knacks littering the edge of her desk. One hand picked every object up one by one to examine, while the other pushed the red folder across the desk.

Hermione opened the folder and promptly shut it. "Oh, Merlin. This is Harry's?"

Draco looked at her over the mug in his hand (painted to look like a battery, with the word 'ENERGIZE!' written across in yellow), brow raised.

He set down the mug. "Yes, that was my response as well. I need to file it, but I'm struggling with the cross-references because...well, you can imagine why."

"This is atrocious. How can you read this?"

"Well," he said, lifting and then dropping the marble at one end of her Newton's cradle, "I was hoping that's where you would come in."

Hermione watched him as he stared at the click-clack-click of the marbles. "I don't follow. You want me to fix Harry's handwriting?"

Draco sighed and stopped the marbles. "Would that it were possible, Granger. No, I just need help deciphering." He picked up a box of tea bags, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and set it down. "I thought you might have the most experience."

"Really? I would think Harry has the most experience in that area."

"He's on assignment with Theo." He turned a picture around – the one of her and Ginny in Greece – to face him. His eye focused on something in the photo, and the corner of his mouth tightened before he blinked and turned the frame back around.

"And," he continued, his eyes softening when they landed on the small porcelain otter figurine at the corner of her desk, the one that Luna had found in a market and purchased for her. His fingers twitched as they reached out to grab it, and he rolled it over in his hand to see all sides. Curling his fingers around the body of the otter, he brushed his thumb back and forth over its head.

"Draco?"

Draco snapped back to attention, the base of the figure hitting the desk with a clunk. "Right. Yes." He cleared his throat and a soft pink flush grew up his neck. "As I was saying, you already have the necessary clearance to read the reports."

He folded his hands together in his lap, done scrutinizing her desk toys, and tapped his left pinky against the signet ring on his right two times.

"I do," Hermione agreed. "So let's get started, I guess." She opened the folder and began to read.

That was six months ago.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked as she let herself into the cramped office. "I was thinking we could go to that Indian place you like so much." One look at Draco told her that he was not ready. His coat was still hung on the back of his door and his head was bent over his desk, quill scribbling across the parchment.

A lock of blonde hair fell in front of his eye, and he pushed it back with long, slender fingers. His shirt pulled taut over his curved back, and she stepped closer to the desk, eyes pulled down the lines of his waist before they disappeared behind the desk.

Her fingers ached. If she reached out, she could touch him. Could run her fingers over his hair and find out if it was as soft as it looked. She could move them over the back of his neck, find out if it felt as good for him as it did for her. Could splay them across his shoulder blades, over the fabric of his crisp white shirt, feeling his muscles move and tense.

His eyes flipped up to hers. His quill hovered over his parchment, a drop of ink forming at the nib. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Granger." He dropped his head again and continued writing.

Hermione faltered, whatever she was going to say next lost in her throat. Draco hadn't called her Granger for...well, it hadn't been that long, but it had been a step forward, which made this a step back.

After a moment, Draco looked up at her again, raising a brow. "Something you needed?"

"It's Monday." She pointed her chin towards the desk calendar in front of him. "Did you forget?"

Draco's eyes tightened as he regarded the date. The sound of absentminded tapping of his signet ring against the desk was the only sound in the room, ringing out in the silence.

"Lunch?" Hermione asked again.

"I can't." Short, clipped. Final.

"Oh." Hermione face heated, stomach twisting. "Are you busy? I can bring you something. We could eat here."

"That won't be necessary."

He was being distant for some reason. It could be due to any number of things, or a combination. He would sometimes get this way after a confrontation with an Auror, or after a tense conversation with his parents, or if he had a headache that wouldn't go away with a simple pain potion. He didn't like her to push, and she didn't want to make things harder for him. If he were her boyfriend, maybe – but he wasn't. They were just friends.

"Was there anything else?"

"I – no." Hermione took a step forward, and he eyed her warily. "Is everything okay?"

His fingers tightened around his quill. "Just splendid," he said, over-enunciating.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and frowned, her chest tightening. "Have I done something?"

He set down his quill and looked up at her, eyebrows raised, fingering his ring. "I'm very busy, Granger, so if you don't mind." He jutted his chin out and gestured towards the door, and Hermione was dismissed.

On Tuesday, Ron came to see her.

"I thought we should talk." Ron stood in her doorway, his palm resting against the frame. He looked at ease, casual, but as he walked towards her desk there was tension in his gait. He rounded her office and hopped up on the desktop next to her.

Hermione put down her quill, mouth dry. "I agree. Ron–"

"Just." He held up a hand to silence her. "I – can I say something first?"

Hermione bit her lip, pulling at the ends of her curls with one hand. She watched as they pulled straight, then bounced back. Pulled straight, bounced back. She looked at Ron and nodded, even as her stomach rolled.

"Do you remember, fourth year." He pushed his hair back from his forehead and leaned back, placing one hand on the desk to brace himself and using the other to pluck the otter figurine – the one Draco was always drawn to – from the corner of her desk and wrap his fist around it in his lap. The air surrounding him caught the odor of tobacco and patchouli, and she wrinkled her nose at the prickling sensation on the back of her neck. "At the Yule Ball." He met her eyes, questioning, and of course, she remembered the night that had been both the best and the worst night of her life at that point.

"You told me – and I can't believe I even remember this – well, maybe I can. Anyway. You were upset with me because I wanted to go with you, but I waited too long. And I missed my chance."

She tugged on her hair, feeling it pull against her scalp. "Ron, I don't think–"

"Just – let me finish, please." He held up a hand to keep her from interrupting. "I've been thinking about it a lot, you know? I always thought it would be easy when you found the person you want to be with."

Hermione grimaced. "Really, Ron–"

He brushed her off again. "I thought it would be easy. But it isn't, is it? And I didn't know that. So when things were hard, we fought and gave up."

That wasn't how Hermione had remembered it. What she remembered was a lot of shouting, and ignoring, and crying, and then being so strung out and unhappy that they didn't have a choice but to conclude that it wasn't working. She remembered the nights that she would end up at Harry's because she didn't want to face Ron at either of their homes. She remembered Ron bringing out the bad qualities that she had that she tried to suppress until she didn't like who she was around him anymore.

The things he said to her now were similar to the things he said to her on Saturday but more polished as if he had been thinking about the words since then.

"I was a little drunk on Saturday, and a bit of an idiot, so I don't think I was very clear," he said, all but confirming her hypothesis. "But all I was trying to say is that...I get it now. I want it to be hard because I want to put in the effort. For you." He paused, thinking. "Not hard all the time, mind, but my point is I'm not afraid now, when it gets challenging."

She liked the things he was saying and found them sweet and reassuring, but she wasn't feeling butterflies or that tingling feeling she sometimes felt when certain people (who would remain nameless) looked at her a certain way. The quickening of her heartbeat, the heaviness in her lungs that made it hard to breathe sometimes – all that was missing, and those were things that she wanted now when she hadn't before.

"So," he continued, rubbing his hands on his trousers, up and down his thighs. "I think you're the kind of woman that a bloke should take a chance on, yeah? You deserve to know how people feel about you so – so I'm telling you now. Before it's too late like you said."

A clearing of the throat by the door brought her back to her office, away from Ron, and her heart stopped as she took in Draco's tense figure, his arms crossed tight across his chest, a piece of parchment clutched in his fist, his face murderous. His eyes flicked between her and Ron, still perched casually, familiarly, on her desk, holding the porcelain otter, and his jaw clenched.

"Draco." Hermione stood, and next to her, Ron slipped off the desk and turned to face him. She swallowed, her throat thick, and pushed her hair away from her face, fingers lingering at the ends.

"Granger," he clipped, brandishing the parchment in his hand and laying it out on her desk. "Cross-office authorization form that needs your signature."

"Of course." Her eyes darted, unfocused, over the familiar words as she scanned the document. He held his hand on the top of the parchment as she signed, ripping it away as soon as she was finished, and a streak of ink marred the bottom of the contract where her quill had not been lifted in time.

"Was there anything else you wanted?"

He huffed, a bitter laugh, and regarded Ron with a cold stare. "No – nothing." She watched him as he left, his boots clicking across the floor.

She had no reason to feel guilty because Ron was her friend and Draco was her friend and neither of them had made it clear that they wanted more from their relationship with her until Ron approached her at the party. Monday lunches and casual flirting did not stake any claim of Draco's on her, and she was well within her rights to hear Ron out. Or even accept, for that matter. Not that she wanted to – but she had the option, because, at the end of the day, she was still a single woman.

The silence in the room was heavy and thick, until –

"Blimey, Hermione." Ron released a low whistle as if it had been sitting inside him for the last five minutes. "What did you do to him?"

They made more small talk, avoiding any mention of Draco, or of what they had been speaking about before he had interrupted.

Before he left, he said, "I don't need an answer now, just...think about it, yeah?"

When Ron left, she realized she had forgotten to ask him about the cufflink.