Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. J.K. Rowling does.

Chapter Seven

(Six days later: June 14th)

"Are you there yet?" Ginny voice rings out over my cell phone the next Friday night as I turn down his street.

Stupidly, I didn't go the day she gave me the address. Instead, I accept the truth that I love being tortured in the worst possible way and thus subject myself to another tense work week filled with covert stares and very strange behavior on my part. For example: giggling, hand-watching, blushing, and one attempt at flirting Monday that ended in catastrophe and a strange look from Draco.

I avoided him the rest of the day.

(Last Tuesday)

A deep, rich laugh fills my ears as I step through the threshold of my office, ready to leave for lunch.

Curiously, I peek over and spot Draco chatting it up with a pretty dark-haired witch from another department, I forget which one, but blind jealously and possessiveness races through my blood as I glare a nice hole into the back of—oh this is just silly. He's not mine. I have no claims to him—and none of this inner-talk is making me feel any better. I whip out my wand and consider which spell will make me feel better. I'm between a hair-thickening charm to make her resemble Big Foot and Jelly-Brain jinx when I realize, once again, that I'm being ridiculous…and a bit scary.

Aggravated at myself, I shut my office door and decide to casually pass them by, my head held high. If he can act like nothing happened, then I can, too.

I've almost made a clean break past them when I hear, "Granger, there you are."

Stopping right next to them, I paste a cool and pleasant look on my face and greet them casually with a proud tone to my voice. "Yes, here I am, Malfoy. Is there something you wanted?"

Raising an eyebrow, he continues after a quick pause, "Rachel and—" Oh, so that's her name. She really doesn't look like a Rachel…more like her name should be Tomato with her splotchy red face, all red from blushing and laughing—okay, now I'm being a common catty female and I need to stop this right now. "—so will you?"

Confused, I look at Draco who's regarding me with…dare I say it...hopeful grey eyes.

"Will I what?"

Rolling his eyes, "You know, I wonder where your mind wanders off to sometimes, Granger," his face goes from partly annoyed to smiling, just like magic, "Rachel and her husband invited me out to lunch today and well, I was wondering if I could pull your head from the clouds long enough to get you to accompany me?"

As tacky as it sounds, my stomach reels when he smiles.

It's happening more and more these days, especially since I've come to terms with my feelings for him. Now if only I can tell him…Oh, I mentally apologized to Rachel for all the nasty and caddy things I said about her, "W—"

"Going to question my motives again, are you?" There's a small twinkle in his eye and I know what he's referring to.

I smile and will my face not to crimson, and for the first time, I succeed. "Actually, I was going to ask where we were going? Because Ginny was raving about this great little restaurant that just opened a few weeks ago and I wanted to check them out."

"Oh, that will be wonderful. Let me go get Chris and we'll be outside." Rachel hurries off, leaving Draco and I alone.

We walk down the bustling corridor in complete silence. When it becomes too crowded, he instinctively takes my hand so we don't get separated. A very small part of me wants to yank my hand away and storm off, swearing to all that is holy, but the larger part of me beats the living daylights out of that small part and enjoys the feel of our entwined hand. Draco doesn't let go, not after we get past the crowds, not after we get outside, not even after we run into Lavender Brown. She's the wife of an Auror that Draco used to work with. He speaks to her casually while she stares at our entwined hands with wide eyes. To him it seems as if holding my hand is the most natural thing on Earth.

When Lavender walks off, still confused, I look around for Rachel and Chris, but don't see them. It's only after a moment of silence that he speaks, "Didn't think you'd accept, Granger," in a voice only I can hear.

I look at him, only to find grey eyes staring back at me. He's giving me that tunnel-vision look again…like I'm the only person he sees. My body warms and the blush becomes evident. I kick myself internally for acting like a crazy, rabid twelve-year-old again and rapidly regain control of myself. Smirking, I squeeze his hand and make no effort to let go. "Well," my lips curl into a smile, "I suppose this means you don't know me that well after all."

Draco has invited me to lunch (and sometimes dinner) everyday since that afternoon—and not once have I declined.

I've postponed dinner with my parents to go to a Muggle movie with him that night. The next night, I cancelled dinner with Harry and Ginny to go to an art exhibit. I moved a staff meeting back an entire week to go wine-tasting Thursday. And I just ended a meeting early with the Minister to have an after-work dessert with him this evening.

The more I spend time with him, the more I enjoy his company.

Sometimes I feel like asking him what this all means, but I don't want to ruin our—whatever this is. I'm just perplexed.

See, his actions tell me that we're just going out as friends, but then he completely changes.

Tuesday, he wraps his arm around me in the movie. Wednesday, he purchases a stunning Matisse painting at the gallery for me after I rave for ten minutes about dazzling the colors are. I'm sure the painting cost him more than our combined salaries for the next two years. Thursday, he rests his hand on my lower back each time a new man flirts me at the wine-tasting. He doesn't kiss me when he drops me off, but he comes so close. He pauses during his descent, mutters something that resembles goodnight, and leaves me holding my breath on the front step of my house. I wanted to cry in frustration. Today, he insists on feeding me every bite of chocolate chip bread pudding we shared this afternoon after the waitress forgets to bring an extra spoon. It was the most erotic thing, I swear.

Do you understand why I'm so confused? Do you understand why I sat in my room for a full hour once I got home today, reviewing every word, every touch, every subtle compliment, every—thing? He's driving me absolutely mad. Yes, I know I'm already quite mad already, but this is ridiculous. I over-analyze everything, but not once have I ever analyzed the meaning of the many looks of Draco Malfoy.

So I decide to clear my mind and sit down with my new copy of Witch weekly—and there he is! The winner of their Best Smile contest, again. Why am I being tortured? Am I not a good enough person? I've fought Death Eaters, criminals, and the entire wizarding world to advocate the rights of house elves. So why in the name of Merlin am I being tortured? He's everywhere! That Malfoy smirk — the one I swiped my finger over constantly that day — shines from the picture that I glance at from time to time.

Draco Malfoy, aged twenty-four , was a certified Slytherin prince in his years at Hogwarts. He may still dress, look, and even act the part, but the Draco Malfoy we write about today is a completely different man; a cooler, down-to-Earth, more private and tamed version of his younger self. From his blond hair that is styled in the new, "I-just-rolled-out-of-bed" look, steel grey eyes, and athletic build, Draco Malfoy is all man; right down to his swagger, captivating smile (already a six-time winner), and just something about his manner that screams man.

Don't be fooled ladies. If you think he's gorgeous in this picture, then you're going to be blown away if you see him in person. However, looks aren't the only reason he's one of the Wizarding World's Most Eligible Bachelor. He's a catch and a philanthropist. He donates to the Remus Lupin Foundation to help fund the research for the cure to Lycanthropy and various other reputable charities, works as Secondary to Hermione Granger in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and is rumored to be single—some sources say...

I finally snap, unable to take it—well anything, anymore. I know what kind of man he is. I know that he's sexy and I know that he's a good person. And I don't want to read about how great he is in Witch Weekly. I throw the paper on the ground, Accio my keys, and storm out my house in a blind hurry. I have to go because I can't take one more day of mixed signals. I have to do this and see him tonight. I have to see.

So here I am.

Driving to Draco's—and trying to convince myself I don't need mental help.

"Hermione! Are you there yet?" Ginny asks again.

Looking closely at the addresses, I mutter. "Almost. 2363 Winchester Lane. Gin, what if he doesn't like me anymore?" Well, that sounded a bit needy.

"Then you'll find someone else. Although, I don't know why I'm entertaining your foolish thoughts."

Ignoring her, I ask. "But what if I can't find someone else?" 2337…2339…2341…

"Then buy more cats—Crookshanks may need more company…"

I frown. "You're loads of help, Ginny—loads."

She snickers, "Seriously, it'll be—"

"Gin, I'm scared," I admit softly, still looking for his house. 2343…2345…2347…

"I know. I know that this is a little different for you—"

She's right. Merlin, she's so right. This isn't my style. I don't make the first move often and I've never gone after a man in my life. The thought of knocking on his door makes me want to pull over and vomit in some bushes, but I don't. I can't. Not here anyway. People are still outside and I'm sure someone will see me. I don't need that. I remove a few horrifying thoughts from my mind and sigh, "I like him. I don't know where it came from, but I do." There, I admit it aloud. 2349…2351…2353…

"He likes you, too."

I'm getting closer to his house. I pop my knuckle against the steering wheel, nervously. You'd think after being his partner for three years that I would've been to his house a couple of times, but sadly no. "How do you know he didn't shag me because I looked like I needed a good shagging?" 2355…2357…

"Hermione!"

"What? I'm being serious!" 2359…2361…

"It's hardly like Malfoy to do anyone any favours."

"But I'm his boss!" My eyes about pop out of their sockets. "Oh Merlin! I am his boss! I shagged my employee! He can take me to Wizengamot for sexual harassment! I'm going to Azkaban!"

Ginny starts laughing, "The Minister is his employer. He just works under you."

"The definition of a sexual harasser! I'm going to Azkaban! This isn't funny Ginny! Stop laughing! Now I'm single, barmy, a bloody sexual offender, and now I'm going to prison! A great end to a wonderful week! I hate Fridays!" 2363…

"Hermione Granger! Calm down! Breathe!"

This is it, I'm freaking out—for good reason. "I can't! I'm here. I can't do this. I'm going home!"

Ginny takes a tone that I've never heard before. "If you don't pull into that driveway, get out, and talk to him, I will Apparate there and kick your batty arse right now! Now, I'm going to hang up. Call me tomorrow—or whenever you and Malfoy decide to come up from shagging each other to death. And I'm sending Ron to your house to pick up the last of his things so you can't go home—not for the next four hours."

She did what? "Ginevra Potter! Wait until I see you, I'll—"

"Hug me?" She interrupts, rather cheerily.

"I was thinking along the lines of a good c—"

"Cheerful smile? Well, if that's the case, I'm sure that we can arrange that. Bye!"

I try calling back thirteen times to beg her not to send Ron to my house, under any circumstances. My attempts are with no avail. So I decide to face my fate and pull into his driveway. I look up at the house, then down at the address. Maybe I have the wrong house. It's not the kind of place that I picture Draco Malfoy living. This is nothing like the Malfoy Manor that he tore down after his mother's death four years ago; this house is simple, dark brick and cream stucco two-story house in a decent Muggle neighbourhood that is about twenty minutes outside of London—and twenty-five minutes from my house.

Is he home? The upstairs light tells me so, and that's enough to force me out of the car. Okay, that and dire need to avoid Ron for the next four hours.

As I amble up the dimly lit walkway, I look around. Nicely cut grass, perfectly trimmed hedges, and no flowers. I smile in amusement. Figures that his house would be as neat as his office. Dogs bark in the distance and some kids are running into the house next door, yelling for their mum. The noise soothes my nerves, but does nothing for those mutant bats flying around in my stomach. I take a deep breath when I get to the door.

Where is my damn Gryffindor courage? I need to stop being weak. What is the worst that could happen? He could slam the door in my face, he could curse me, or he could—I feel myself start to panic. No more thinking about that. I ring the doorbell to stop myself from running. Merlin, I hope he's in the mood to deal with me for the next four hours and not on some…date.

Hold the presses! Oh no! I didn't even consider the thought of Draco having a girlfriend. Witch Weekly doesn't know everything. They just posted a "heart-warming" piece about Ron and his quest for redemption. Yes, exactly what I was thinking. They don't know everything.

I'm so dim sometimes. This is moronic! I shouldn't have come! I should have stayed at home with Crookshanks, because this crush business is way too complex for my liking. This crush has turned me into a raving, mad, brainless idiot and I'm leaving. Ginny is just going to have to kick my arse and I'm just going to have to go somewhere for four hours, because I'm just going to go and cut my losses.

The door opens slowly, revealing a dripping wet, freshly showered (not to mention, bloody sexy) Draco in a dark blue terrycloth bathrobe. He's towel drying his blond hair. I'm speechless. Forget a girlfriend, I want to jump him the instant I lay eyes on him, but I refrain—though just barely.

His eyebrow rises slowly when he sees me. "Granger?"

I work with him everyday, but I never sit and listen to his voice or the way he speaks. There's always so much to do, business to complete, work to do, meetings, functions, and Wizengamot trials. It leaves virtually no time to pay attention to something as natural as his voice. When I snap from my reverie, he's staring at me curiously. It's as if his eyes are burning right through me.

"Sorry, I-I," For the first time in my life I don't have a plan, "Fine evening we're having, yes?" I'm barmy, really. Talking about the weather when in doubt does not work in every situation. I want to crawl in a hole and die.

"Yes, we are. Although I don't think you drove here to tell me that."

I grumble stubbornly, primly squaring my shoulders. "You don't know that."

His smile teases me, "And here I was thinking that I'm supposed to be the sullen and moody one. It's good to see that some stereotypes aren't always true."

This is a disaster. He's teasing me! I have to get out of here right now. "Well, I'm just going to—"

"Would you like to come in?" Draco invites me with a gesture.

"Oh, I don't want to intrude on you—and whomever."

He smiles coyly, throwing the towel over his shoulder. His hair sticks up all over his head. "Witch Weekly doesn't know what they're talking about. I don't have a girlfriend. I'm not even occasionally dating anyone other than you, if that's what you want to know."

"Sorry—what?"

Rolling his eyes, he smirks. It's actually one of those annoying, "You're ridiculous" smirks."And this is who they say is the brightest witch of our time? Hardly."

I glare at him. "I'm still standing here."

He's still smirking, "You know you can come in, right?"

Lowering my eyes to the green doormat, I shrug, "I didn't know that you wanted me to."

I hear the door creak as it opens wider. "I want you to come in, Granger." Of course, that damn smirk is on his face when I look up.

Stepping into the threshold of his home, I look around at the perfect decorating as he shuts the door. Breaking me from my trance, I feel him behind me, standing there, eyes coursing up and down my body. It's bizarre and overwhelming, but I actually feel Draco's hands before they touch me, before they gently caress my shoulders. I can't think straight as is; now he has to go and touch me…to pull my jacket off my shoulders and hang it on the coat rack. Does he even know what his simple touches do to me? He's a Malfoy, of course he knows that I'm quickly coming apart at the seams, and all I can do is stand here and sigh.

"You're always so tense, Granger," his voice is low, "Would you like a drink?"

Bringing me around to face him, I find myself encircled in Draco's arms. I close my eyes a moment to smell him. He is a mixture between soap, faint cologne, aftershave and something inexplicably…Malfoy. When he rests his hands on my hips, my skin burns at his touch. A small smirk spreads across my face. "Trying to get me drunk and have your way with me again, are you, Malfoy?"

I don't realize his proximity until his lips hover over mine for a full minute before they detour to my ear. Gasping when he nips my earlobe gently, I feel his smile as he moves his hand to my back. "I don't need alcohol to have my way with you."

"My, my, aren't you egotistical tonight?" Playfully slapping him on the chest, I hide the fact that I know he's right.

"Granger, now you should know I'm egotistical every night."

Smirking, I relax in his arms. "True."

His fingers play with a ringlet of my barely tamed hair thoughtfully. "I like your hair like this."

Mentally, I note that. "I never pegged you as someone who beats around the bush."

"Well, I never thought you'd be standing in my foyer, but I guess that we can both be wrong."

He tucks my hair behind my ear as best as he can, strokes my cheek tenderly with his thumb, and kisses my forehead softly like I'm breakable. And it's a good thing that he's treating me so delicately because I am breakable. One right move and I'll be putty once again. Closing my eyes briefly, I enjoy the electricity that flows between us, it's intense.

When I open my eyes, he's looking into mine. I can't stop the shiver if I tried. "Yes." I like the way he looks at me, like I'm the only person who exists.

"So, what brings you here tonight?"

I have to grab on to him to stay on my feet. "Oh," I reply casually, though my heart is racing. "I was just in the neighbourhood. Would you like me to leave?"

He doesn't hesitate. "No, stay." The look in his eyes gives away his true feelings. Raw desire builds between us and I'm more than understanding of his feelings. The more time I stand here, the more I realize just how good we are together; just how good we've always been together. His hands travel up and down my back, rubbing me gently. I feel like I'm suffocating. This feeling is insane, completely ridiculous. I feel silly, but I can't help it. He drives me mad…and I'm starting to really get sick of denying myself. I want this man. I want him. And as much as my brain tells me to run out the door and down the street, screaming like a banshee; my body, more specifically, my heart, tells me to stay right here in his arms and never leave because being with him makes sense. We make sense, together. So for the first time in my life, I don't listen to my brain and pull him close to me.

"Granger, what—"

I push up on the tips of my toes and my lips capture his, cutting him off before I lose my cool.

His lips are firm, yet gentle and pliant, and taste faintly of Butterbeer. They feel like heaven against mine. Draco responds instantly, cupping my face warmly, kissing me with soft, yet tender and passionate lips.

Leisurely, his hands slide from my cheeks to the back of my head, holding me as the kiss deepens. Currents of heat churn through me and I grip his arms...

I will my feet not to weaken, but they do anyway.