Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to JKR. If you don't recognize it, odds are it still might.

A/N: Just a little (relatively) oneshot I wrote when I learned that Hermione's birthday is National Butterscotch Pudding Day. Kind of fitting, isn't it? It's a bit OOC and not too well thought-out but I wrote it in less than an hour on a whim, so. Enjoy.

Draco -

Take these files to the Head of Dept. ASAP.

- Bonnie

Draco Malfoy groaned when he read the note that his secretary had left on his desk before he arrived at work that morning. Honestly, what are secretaries good for but doing the menial work that his secretary always made him do? He made a mental note to have a serious talk with Bonnie about the current arrangements.

He sighed and flicked his pale blond hair out of his eyes. Normally, this kind of thing would simply be an inconvenience and nothing more, but not when dealing with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who was none other than Hermione Granger. It was just plain awkward now, after the war, to even look her in the eye, let alone actually interact with her. Especially considering all that he had said to her as his inferior, and now he was working under her. Karma's a real bitch, huh?

And there was also the fact of the matter that he simply didn't like her very much. Well, at least she looked - and acted - less like an electrocuted chipmunk now. That was something, at least.

Sighing loudly for show - though he didn't know why, there wasn't anybody there - Draco stood up from behind his desk languidly and left his slightly too-small (or smaller than the aristocracy that he was usually used to in life) office and started to walk down to her's in the manner of a man condemned.

Malfoys, you may have noticed, can be slightly insensitive at times. Well, no; they are very insensitive, mostly all the time. And such was the Malfoy heir when he was upon the office door of the head of department. To be fair to Draco, he wasn't doing it on purpose - his thoughts were just elsewhere. The only thing he did was forget to knock.

Even though the door was closed, Draco pushed open the door of Granger's office carelessly, not bothering to alert her of his presence beforehand. What was the use, anyway? All he was going to do was hand her the files wordlessly and leave.

He was still looking down at the files with a bit of absentminded curiosity when he entered the room - 'Do not read without the express permission of Hermione Jean Granger' was written on them in red, spiky handwriting. Damn, if only I'd seen that earlier, he thought idly. Now I can't read them because I'm just about right in her office and - wait, what's that noise?

His thought process was interrupted when he looked up and, instead of seeing the disapproving glare of his old enemy, was surprised to see her curled up in her chair and - holy shit - crying. Hard. Oh shit.

When she heard him enter, she looked up in alarm, and when she saw who it was, looked as though she wanted to evaporate on the spot. Instead, she settled for straightening herself up and asking him in a loud and rude voice, "What do you want, Malfoy?" Even though she tried to mask her little breakdown-thing quite well, it didn't hide the blotches on her face and the tears still in her eyes.

Draco was still at a loss of what to actually do. What does a bloke do in a situation like this, again? He had been so long without having to deal with the irregularities of women that he was just confused. He wordlessly walked forward and dropped the files on her desk. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should say something. Hermione gave him a defiant look that dared him to.

Deciding against it, he began to back out slowly. Then that nasty thing known as a conscience that he seemed to be developing against his will kicked in. For all he knew, he was the first ever Malfoy by birth who had one.

Mentally kicking himself, he turned his head around and said, "Uh, Granger?"

She looked up with an expression of such uncharacteristic loathing that Draco nearly hightailed it out of there right then. But he didn't because - well, he didn't really know. But he continued, "Er - you, uh, are you okay?"

He cursed himself. What kind of a Malfoy was he? All vestiges of eloquency had abandoned him - after all those years of being reprimanded about manners and that nonsense by his father - when confronted with a crying woman. Very nice, Draco.

She scowled. "You don't have to pretend like you care, Malfoy."

Aha. He caught the tone of her voice and he knew immediately what was wrong. There was a man involved somewhere here. "So, is it Potter or the Weasel?" he asked her snidely, before he could catch himself.

Merlin, if looks could kill, Draco would have been murdered brutally five times over with the glare that was being sent his way. He raised his arms in surrender and began to back out slowly. Suddenly, her contorted features slackened into something he had never seen her direct towards him - a smile? With an air of something like defeat, she said with a mixture of sadness and anger - mostly anger - "The bloody Weasel."

Draco was quite shocked that she had actually answered him. He was just giving her a hard time, because that's just what he did. Well, he couldn't very well leave now, could he? He internally sighed. When did he become such a bloody nice person?

He gave her a crooked smile. "I get the feeling you might want to get off of your chest."

Hermione glared at him, apparently annoyed at herself for blurting her problems out. "What makes you think I would talk to you about anything?" she asked acidly.

Hmm. Well, she did have a fair point. "Because," Draco said with a cocky grin while settling himself down in the chair across from her desk, "You have no one else to talk to. Or, rather, no one else you want to talk to without getting embarrassed. Now, me on the other hand, I've already seen you cry, so you're embarrassed by default, and therefore not embarrassed. Does that make sense?"

She smiled a little again. Wow, he was on a roll. "Not really, but kind of."

Draco smirked. "And you're accusing me of not making any sense?" He paused, thinking for a moment. "Or, kind of accusing me. A little. Can we stop this conversation now? It's getting a little weird."

But Hermione's brown eyes had turned serious again. Merlin, her eyes - and her hair - were so brown. You couldn't describe them as chocolate or chestnut, umber, caramel or burnt sienna or anything fancy like that. They were just brown and nothing but. Wait, she was saying something.

"Malfoy, do you think - I want your honest opinion now - do you think I'm too - too intense?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow in amusement, then looked at her serious and even earnest expression and couldn't hold it in anymore. He laughed out loud, a deep, rich laugh, throwing his head back and everything. There were tears in his grey eyes when he'd finished.

"Granger, darling, you're the most intense person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting."

And it was true, too - he'd seen her, even after Hogwarts, in courtrooms and on a day-to-day basis. Intense was her middle name. But Hermione just looked offended. "Really?" she asked doubtfully.

Draco didn't know how someone could be so smart yet so oblivious to their own personality. "Yes, Granger. That is the one thing I can say about you with absolute certainty. Now, any reason for asking me such a random question?"

Hermione scowled. "I was, as you suggested so kindly, telling you about my - er - situation. Apparently, I'm too intense to be anybody's girlfriend and least of all a certain dimwitted Weasley's."

Draco noted the seriousness of how she spoke, though he couldn't keep his tone completely devoid of an underlying amusement. "Then that certain dim-witted Weasley doesn't deserve you." Then, after a moment's thought, with a devilish grin on his face - "Intense how? Like, in bed, or...?"

Hermione gave him a dirty look that was interlaced with lightheartedness. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She paused, turning solemn again. Merlin, was she bipolar or something? "Really, though? You don't think it's a bad thing?"

Draco thought for a second. "Not - not necessarily. Especially not on you. I think if you were a quiet, sweet-tempered young lady, no one would like you as much as everyone does. And also the Earth might spontaneously tilt to a 90-degree angle and stop turning, but -" he stopped to cackle and she reached across the desk to hit him on the arm with fake annoyance. "But, it takes the right kind of guy to appreciate that kind of thing and in all honesty, I don't think Weasley's that type," he finished without hesitation.

Hermione looked surprised. "You know what, Malfoy? You're not that bad of a guy, after all."

Great. Just bloody great. "Really?" he groaned. "I'm getting too nice, now even you don't think I'm a bad person and I spent the better part of my life making your life hell. What has the world come to?"

Hermione just smiled. "Thanks, Malfoy."

"Any time, Granger."

Draco stood up and turned to leave, just when the clock struck twelve. "Oh, would you look at the time?" he said slowly, turning around and smirking slightly. "Lunch."

If someone had told Draco that morning that he was going to be having lunch with Hermione Granger the next afternoon, he would have told them to get serious help. But against all odds, he was and he was actually enjoying himself. She turned out to be a really nice person, but with enough sharp spice to make her interesting. Huh. Who would have thought?

"So, what d'you want to eat?" he asked, reclining gracefully in his chair. They were at Hermione's choice of restaurant, which was a small cafe with five or six tables adorned with umbrellas littered outside in the sunshine.

"Butterscotch pudding," said Hermione so completely without hesitation that she made Draco laugh again. She scowled at him. "What? It's a completely legitimate meal."

Draco shook his head, still smiling. He hadn't smiled this much in one day since - well, since as long as he could remember. "No, darling, it isn't."

Hermione paused. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"What?"

"Darling."

"Force of habit, Granger, don't flatter yourself," he replied, smirking. "It's the default pronoun I use when patronizing someone."

When he saw the slightly homicidal look on her face, he snickered. "I'm only joking, don't get your panties in a twist. I won't call you that anymore, alright?"

She just shrugged.

"Alright then, what do you actually want to eat?" asked Draco.

Hermione looked up with raised eyebrows. "I was serious. I only ever eat butterscotch pudding at lunch. It's almost a ritual for me."

She was, Draco concluded, quite strange.

"Trying to lose some weight, are we?" he asked teasingly.

Hermione looked so scandalized for a moment that Draco was afraid he'd actually terribly offended her and was about to backtrack quickly when she smirked and said, "Really? Because I think you're the one who needs to lose some weight, Malfoy."

Draco stared at her, agape. "Are you kidding me, Granger? I'm all lean muscle and toned skin. Look!" He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his white silk shirt and quite literally shoved his pale chest into her face. Call him fat, honestly.

She was laughing now. "Alright, alright! Put your clothes back on. You're all leaned skin and tone - whatever. Happy?"

"Yes, quite. thanks." Draco said, satisfied. Suddenly, a rather large waiter with a comical moustache came bustling up to them and asked them snootily for their order. Draco, trying valiantly to keep a straight face, ordered two butterscotch puddings. The waiter looked at him slightly strangely but complied all the same.

Hermione looked amused. "You too?"

"I'd hate to break your daily ritual, Granger. Anyway, what kind of a place actually serves pudding?"

Hermione, to his surprise, agreed with him emphatically. "I know, right? It took me forever to find this place. Before that, I had to buy it in those vile little cups and bring it with me to work."

Draco's lips twitched but he pretended to sympathize with her terrible suffering all the same. He didn't think she bought it but whatever. It was the thought that counted, or whatever it was that nice people said.

The waiter quickly arrived back with their pudding. When he left, Draco couldn't resist imitating his supercilious French-Scottish-something accent and twisted his face up. "You're most welcome," he mimicked.

Hermione laughed. "You're so mean!"

"Well you're laughing. That makes you mean by association. Now how does that make you feel?"

She ignored him and spooned some of the pudding into her mouth. She closed her eyes and looked as though she had been touched by the divine. Very strange indeed.

Draco who, in spite of himself, was actually quite hungry by then, did the same. Far from having a holy experience, he coughed and spat it out. "Eurgh, that stuff is absolutely vile."

Hermione looked completely appalled. "Wha - how? Are you even human?"

"Nope," Draco admitted freely.

"That's what I thought," she said with satisfaction. "No mortal being could ever not like this stuff."

There was a bit of an awkward silence as Hermione finished her pudding. Then, she asked, "Are you a vampire?"

Draco was quite taken aback by her question. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Last time I checked, no. Any reason?"

"No, I mean look at you. You're so pale - even your hair and eyes are as close to white as possible. You shy away from the sun and you don't like butterscotch pudding."

What a woman. He sighed. "Dammit, Granger. You got me. All of this was a ploy to suck your sweet-smelling blood, and you've gone and figured me out."

She giggled. He had never, in his entire life, heard Hermione Granger giggle and felt a strange pride in being the first one to make her do so. "Is my blood really sweet-smelling, though?"

Draco gave her an odd look. "How the hell would I know? Anyway, we need to get back now, it's nearly one."

Hermione grinned mischievously. "Not necessarily. Being Head of Department has it's privileges."

By six o'clock that evening, Draco and Hermione had tromped all around London doing various things that Draco didn't even care to name. The time flew by and before they knew it they were watching the sun set over the Thames on London Bridge.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Hermione breathed in awe.

Draco wrinkled his nose. "It's a bit polluted, isn't it, the river? The water's nearly brown."

Hermione slapped him on the shoulder, the highest point she could reach on his tall, lean frame. "Typical Malfoy. Can't you appreciate anything, ever?"

"Nope." But he was just messing around, because it was quite nice-looking. You know, as far as sunsets went. It was only just starting, so the sky was tinged with pink and streaks of mauve as the sun turned a darker yellow-orange colour. All of this was reflected in the water of the river that wasn't quite brown.

"Hey, Malfoy?" said Hermione suddenly. She wasn't looking at him, but rather at the landscape in front of them.

"Yes, Granger?"

"You know how you said that it takes a special kind of guy to appreciate someone like me?"

"Not quite what I said, but essentially, yes. What about it?"

She looked him in the eyes. Again, he was startled by their brown-ness. What was it with that colour cropping up so much today? It was barely even a nice colour. Except maybe in Granger's eyes. And her hair. Oh, wait, she's saying something. "Do you think that maybe you're that kind of guy?"

Draco was, for maybe the second time in his life, floored by her question. "Do you know what, Granger?" he said slowly after a few moments. "I think I might be."

She smiled so completely and sincerely that Draco felt, by loyalty to his Slytherin breeding, to ruin it ever so slightly. "Except you're just a bit too intense for me."

She looked so crestfallen for a moment that Draco felt immediately bad for saying that. "I'm only joking, Granger. I like my women intense, if you know what I'm saying."

"Do you manage to ruin every nice moment you ever find yourself in, or am I just special?"

"You're special."

"That's sweet," she said waspishly.

"Why, thank you, Granger."

They stood there in silence for a few moments before Hermione turned to him again. "Seriously, though."

Somehow he knew exactly what she was talking about. "Yes, I already told you. I think I am."

She smiled again and turned back to the stare at the river. Draco was suddenly aware of the closeness between them. It felt as though electricity was pulsing out of both of them. Her hand was right next to his on the railing of the bridge, nearly touching. Should he just casually put his hand over hers? Or would that be too much, too soon? She just got out of a relationship, anyway. Maybe not.

"Hey, Malfoy?" she called him again. He turned to look at her once more.

"Yes, Granger?"

"Shouldn't I call you Draco or something now?"

He paused to mull it over. "Enlighten me as to what 'or something' is and maybe you should."

She punched his shoulder. "You know what I mean."

"Maybe you should, Granger," he conceded.

"That's Hermione, then. Draco," she corrected. He liked the way his name sounded in her voice. But it was a little weird.

He paused. "Nah, I like Granger, and Malfoy. One step at a time."

She went back to looking at the sunset. They were so close to each other, he could smell her hair - she was considerably shorter than him - which smelled of green apples. He was surprised it wasn't butterscotch pudding, but what do you know. She was full of surprises.

"Hey Malfoy?"

"Yes, Granger?" He turned to look at her again.

"Was this a date?" She looked so charmingly serious, he broke out into a devastating smile.

"You know what, Granger? I think it was."

So now was he allowed to touch her hand, or hold it, or whatever they call it? You know, since they just established that they were kind of - oh, fuck it.

And with that, he put his arm around her shoulders and together, they looked on as the sun went down and dipped below the horizon.

If you liked it, please review, I would appreciate it very much. If you didn't, still review and tell me what I'm missing. Thanks!