It's been a while, hasn't it? Hope this is worth the wait.


. . .


Hermione gaped at him, thunderstruck.

Had she heard right? She couldn't have heard right.

"Wha-" she swallowed. "What did you just say?"

Malfoy broke her gaze, mouth pursing into a thin line.

"Nothing." He downed the remainder of his whiskey and brought the glass down to the bar with a thump. "Do you want another drink?"

"No," she said. "I want you to tell me what…" She stopped abruptly as he scraped his stool backwards and stood.

"Good," he said. "I'll go settle our tab."

And with that, he was gone, vanishing into the crowd of customers.

Hermione stared after him, stunned. What had just happened? One second Malfoy had been teasing her; the next, he was stomping off across the room.

Her cheeks flamed as she recalled his words. Their implications. The dark intensity in his eyes... But no. She had to have heard him wrong, or misunderstood him somehow.

Malfoy was not resisting her. There was just no way.

He emerged from the crowd a little further down the bar, and she watched as he leant forward over the counter to beckon the bartender. The hard set of his profile, the strained line of his jaw, told her he was frowning. He did tend to frown a lot. She'd hoped the success of yesterday's meeting would have eased that somewhat, but then she'd gone and ruined it all with a bombshell of her own, hadn't she?

Perhaps, she speculated gloomily, he was resisting telling her what he really thought about her leaving him at a time of such significance. He'd certainly been reticent enough about it so far.

Quite unintentionally, she found her gaze slipping downwards, lingering as it did so on that broad, tense slope of his shoulder, that lean but muscular torso, down to where those pleasingly well-fitted chinos hugged his...

Horrified, she jerked herself away.

Stop. Just stop.

She had made a terrible mistake searching Malfoy out tonight, she realised. Staying and drinking with him had only compounded her error. Then, to top it all off, they'd somehow turned the conversation to sex.

And now she couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Ready to go?" Malfoy asked gruffly, reappearing beside her and making her jump. He was close - too close - and his whole body was wired, radiating a restless energy that sent tingles down her spine.

She gulped. Hard.

"Yes," she said. "It's getting late."

The Shamrock spilled them out onto the waterfront. The street had been fairly quiet when she arrived, but now, half an hour later, it thrummed with life. The Irish pub was surrounded by a particularly rowdy crowd, and Hermione jumped again as Malfoy caught hold of her elbow, tugging her towards him so as to prevent them getting separated.

"Okay?" he asked, as they emerged the other side. She nodded, and after a brief, tense look down at where his fingers clasped the silky material of her blouse, he released her.

They continued down the quay in silence. Hermione kept close to Malfoy's side, not entirely sure she could remember the exact route home. She supposed she should feel awkward, but instead found herself eagerly soaking up the beauty of the Mediterranean metropolis at night.

There was no moon, but the city was far from dark. In fact, it glittered, a sea of golden lights rising up before them like a tiered cake. At its very top sat the dramatic Notre Dame de la Garde, lit up against the midnight sky as if its walls were made of crystal.

So enchanted was Hermione by the spectacular church that she didn't see the bollard in her path until it was too late. It was the sensible knee-length skirt that proved her undoing; it caught on the post and pitched her face-first towards the pavement.

"Bloody hell, Granger!" Malfoy caught her arm before she hit the ground, swinging her round so she collided with his body instead. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

She struggled to respond. The force of the impact had knocked the breath out of her, and then, when she realised that she was now pressed against his warm, solid chest, a strong arm wrapped securely around her waist … well, Hermione feared it was never coming back.

"You okay?" he asked, looking down at her with concern.

Unable to hold his gaze flattened against him this way, she glanced down to where her fingers lay splayed on the soft fabric of his polo shirt. Did he work out? Godric, it felt like it.

"Yeah," she said. "Thanks – I, uh, the skirt, it got caught."

His arm tightened around her middle, and when she dared a glance back up at him, his expression was amused.

"Shorter skirts," he said drily. "That's what you need."

She bit back a smile.

"I'll be sure to make a note."

Their gazes remained locked for a second or two longer, an unexpected crackle of affection and humour and heat passing between them, then Malfoy seemed to remember himself. He blinked, then released her, briefly taking hold of her arms to set her a firm step away from him.

"Good, well," he said a little stiffly. "As long as you're not hurt."

She smoothed down her skirt, although it wasn't particularly crumpled.

"I'm fine."

"Shall we, uh-" he gestured along the harbour.

Yes," she said, and began walking. It was a brisk, no-nonsense walk. A walk she hoped would restore her to her usual clear-headed professional self.

He's your boss, she reminded herself sharply.

Not for much longer, her contrary side shot back at her.

Dammit.

"You like it then?" Malfoy asked as he drew level with her once more. When she shot him a confused glance (refusing, as she did so, to note how his hair glowed like starlight), he clarified. "The church?"

Apparently, he had noticed her staring slack-jawed in awe just before she fell.

"It's beautiful," she said, relieved that they seemed to be back on more neutral ground. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It's worth a visit. The views from up there are spectacular."

"I wish I had more time to explore," she said wistfully. "Perhaps I'll come back, take a few days to see the city."

"You should," he said. "I'll speak to Dimont before we leave. He seems to like you, so he might give you his friends and family rates if I butter him up a bit."

Hermione snuck a peek at his profile. She was rather curious about his relationship with the hotel's propriétaire, but it wasn't really any of her business.

"That would be nice, thank you," was all she said, but Malfoy surprised her with a knowing look.

"Go on," he said. "Ask."

His tone was mild, so she knew he wasn't offended. Still, it chafed a little how well he seemed to read her these days.

"You know what I want to ask," she said. "I asked Monsieur Dimont, but he said it wasn't his tale to tell."

"Ah, that's Raoul for you," he mused. "Ever tactful. He comes out of this story a lot better than I."

"You came here after the war?"

"Yes," he said. "Dimont is a good friend of my mother's. Once Wizengamot cleared us and we could leave the country, we came here. Dimont gave us somewhere to stay, away from everything going on in London. Away from my fath…"

He cut himself off, face closing up the way Hermione had noticed it always did when he thought of Lucius Malfoy. His jaw worked once before he continued, "Anyway, I didn't stay here long. I just needed to be alone. To get away. Even from my mother."

"Where did you go?"

He shrugged.

"Barcelona, Berlin, Ios, Amsterdam, Budapest... Pretty much any place I'd be guaranteed to get utterly shitfaced."

"Oh yes," she glanced at him sideways. "Your wild adventures across Europe."

"They were rather wild," he agreed. "But I got tired of it all eventually. Came back here. Dimont was furious I'd abandoned mother when she needed me most, but he let me stay."

Hermione could hardly imagine kindly Monsieur Dimont on the warpath, but when she said so, Malfoy just laughed.

"He tore a strip off me, let me tell you. And he was right – I was an arsehole. He gave me the wakeup call I needed to get my act together and eventually start my company."

It was strange, she thought, having this conversation with Malfoy. He was a master of diversion, and so often deflected any sort of personal question that Hermione had given up asking.

They had, of course, spoken about their personal lives before, but never quite like this. The line between boss and employee had always stood between them – a protective buffer against their less than perfect past.

But something about that letter, this trip and the clear night air had melted that barrier like ice in the sun.

"What made you return to London?" she asked quietly.

He squinted up at the darkened sky.

"You can't hide forever. Besides, as much as I tried to avoid it, most of my business came from England. It made sense to come home."

"And your mother?" She knew Narcissa lived in London now, though not at the Manor with Malfoy.

"She felt it was time to come home too."

"Are she and Dimont …?"

"Merlin, I hope not," he said, looking faintly appalled at the thought of his mother having a love life. "Not that I don't want her to be happy," he amended when he saw Hermione's face. "I keep trying to get her to file for a divorce, but she's reluctant to draw that sort of attention to herself. You know how people can be."

She did. Even today, pureblood society seemed to prefer your spouse be a criminal than an ex. And a Malfoy divorce would be front page news. Hermione felt rather sorry for poor Narcissa.

"What about you?" Malfoy asked then. "What about your parents?"

She chewed on her lip, uncomfortable - although the question was innocuous (and fair) enough.

"What about them?"

"Last time I heard they were still in Australia."

"They are," she said.

It hadn't taken her long to locate her mum and dad after the war, although she'd had to wait considerably longer before the complicated spell she'd cast on them could be undone. By the time she had them back, they'd made a life for themselves in rural Queensland and had decided to stay. It made for a few lonely weekends and holidays, but she was glad they were happy and safe. And the Weasleys ensured she was never alone for long.

"Do they visit often?"

"When they can," she said vaguely.

"Do you visit them?"

Guilt tugged at her chest. It had been a while.

"When I can."

From the look he slanted her, she realised he was entirely aware that she hadn't paid them a visit since she began working at Malfoy Inc. He was right, of course. She'd never taken more than a day or two off here and there, and she'd been with Malfoy for three years now. It was her own fault really. She'd always had the tendency to micro-manage.

But, she decided indignantly, Malfoy was in no position to judge her work-life balance. Especially when he happened to be the unsurpassable definition of a workaholic.

"I don't like to take too much time off," she said in a curt voice she hoped would end the conversation.

Malfoy only looked amused, the sod.

"I wouldn't have minded," he said. "You are entitled to holiday, after all."

She certainly regretted it now. Maybe more time away from him over the past few years would have stopped him from driving her crazy.

Not long now, she thought again - and this time felt a pang at the thought. Where on earth had that come from?

"Well," she said awkwardly. "It's too late now."

Malfoy hesitated before he replied, like for a moment he'd forgotten she was leaving.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I suppose it is."

There was something in his voice. Something that made Hermione's stomach flip. She held her breath, suddenly and unfathomably hopeful.

"You could - " he began haltingly.

They'd stopped walking. Right in the middle of the pavement. A couple of people grumbled and cursed as they were forced to step around them, but Hermione paid them no mind. She barely even heard them.

Her heart was thumping far too loudly in her chest.

"Yes?" she whispered unsteadily. His mouth opened, like he might reply, like he might ask her to stay - not that she would, of course, but it would be nice to hear him say it, to know he cared... but then he simply shook his head and started forward.

And just like that, something inside her snapped.

"Is that it then?" she called after him, not even bothering to disguise the resentment in her voice.

He stopped, a few steps ahead of her, and turned.

"Is that what?" he asked. His eyes searched her face almost bemusedly, and disappointment clenched in her gut.

He was oblivious. As always.

Her mouth twisted bitterly.

"You're just going to... let me go?"

Comprehension passed over his face, like the shadow of a storm cloud. His whole posture changed as he folded his arms across his chest, body curving into an insouciant slouch.

"What do you want me to do, Granger?" he asked coolly. It was a dangerous sign, that tone of his, but Hermione couldn't back down now.

She set her jaw, defiant.

"You could make me an offer."

One of those perfect, pale eyebrows lifted, but otherwise his expression remained the same.

Calm. Cold. Disinterested. The combination made her blood boil.

"Why would I?" he asked with a shrug. "You've already made up your mind."

"That's not the point," she spat, but he cut her off.

"Isn't it?" he asked blandly. "Because I thought you genuinely wanted to leave me. Or did I get it wrong and this is actually some manipulative ploy to secure a higher salary?"

She gasped, outraged.

"You - you," she was so angry she could barely get her words out. "How dare you. I would never..."

Again, he cut her short, closing the space between them in two strides. Finally, his anger seemed to match her own, but she stood her ground as he towered over her, flinty eyes glittering with fury.

"You can't have it both ways, Granger," he said dangerously. "Either you're leaving or you're not. I won't beg you to stay."

"But you haven't even asked me!" she cried. "I have put everything into this job. You have no idea what I've given up for you, and you haven't even asked me to consider changing my mind."

It was getting really hard to speak around the lump rapidly forming in her throat, and she took a harsh breath.

"I don't want you to beg, Malfoy," she said, grimacing as her voice cracked on his name. "I just want some acknowledgement for what I've done. I just want to know that it matters. To the company." She swallowed. "To you."

He made a sound of frustration.

"But I told you -"

She turned her head away from him to look out over the water.

"I know," she said. "But that's not what I meant."

He was silent for a long time, but she could feel him watching her.

It was quieter this end of the harbour, away from the restaurants and bars. A gentle breeze drifted across the waves, bringing with it the faintest strains of cheerful music and laughter, incongruous with the heavy weight pressing down on her chest.

Her roving eyes found the source - a sleek white boat bobbing lazily at the mouth of the quay. There seemed to be some sort of gathering going on onboard. The canopy above the deck was strung with fairy lights, and she could just make out a few couples leant up against the railings.

She stared at them so hard her vision blurred.

She wished he would speak. She thought she might go insane if he didn't say something soon. Anything. He could fire her, here, on the spot, and she would probably be relieved.

A tortuous minute or two later, he sighed.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said quietly. "But I won't ask you to stay."

Her shoulders slumped. She should have known he was too proud to admit he cared. Or maybe he truly didn't. Either way, she needed to leave, because that lump in her throat was starting to make it difficult to breathe. She straightened, gathering everything she had to escape with what was left of her dignity.

She would return to the hotel, she decided; she would get through tomorrow, then on Monday she would hand in her notice, Ministry job or no.

And it would all be over.

"Okay," she said, lifting her chin, but carefully avoiding catching his gaze. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

She made to move past him, but he reached out and caught hold of her wrist. She couldn't help it; the sudden touch of warm skin made her breath hitch.

"Damn it, Granger," he said, exasperation in his voice. "You don't think that means I want you to leave."

She stared back at him. Was he kidding?!

"Well, yes," she said. "What else could it mean?"

Malfoy made a noise almost like a growl.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me, you bloody woman?"

When all she did was gawp, he released her wrist and shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

"I won't ask you to stay," he explained grumpily. "Not because I don't want you to, but because working for me is clearly making you unhappy. And as much as you make me want to wring your neck - and believe me, Hermione, I quite often want to wring your neck - I don't want you to be unhappy... I-"

He raked an agitated hand through his hair, as he turned abruptly away from her to glower out over the water.

"I don't want you to be unhappy," he repeated with apparent difficulty. "I want - I want you to-"

That lock of hair, the single strand she'd so desperately wanted to touch, fell forward across his eyes once more.

Hermione stared at it dazedly.

Standing here on the water's edge, beneath the night's inky blue sky, beneath the stars strewn like sparkling confetti, Malfoy tense and restless beside her, she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't dreaming.

But, she realised, there was one thing she was sure about. She was sure she wanted him to finish his sentence.

She wanted to know what he wanted.

She took a shaky breath.

"You - you want me to what?"

Malfoy looked like he'd rather swallow glass than continue, but he cleared his throat nonetheless.

"I want -"

He'd turned back towards her slightly, and Hermione couldn't help it; she stepped closer, until the heat of his body ghosted her skin.

"Yes?"

Her hand had crept up to touch his chest. He looked down at where her fingers rested on the warm leather, and the downward tilt of his chin brought their lips into near alignment.

His mouth was so close. Just an inch or two lower and...

"I want," he murmured again, his voice thick, dark and pooling in the depths of her stomach like melted chocolate. "I want -"

She was breathing too hard, and so was he. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

This was going to end so badly. She could feel it. She could feel it in the way her body pulsed with anticipation, the way every nerve end sparked like a live wire.

But she couldn't stop it. She didn't even want to.

"Malfoy," she whispered. "Tell me what you want."

Finally, his gaze flickered up to meet hers. His eyes were magnets, and she knew in that moment that this was inevitable. Had been inevitable from the start.

"I want you to be happy," he said simply.


. . .


Next chapter is well on the way, so shouldn't be so long before that's up. As always, thanks for reading. Please do drop me a review. I love to read your comments.