a/n: smut warning.

Part IV: She Cleans Up Nicely

"I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"It's not a big deal, Ron, we're just friends, and he's just going to show me around - "

"No. Not that."

"Then what?"

"I can't believe you're actually considering taking this job."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious, Mione."

"Ron. Come on. Don't you see what a huge opportunity this is for me?"

"This is Los Angeles, Mione, not - I don't know - Arkansas or something. It's not like we're in the middle of nowhere! You're acting like no other opportunity will ever come along again!"

"I'm not looking for just any opportunity, Ron! This is a job with Kingsley goddamn Shacklebolt, don't you understand what a big deal that is for me?"

"What's wrong with your job now? I don't understand why you are practically running out the door - "

"I'm not running out the door, that's ridiculous! I just want to go and give it a try - can't I at least explore the option?"

"And what if you like it, Mione, hm? What then?"

"Well . . . I don't know! Can't we just talk about it?"

"Mione. I have always been very clear with you about what I want in life."

"I know you have, but - "

"No, listen. I've always told you I want a family, right? I've always said I wanted to be a teacher, and settle down. And I want to do that here."

"We're so young still, Ron, we can still have that life, but maybe we can just do something different for a couple of years - "

"A couple of years? Are you joking? You say that like 'a couple of years' is nothing - "

"Well it's not nothing, obviously, but it's hardly a life sentence - "

"Why would you think I would want that, Mione? Why would you even consider this job? Were you even thinking about me at all?"

"I thought you might be proud of me! Silly me, I thought you might want what's best for me!"

"Why am I obligated to think that this is what's best for you? What if what's best for you is the life you suddenly managed to forget that we've been planning together for the last five years?"

"I didn't realize that was such an ironclad commitment, Ron - "

"Look, I don't know what's going on with you. Really, I don't. The Mione I know was happy with me, happy with the life we had - "

"I'm not unhappy! I just don't want to believe this is all I'm ever going to do with my life!"

"What do you mean 'this is all'? What's wrong with your life, Mione? When did this life become not enough for you?"

"It's not - "

"Am I not enough for you anymore, Mione? Is that what you're saying?"

"No! No, Ron, not at all! I just - I didn't think you would be this rigid about it - "

"I, unlike you, have not changed my priorities. I haven't changed my mind about what I want for my life."

"This is crazy, Ron, you're reading way too much into this, it's just one trip - "

"Yeah, for now. But I feel like I barely know you right now! Who is this, this new Hermione who all of a sudden wants to move to London for this - I don't know, this big, stuffy political career? I've never heard you say you wanted anything like that before - "

"Things change, Ron! Things come up! Just because I didn't think it was a possibility before doesn't mean that it isn't something I might want now!"

"Well then maybe that's the problem. Maybe you need to spend a little more time thinking about what it is that you want."

"Ron."

"What?"

"Ron, what does that mean?"

"It means - fuck it, Mione. Go to London. Do whatever you want. Make up your mind because either you want this life with me, or you want something else entirely, and I don't want to be part of it."

"Ron - Ron, slow down. What do you mean you don't want to be part of it - "

"I meant what I said."

"But - "

"I can't talk about this right now, Mione."

"Ron!"

"Just - go on your trip, okay? I'll stay with Harry and Ginny until you decide."

"Ron! Ron, you can't just - "

But he was already gone.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, handing her a cup of coffee as he sat beside her in the airport.

"Yeah," she sighed, snapping back to reality as she took the cup from him. "I'm fine."

"You're lying," he commented, shrugging as he demurely lowered his eyes. "But I am a gentleman, and therefore, I do not pry."

She looked over at him, smiling at his mock coquettishness. "I'm fine," she repeated, more confident this time as she met his comforting gaze. "I'm excited for the trip."

"Me too," he agreed, nodding. "Not the flight, though. Christ. I'll never get used to it."

"I haven't been on a flight this long since my obligatory post-grad trip to Europe," she said, laughing at the thought. "I haven't sat still that long in ages." She hummed to herself, thinking. "Maybe I should get a magazine or something."

She moved to rise from the chair and his hand abruptly shot out, preventing her from leaving.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly, his cheeks ever so slightly flushed. He seemed startled by his own instinctive reaction. "But - that's not strictly necessary, is it?"

She fell back against her seat, eyeing him skeptically. "You don't think so?" she asked, brow furrowed. "Why? Are you going to entertain me for ten straight hours?"

"Do you have any doubt that I can?" he huffed, feigning insult. "My goodness, Granger. How dare you. How dare you."

"Okay!" she exclaimed, laughing. "My deepest apologies. I shall look only to you for entertainment over the course of this flight. I hope you're ready for it." She placed her chin in her hands daintily, opening her eyes wide and tilting her head to stare at him. "This is what you have to look forward to for the whole flight."

"Dear god, what a view," he proclaimed, grinning. His grey eyes were dancing.

She found it difficult to look away.

"So," he said, setting her luggage down on the landing. "This is home. Sometimes, anyway. Kitchen is back there, living room and dining room here. Bedrooms are upstairs."

"13 Grimmauld Place," she said, nodding as she made a note of the address. "Interesting. You'd think if they were to skip a number, it would be unlucky thirteen."

"Strangely, no," he agreed. "Twelve is missing. I've never known why."

"Huh," she commented, shrugging. "Upstairs, you said?"

"Yeah." He gestured her forward. "Head on up."

It was a decently large townhouse. Unassuming on the outside, and somewhat sparse on the inside.

"Do you spend much time here?" she asked, looking around. It seemed like he had recently moved; there were a number of items in boxes, looking as though they'd been shipped and then amassed in the space.

"Not really," he muttered, moving a large box out of the base of the stairwell. "Sorry. This stuff isn't supposed to be here."

"No, it's fine," she told him, still looking around. "I'd prefer to stay here than a hotel."

"Same," he agreed, nodding. "I was relieved you wouldn't mind. Hotels are nice, of course, but as someone who travels a lot, home is much more comfortable."

"Sure," she said, sympathizing.

It was a rather comfortable home, despite its unfinished feel. She was able to see now just how distinct Astoria's taste was from his; the Venice condo had been expertly decorated, every piece of furniture chosen for its personality, but Draco's townhouse seemed limited to function. Minimalistic furniture. Neutral walls. No photographs; a couple of art pieces, but very little whimsy.

No nonsense.

"Here," he said, opening a door on the right. "This is the guest room."

The room contained a queen-sized bed, a set of dressers, and an attached bath, but very little else.

"This is nice," she commented, looking around. "Very airy."

"That's one way to say it's completely unfurnished," he said, chuckling. "I'll get you sheets and towels," he added, glancing into the hall at what she assumed must have been a linen closet.

"Is that all?" she asked, tilting her head to give him a mischievous smirk. "Not a very thorough tour guide, are you?"

The way he ran his tongue across his lower lip nearly stopped her heart.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat. "My bedroom's at the end of the hall, if you want to see that." He looked questioningly at her before abruptly melting into a smile. "For research purposes, of course. For science."

"For science," she agreed, the corners of her lips twisting up into a tiny grin.

He slung his garment bag over his shoulder and beckoned for her to follow. "Then by all means."

His bedroom was the only room in the house that appeared to be lived in - at least in any noticeable way. He had several bookshelves that were crowded with a variety of titles, haphazardly arranged as though he accessed them frequently. There was a small, vintage drafting desk in the corner, and she could see a variety of papers out, his narrow, linear handwriting evident across numerous typewritten pages. Scripts, she assumed.

"Are these your parents?" she asked, picking up a photo that sat on his dresser.

"Yes," he said, and she shivered as he moved to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the picture. "The highly esteemed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."

His mother was gorgeous. Almost unreasonably so. And his father - well. If Draco aged even half as well as his father had, Astoria would be a lucky woman.

"Are you close to them?" she asked.

"My mother, yes," he admitted. "My father - it's a bit tense. I'm afraid I fell a little short of his lofty expectations."

She frowned. "You did?"

"I'm sure he would have preferred I carry on the family business," he said, replacing the frame on his desk. "Acting is quite frivolous in his view."

"And the family business is . . . "

He offered her a wry, forced smile. "Wealth accumulation."

Hermione laughed. "Don't the ends justify the means?" she asked. "I'd hardly call you financially wanting, you know."

"Unfortunately, no," Draco said curtly, and she could see on his face that this had been a source of tension for him. "I think he wishes I'd do something a little more . . . becoming."

"Becoming?" she echoed, brows raised.

He shrugged abruptly, like he was physically shaking off the thought. "Old world British classicism," he summarized drily, flashing her a 'what can you do?' look of weary resignation.

"Mm, too true," she agreed, nudging him with her shoulder while bearing an exaggerated affectation.

He laughed.

She loved the sound.

"I hope this is okay," he said apologetically, setting the wrapped fish and chips down in front of her. "I should probably be a better host and cook you something, but to be quite honest, I wouldn't know where to start."

"That's okay," she said, laughing. "This feels more authentic, anyway."

"Good," he said triumphantly, smiling as he took a seat across from her. "So how was today?"

"It was amazing," she admitted, her tone somewhat resigned.

He flashed her a mischievous grin. "You don't sound convinced."

"No," she said, straightening. "No, I am, definitely - I loved it. Everything."

"It's all touristy stuff, of course," he said. "I know it can be rather tired - "

"No," she insisted. "I loved it. Really."

He gave her a look of pure skepticism. "If you want me to believe you, you'll have to try a bit harder than that," he said, rising to his feet. "Beer or wine?"

"You choose," she said, picking up a fry.

He squinted at her. "Normally I'd say beer with fish and chips," he commented, tilting his head to look at her. "But something's bothering you, so we're going with wine."

She rolled her eyes as he turned, picking out a bottle. "I'm fine."

"Well, sure, but there are so many other things you could be," he said, searching for a corkscrew. "Excellent, perhaps. Excited. Enchanted with both the prospect of calling this city home, and your delightful host - "

"You are delightful," she agreed, and he winked at her as he set down her glass.

"I know." He settled himself in his seat again. "So are you going to tell me what's been bothering you?"

"I - I guess I just feel guilty," she said, wincing as she finally resolved to admit her feelings out loud. "I mean, I'm just - I'm just not sure I'm supposed to be enjoying myself this much."

He frowned. "I never took you for a masochist, Granger," he said bluntly. "As far as I can tell, you're supposed to enjoy life."

"I know," she said, laughing nervously. "And I am." She met his eyes. "I really am."

"Well," he pronounced. "If the issue is that you are enjoying yourself too much, then I am going to consider that a victory for me."

"You should," she agreed, nodding. "Oh - by the way, does wifi work the same way here?"

"Are you asking me if we have a different internet?" he said, grinning.

She laughed. "Kind of, I guess." She winced. "Sorry, stupid question."

"No such thing," he proclaimed, though he seemed suddenly perturbed. "Though I have to wonder, of course, if that means I'm boring you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she chided him. "Not in the slightest. But I do have a job, you know, and I should probably check my email - "

"You're on vacation," he said firmly. "They'll survive, won't they?"

She thought about the way Draco was never distracted by his phone when he was around her, and how he'd been so extraordinarily attentive throughout the entire trip. She'd nearly forgotten what it was like to be with someone who didn't rely so heavily on their access to the world at large. For a celebrity whose social media seemed to amass quite a stir with every post, he didn't seem very active in it.

"You're right," she said, nodding. "I should be more present. Right?"

"I'm not a yogi, Granger," he said, rolling his eyes.

The dress she'd been given for the film premiere was easily the most stunning thing she'd ever worn. The classic, tailored cut of the red gown was everything she could have dreamt for herself - not that she, ever the bookish type, had done much of said dreaming - and with the help of Draco's stylist, she'd gotten a coveted hair and makeup appointment that left her speechless at her own reflection. Her long bangs were swept elegantly to the side, the low chignon resting sophisticatedly at the base of her neck. Her makeup, too, was glamorous without being overdone.

She was no Pansy Parkinson, and probably no Astoria Greengrass, either, but Hermione Granger certainly didn't look half bad. She nodded at her reflection.

"Good show, old girl," she told herself, putting on an affected British accent.

"I heard that."

"Draco!" She spun on the spot, startled by his voice. "Sorry, how embarrassing - "

"Wow."

He couldn't take his eyes off her, and she knew she was blushing.

"Wow yourself," she said, taking a step towards him and playfully prodding a finger into his chest. "You clean up nicely, Mr. Malfoy."

And he did. The Tom Ford tuxedo was . . . oh, what did she know. She was no fashion critic. Something about nice lines, she thought, eyeing his chest as he adjusted his tie. Very nice lines.

"Likewise," he said, swallowing with difficulty. He took another step toward her.

A step closer than was altogether proper, if she were being honest. Not that she minded. Or felt much inclined to be honest.

Was it hot? It was quite hot.

"You look beautiful," he told her, his lips close to her ear. "Really. Not that I should be surprised, of course. You're always beautiful."

"Oh, stop." She moved to make some kind of fun, lighthearted gesture - a little shove, perhaps, or a light nudge to his arm - but found herself off-balance, tipping forward into his arms.

"Whoa," he said, smiling. "Okay to walk, Granger?"

"Not used to constricting evening gowns," she muttered, gripping his arms for balance.

His hands slipped to her waist.

"No," he agreed. "I sympathize."

"With evening gowns?" she asked, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe as she met his eyes.

He bit his lip. "What?" he asked, dazed.

"You said . . . "

She trailed off. Ten seconds passed. Or five minutes.

"I don't remember," she said, frowning.

He laughed and she exhaled sharply, relieved. "Regardless, you look beautiful."

She rolled her eyes. "You said that already."

"Well," he said, leaning forward to brush his lips against her cheek. "I meant it twice."

She leaned into the gesture, sighing contentedly. "This feels so strange," she murmured. "It feels like it's not even my life, somehow."

"Which part?"

"All of it." She smiled wistfully at him. "It almost feels like I can be someone else for tonight. Show up with a fake name and a fake life and just . . . not have to think about anything. You know?"

"You can do that," he told her, taking her hands in his. "Who do you want to be tonight?"

"Hm." She tilted her head thoughtfully, trying on names in her head. "I can be anyone?"

"Anyone," he said, nodding. "Anyone you want."

"Well," she hummed, pursing her lips as she considered the vast array of possibilities. "What's a good name for someone who is cultured and successful - a little mysterious, maybe," she ventured, cocking her head. "Alarmingly attractive, of course - and just wildly enthralling, overall?"

"Easy," he said, smoothing his hair back as he grinned and offered her his arm. "Hermione Granger."

There were cameras flashing everywhere.

"Draco - Draco, over here!" "Draco! A word?" "Draco, are the rumors true?"

He put his arm around Hermione's waist and guided her toward the venue.

"Ignore them," he murmured, waving and smiling but swiftly pulling Hermione in his wake. He clearly wasn't interesting in dawdling.

"Smile," he instructed, and then caught himself. "I don't mean to be patronizing," he explained quickly. "But they do so love to print the pictures where you manage to look like a grouch for half a second, so try to keep smiling."

"It's not that hard," she admitted, her cheeks already warm. They'd opened up a bottle of champagne in the town car on the way over, and it had done her nerves a world of good. "This is exciting."

"These can get old after a while," he said, his lips close to her ear. "Not this time, of course."

"No?" she asked, turning to smile at him.

A camera flashed, capturing the moment.

"That'll be a good one," he told her, smirking. "And no, this event feels somehow entirely new and different."

"Why is that?" she prompted, fighting back a light-headed giggle as he drew his arm around her waist for the picture.

He gave her a mischievous grin. "The caterer."

She laughed. A thousand shutters snapped.

"Shouldn't you be explaining why you're not with Astoria?" she asked him as they progressed inside. "Won't they be needing an explanation for the headline 'Draco Malfoy and gal pal' attend premiere?"

"I'd be happy to, if they ask," he said, angling her gently toward the next set of cameras. "But the truth is that I'm a washed up child star, and nobody's paying any attention to me."

Hermione snuck a glance at Pansy Parkinson, whose dark eyes were lingering suggestively on the cut of Draco's tux from her position a few feet away.

"If you say so," Hermione said softly, enjoying the chill that flew up her spine as his hand settled between her exposed shoulder blades.

She couldn't take her eyes off his hands.

They sat invitingly in his lap throughout the premiere, which was masterful. The film was about - well, nevermind what it was about.

"Masterful," she said, nodding somberly to everyone who asked, nearly sighing with relief every time she felt Draco's hand return to her back, turning her every so often to introduce her to some other actor or producer or writer.

"A pleasure," she'd say, watching Draco's proffered hand as he casually shook with a colleague.

"How was the film?" they'd ask, and she'd smile.

"Masterful," she'd say, eyeing Draco's fingers where they curled around the stem of his champagne glass.

"And how do you two know each other?"

The question never got tiresome.

"Oh, we're soulmates," Draco said, grinning before he launched into the explanation. "California palm readers, you know, the usual - "

Always the tone of amusement, of course, whether he told the story or not. He was dashing and Hermione was charming and fun. She dazzled and delighted.

This was her fake life, and she reveled in it.

"Afterparties are interesting," she commented, taking a sip of her drink and watching as his hand traveled from her knee to the upper part of her thigh as he leaned back, gesturing to the server. Most of the celebrities from the premiere had changed into alternate outfits and were now mingling with considerably less concern for the cameras, which were conspicuously absent.

"Another?" he asked, gesturing to her nearly empty glass as he reached to take one for himself.

She was sorry to see his hand go.

"I'm fine, I think," she said, her head already a bit fuzzy. "Either I'm getting old, or I'm tapped out for the night."

"Oh no, I'm sorry," he said quickly, vaguely horrified. "I forgot how late these things go - I hope you're not totally miserable - "

"I'm not," she said quickly, putting her hand on his arm. "Relax. I'm having a wonderful time."

"Well I don't want to keep you out too late," he said, setting his glass down and coming to his feet. "Come on," he urged, holding out a hand for her. "You have your tour with Shacklebolt's board tomorrow. I want you functional, Granger."

She laughed, taking his hand. "Yes, sir."

She didn't need to be at that party anyway. She had no interest in speaking to anyone else but him, and Draco was just as engaging in the car - or in his house, or on the street, or hell, probably even in a public restroom or a mausoleum - as he was at the party.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling. She felt beautiful. She felt vivid.

She was life in technicolor.

"I had such an amazing time tonight," she said, pausing in the doorframe as he walked her up the stairs and to the door of her room. His tie was loose around his neck, his top buttons were unbuttoned, and his jacket was draped loosely over her shoulders. "You really know how to show a girl a good time."

"Was I peak Draco?" he asked, flashing her an impish smile.

"Peak Draco," she confirmed, nodding vigorously. "Was I peak Hermione?"

"Always," he told her, smiling for a moment before leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Goodnight."

He lingered. He'd been doing that lately, and the cheek kissing, also. His hand was on her waist and she let her fingers slide down, encircling his wrist.

"Goodnight," she whispered, moving to return the gesture.

Her lips pressed lightly to the calculated scruff that lined his cheek and she could smell him, the scent of cologne and aftershave mixing with wine, whiskey, and the topnotes of that clean laundry smell that she loved. The one that she associated with the person that he was, underneath the glamor and the fame and the tux.

Underneath the tux.

Her hands were on his hips.

He didn't pull away, and neither did she. Their cheeks were touching and their eyes were closed.

"This doesn't feel real," she murmured, and she felt him swallow with difficulty.

"Maybe it's not," he suggested, his breath tickling her ear.

"Maybe not," she agreed.

He brought his hand up to the nape of her neck. "Did you enjoy your fake life tonight?"

What's wrong with your life, Mione? When did this life become not enough for you?

Shut up, Ron.

"I don't know if I'm ready to be done with my fake life," she told him, more honest than she'd intended.

"Then don't be." He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes dark and intense. "What do you want?"

She felt her stomach flip.

"You know what I want," she whispered, forcing herself not to look away.

The words left his throat in a hungry growl. "I know what you want," he agreed, tangling his fingers in her hair and pressing his lips to hers.

She gasped, feeling an urgency building in the base of her abdomen as she returned his kiss with equal fervor. He tasted like -

Like -

Analogies failed her and she closed her eyes, yanking his chest against hers.

"Wait," he said, blinking with difficulty as he pulled away. "Wait - are you - are you sure - "

"I'm sure," she said, crashing her lips to his. "Draco, I'm sure."

"But - " he tried to speak between kisses. "You've - been drinking. And Ron - "

"Fuck Ron," she hissed, throwing his jacket from her shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt. "Over."

"Thank fucking Christ," Draco sighed, his breath catching as she yanked his shirt lapel from the waistband of his pants.

"Dress," she said, gasping as she turned. "Zipper - "

"I've got it." He tried to pull the zipper down but she was fidgeting, and it got caught.

"Draco - "

There was a loud rip and she gasped, the fabric suddenly loosening around her waist. "Draco!"

"I'll pay for it," he said offhandedly, smothering her lips with his and wrapping his arms around her ribcage, physically lifting her out of the gown and tossing her back onto the bed.

She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to her, running her hand across the crevices of his abs.

"Wait," he said, panting. "Not here."

"What?" she said hazily, sitting up on her elbows. "Why - "

"My room." He pushed her knees apart and crouched in front of her to pick her up by the waist, kissing her neck. "Bigger bed," he explained, hissing through his teeth as she wrapped her legs around his hips and settled herself over his unapologetic erection.

"Go there," she said hurriedly, whimpering as his fingers slipped over the lace of her underwear.

He struggled down the hall, periodically shoving her against the walls and kissing her, grabbing her hair and licking her throat and teasing her with his breath against her nipples, sliding his fingers underneath her to hover at her entrance, making her moan.

"Go," she breathed, using his hair to yank his head back and force him to look at her.

"Bossy, Granger," he said, grinning. "I like it."

He pushed open the door to his bedroom and threw her effortlessly onto the bed, pressing her flat against it and sliding his hand down her stomach as he knelt between her legs. His lips against her inner thighs were intoxicating and she felt time come to a crashing halt the moment his tongue slipped against the thin fabric of her underwear, letting his breath linger over that spot.

She couldn't remember the last time someone had done this for her. Her heart was pounding as he hooked his fingers on either side of her panties, lifting her hips so that he could slide them down over her knees.

He traced the inside of her thigh lightly with his finger as he brought it to her opening, letting it circle her entrance. Testing her.

"I want you," he said, and she let out a shaky sigh.

"Draco," she started, wondering how she could possibly force her brain to form words, but he slipped his finger inside her and she gasped, promptly abandoning the effort. He tapped lightly against her and she let out a whimper, feeling herself contract around him.

He slid another finger into her and rotated them, almost frustratingly cavalier with the way she writhed on the bed, her legs starting to shake. He removed his hand and dragged his fingers up, sliding them around her clit as she fought back another intense moan.

"Draco - "

He pushed his fingers back to her entrance and brought his face between her thighs, letting his tongue slide along her clit as he continued working her with his hands.

His hands. Those unbelievable hands.

He sucked lightly around her clit and she felt herself explode around him, contracting her hips upwards as she gasped.

"Come here," she panted, reaching down to yank him towards her and he fell against her, laughing, kissing her ear and reaching one hand behind her to unsnap her bra, throwing it carelessly off the edge of the bed.

She fumbled with the zipper of his pants and slid them over his arse and down his thighs, using her foot to shove them to his ankles. He turned on his side, leaving her only long enough to kick them off and wriggle out of his boxer briefs, pulling her against him and kissing her back and shoulders.

"You're beautiful," he said in her ear, raising her up with her back to him, the curve of her arse pressing into him. His hands slid down the flat of her stomach to her clit and she sighed with pleasure, reaching behind her to take his full, smooth length in her hand.

She angled him at her entrance and he nudged her thighs apart with his knee, slipping into her as he kept his fingers on either side of her clit, thrusting into her as he sank his teeth into her shoulder.

She turned her head towards him and kissed him, gripping his left hand where he fervently pulled her face over her shoulder toward his, enjoying the feel of his tongue sliding deftly along hers until she came again, choking out a sigh as she shuddered against his chest.

He gave her a moment, his hand still pressed against her, before pulling out and flipping her onto her back, reentering her in a single thrust and pressing his forehead to hers. She lifted her hips to allow him to drive in further and he came with a strangled groan, his lips pressing against her neck.

They stayed that way for several minutes, both trying to catch their breath.

"Do you think you can make your fake life last until morning?" he asked, his lips near her ear.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, closing her eyes.

a/n: for you, susiequeen300.

Next week - Part V: You Only Live Once, and brief epilogue.