The people are J.K. Rowling's.

Maybe I don't mind that he's looking at me that way.

Maybe I don't mind that the flutter I feel in my stomach under his gaze.

There's a chance I don't mind that he's taking my hand and asking me to dance.

There's a possibility I just might like the idea of him whisking me away.

I find myself at this party for all Ministry employees that Ginny convinced me to attend. She said I hadn't gotten out of the house enough recently, and she guilted me into going because we don't see each other enough. But there she is, on the other side of the room, dancing the night away with Harry, and here I am with my punch.

And here he is, his hand extended for mine with that all-knowing look in his eyes and that characteristic smirk on his face.

Maybe I don't mind that the smirk is directed at me.

It's been years since we graduated from Hogwarts, almost too many years to count. His family was essentially persecuted from all sides long after the war, but that's all over now. Someone important in some place of authority stood up for them in some ideal circumstance, and all was forgotten. He's been working in the Department of Mysteries for about a year now. Once in a while, I spot him on the lift as I go to study muggle objects that wizards have made go terribly wrong.

He's never looked at me in quite this way.

Maybe I don't mind.

I find myself tilting my head ever-so-slightly to the side as I let him take my hand. He removes the punch from my other hand, setting it on the table behind me.

There's a chance I don't mind how close his body comes to mine as he does so, or the way my heart skips a beat in response.

He leads me out to the dance floor, and we begin to dance in an unspoken rhythm that works.

It's possible that I don't mind how well it works.

"So how's life, Granger?" he almost whispers in my ear.

I attempt to ignore the chill that finds it way down my spine before saying, "I do believe, Malfoy, we might just be old enough and mature enough to stop using surnames with one another."

He laughs, and it occurs to me I've never heard him laugh.

I just might not mind the warmth that spreads within me at the sound.

"Well, then," he says, "how's life, Hermione?"

I try to ignore the butterflies that find their way to my stomach before responding, "It's just fine, Draco. And yours?"

"Mine's just fine as well. The Ministry is good to me," he says. I barely notice the distance between us grow just a little smaller.

I'm not sure I mind.

"Yes," I agree. "The Ministry has gotten much better over the past few years."

"Still messing with your muggle toys?" he asks, and I detect the lighthearted nature in his voice.

"Not as much as wizards like to mess them up for themselves," I counter.

I feel him shake his head above me. There's a possibility I don't mind the way he brushes against me when he does.

I feel him tighten his hold on me almost imperceptibly as he says, "So you mean to imply that muggles know better than wizards do?"

I laugh as I reply, "In regards to muggle inventions, they most certainly do."

He laughs again and pulls me closer in rhythm to the music.

I might not mind my head on his shoulder. Or the way our breathing is aligned. Or the heartbeat I hear within his chest. I might not mind that I hear his heart skip an almost imperceptible beat as I squeeze his hand.

"So what brings you out tonight?" he mutters against my ear.

I'm not sure I mind the humming it makes, or the way the butterflies jump all the more in response.

"Ginny," I respond simply.

"Hm?" he asks. I don't think I quite mind that he lifts my chin with his fingers when he asks me to repeat myself.

"Ginny," I whisper, accidentally catching his eye for an intense moment.

"Ginny," he whispers back, and I nod. "You mean Ginny who's over there on the other side of the room with Potter, completely oblivious to your existence?"

As his gaze intensifies even more, all I can do is nod.

Bringing his mouth lower to my ear, he adds, "You mean Ginny who won't notice if you're gone?"

I'm not entirely certain I mind when we wind up in a muggle diner with coffee in our hands. I'm not sure I mind the way his hand holds mine as we talk.

I'm not sure I mind when I find myself back in his flat, cuddling on his couch with his cat purring at our feet.

I know I don't mind when he places his fingers under my chin to encourage my lips to meet his. And I don't mind when that kiss lasts late into the night.

And I also know I don't mind when he walks me to the door, offering me that one last kiss, and I especially don't mind when, as, I'm just about to apparate away, he grasps my arm to say,

"Hey, Hermione... same time tomorrow?"

I might not even mind the smile I give him as I apparate away.

A/N: Please let me know what you think. Thanks!