Disclaimer: Harry Potter no mine. Harry Potter J.K. Rowling's. She brilliant.

Additional Information: This is relatively AU, PWP, and Draco and Hermione are pretty OOC. It is post-Hogwarts, post-Voldemort, meaning post-War, with a little bit of a spoof-y element in it. It was just my little idea hatched into a one-shot.

It was on a crisp October morning that Draco, now aged twenty-three, had his epiphany.

On Monday, October 9th, at two-thirty in the afternoon while laying on his bed at the Malfoy Manor, he realized that, in the grand scheme of things, it made no difference whether Hermione was a mudblood or a pureblood. And anyway, at this point in his life, there was absolutely nothing holding him back.

His parents were off vacationing somewhere in France and would not be back for quite some time. Even if they had been present, Draco doubted that either of them would have objected to a relationship between their only child and Hermione Granger, The Infamous Mudblood Who Was So Infamous That She Actually Had This Insanely Long Title. Voldemort was dead, for good this time, and was probably already decomposed by various types of fungi. Therefore, he was no threat.

As for Hermione's friends, well, they were each kept quite busy by their new marriages. Harry Potter and Pansy fought on a daily basis, but Draco had heard that the make-up sex was "absolutely worth fighting for", and rumor had it that they had a bun in the oven. Weasel King and his mate, Luna Lovegood, also fought quite frequently, perhaps more frequently than a good married couple should, but Draco assumed that it was probably because it was Ron Weasley, and the guy just wasn't happy without a good argument. Draco didn't bother asking about the sex. He didn't really want to know, either.

With all of the basic hurdles jumped over, he decided to call up the endearing mudblood in question and ask her out for dinner, or maybe just a quick shag sometime.

Hermione Granger, aged twenty-two and a half, and currently hungover, was walking down Charing Cross Road, on her way to The Leaky Cauldron when her mobile started ringing. She had set the ringtone to a particularly catchy Weird Sisters' song, and she could only hope that the Muggles around her would assume it was just some obscure Wiccan rock (there were multiple mentions of transfiguring wizards into frogs, bubbling cauldrons, haunted wands, and various other magical objects).

Quickly pulling it out of her bag, she flipped it open without looking at the caller ID screen.

"Hello?"

"Hello, love. So wonderful to hear your voice!" The unnervingly cheerful voice of Draco Malfoy filled her hungover ears, and she groaned.

"Draco, darling," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "do you not think that it's just a tiny bit early for this?"

She heard Draco scoff on the other end.

"Hermione, sweetheart, I taught myself how to use a felly-tele-whatchamacallit just for you, and this is how you repay me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oi, don't you roll your eyes at me, wench! I know you're doing it! I CAN SEE YOU!"

Hermione scowled.

"I saw that too, Hermione. Don't even try."

She could practically hear his smirk.

"Oh shut up, Malfoy. Don't you have anything better to do?"

Draco sighed. Hermione pulled the phone away from her ear. She was still sensitive to all noises due to her post-night-of-wild-partying -induced condition.

When she was assured that it was safe again, she put the phone back to her ear to find Draco mid-sentence, going on about some nonsense or other.

In the year and a half that they had been friends (oh, she was more shocked at the odd development than anyone else), she had discovered that Draco Malfoy had a tendency to be melodramatic, especially when it came to his life.

"..and so the daft bird proceeded to put more ice in the cup, and really, there was too much ice, whereas I specifically asked for one ice cube, and honestly, even you wouldn't have messed that up, and… Granger, you're not evening listening to me!"

She could hear his pout. With a sigh, she decided it always worked out better for her when she at least pretended to understand all the "hardships" he was going through at the moment.

"Draco, that's just horrible that she misunderstood the amount of ice cubes you wanted in your drink. I am so, so, so sorry you had to go through that. You poor creature."

Draco snorted. "Oh Hermione, I do so appreciate the effort, but that was the least convincing performance you have ever given. Now come over for a shag."

Hermione had to laugh. He was quite a piece of work. "Draco, I'm not a love machine."

The sound of his chuckling filled her eardrums, causing her to cringe. Even Draco's rather charming laugh was really unpleasant when heard with a hangover.

"I would never suggest such a thing, Hermione. But just admit that you are just as aroused right now."

It was Hermione's turn to snort. "Aroused!" She asked incredulously. "By what, pray tell?"

"By the sound of my voice, of course. But you're changing the subject. Be here by eight. Don't bother wearing anything under that short skirt you are no doubt wearing right now."

And then he hung up, leaving nothing but silence filling Hermione, who was quite indignant at his cocky remark. Her skirt wasn't even that short!

"What a wanker," she said, shaking her head as she pushed through the wooden doors of the Leaky Cauldron.

Yet, much to her dismay, she knew that she would be at the Malfoy Manor later on that night.

At seven fifty-nine, Draco readjusted his tie for what must have been the fourteenth time, at least. Despite the fact that Hermione and himself had been dating for five months now, he still felt nervous every time she came by.

He would hide it behind cocky remarks and sexual innuendos, but in truth, he was as nervous as he had been before their very first date. However, Draco had come to discover that it was more of an anticipation thing. As soon as she arrived, he felt instantly at ease and completely relaxed.

And speak of the devil, she arrived just seconds after.

Draco glanced at the clock and smirked.

As always, Hermione Granger was punctual, for it was exactly eight o'clock, on the dot.

Running his hand through his blonde hair one final time, he opened the door for his leading lady.

"Hello, beautiful."

Hermione graced him with a smile, then pushed him through the threshold, kicking the ornate door behind her. Gently, of course, to avoid breakage.

"Come here, you," she said before pulling him in for a long, deeply satisfying (especially for that particular part of Draco's very male anatomy) kiss.

Author's Note: Please, feel free to go wild with your imaginations and picture them doing whatever, wherever, however you please. )