— CHAPTER ELEVEN —

An Unexpected Turn

It was a particularly chilly day when Draco stepped out into the Manor gardens; the air was biting cold and the soil frozen – a perfect day for flying. Shouldering his broom with one hand and holding his wand aloft with the other, he trudged towards his family's very own Quidditch pitch at the edge of the vast grounds, the chest containing his equipment hovering in front of him.

He hadn't wanted to come, initially. Visiting the Manor wasn't something he was keen on doing, yet Theo had all but coerced him into accepting his mother's invitation, arguing that he was in dire need of a break. Draco had then claimed that tea with his parents was hardly a break, but was convinced when Theo pointed out that it was the perfect opportunity to try out his new Nimbus Cloudburst, which had been lying around untouched in his closet, collecting cobwebs ever since he'd got it for Christmas.

Draco loved flying. He always had. His mother would claim that he learned how to hold his balance on a broomstick before being able to walk; his father would claim that losing to Potter – who had never ridden a broom before in his life – was a disgrace to their name.

As the giant hoops towering the pitch drew closer and closer, Draco felt a thrill of anticipation run through his veins. He hadn't flown in what seemed like forever, what with being fully immersed in work ever since he'd begun writing for the Prophet, not to mention his recent involvement with a certain bushy haired witch. The thought of Granger made his stomach turn. He hadn't seen her in two weeks, ever since their breakup. Ever since their kiss …

That beautiful, wretched kiss – all that he'd wanted and all that he'd dreaded. She'd tasted marvellous. Her scent, her touch, it had made Draco want never to let go of her again. He'd never forget what it felt like to lose himself in her arms for that one blissful moment. And yet … it was somebody else she wanted. It was somebody else's skin she'd touched, and Draco knew it made a difference; it was as though his lips had been numb ever so slightly. Or as if they'd kissed through a thin layer of cloth. He had felt it, and maybe Granger had, too, seeing as she'd tensed up – the wake-up call that made him pull away.

Draco shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the memory; now was not the time to pine and ponder. Unfortunately, forcing oneself to stop feeling never worked. Physical distraction, however, could do wonders for the psyche. Draco lowered his wand, setting the chest onto the field and opening it with a flick. He'd start by magicking one Bludger into following him while he'd score some goals as a warm-up.

As soon as Draco mounted the broom and kicked himself off the frozen ground, he felt all his worries dissipate. The cold air tousled his hair and lashed at his jumper as Draco rose higher, the Quaffle wedged under his arm. He could tell right away that the Nimbus Cloudburst was in no way inferior to the Firebolt Six or the Comet Millennium Beam, answering to the subtlest movements and thus giving Draco the illusion of steering with his mere thoughts.

The Bludger soon had Draco all swept up in the exercise. There was no fibre in him which could think about anything else but being airborne – dodging the enchanted ball while flying around the goalposts, throwing the Quaffle through one of the hoops before scooping it up in mid-air and repeating the drill. Each and every one of his muscles was stretched and Draco revelled in the exertion; keeping the balance required body tension, even more so when performing the Sloth Grip Roll and other manoeuvres where the flier hung upside down.

When he deemed himself well warmed up, he shot to the ground, the Bludger on his tail, only to yank up the broom handle at the very last moment and spin upwards again, whereupon the Bludger collided with the frozen ground. Draco grinned to himself – the Wronski Feint apparently didn't solely work on humans. He drew his wand, lifting the enchantment on the pesky ball; with another swish, he opened the little latch in the chest, watching as a blur of gold escaped into the cold.

'Hello, old friend …' smirked Draco, tossing the Quaffle onto the ground, eyes glued to the tiny winged ball. He gave it a head start before spiralling up, soaring much higher than before and scanning the field for the Snitch. From up there, he was able to overlook the vast grounds in their entirety, including the Manor itself. Curious, how a simple thing as being up on a broom made Draco all but indifferent towards the place; at that moment, he didn't care that he was back where he'd witnessed countless men and women being tortured, maimed, and killed. All he felt was excitement.

Draco chased the Snitch for over an hour without noticing it. He caught it four times, only to release and hunt it all over again. It was soon getting dark, and Draco decided that the fifth time would be the charm; he'd catch it once more and then pack up and leave.

'There you are …'

The little ball was hovering a few feet above the treetops of the abutting forest stretching farther than the eye could see. Draco dove swiftly, fixating his attention to the Snitch that was now moving again, away from him and away from the grounds. Draco chased it for a couple of minutes, but strangely, he did not gain upon it.

'Come on …'

He had troubles making out the Snitch now; it was but a blurry mess amid a misty shroud, which was soon enveloping the woodlands. Draco's fingers began to feel cold despite his gloves, and staying airborne became much more difficult now that his limbs felt as if they were made of lead …

The realisation hit him hard.

'Fuck,' he muttered, whipping his broom around and dashing back towards the pitch, cutting the air so fast that he could have sworn it was flogging his skin.

No … please … not here.

The fog was so dense now that Draco couldn't see past the tip of his broom handle, accidentally dropping too low and scraping by a fir tree, the branches of which tore open his trousers and scratched his leg. It stung, but he didn't care. All he knew was that he needed to reach the grounds, and quickly. He rose a little higher and focused on nothing but his destination.

'C'mon,' he spurred the broom on. 'Faster …'

Draco didn't see them, but he could sense their presence nonetheless. The biting cold was no longer only tugging at his clothes – it was piercing him, clutching his chest and almost making him choke. Visions were forming before his eyes … images of a curly haired girl, lying on the ground, brown eyes imploring his … Padma, crying for her mother and sister … Rowle, screaming, convulsing on the dining room floor … Vincent, falling into the flames … Professor Burbage, devoured whole …

Think of something happy, he forced himself. Draco tried to picture her smile, recall her scent … closing his eyes and losing himself was tempting, but he had to see where he was going – prising them open he did the only thing that he was still capable of: reiterating her name like a mantra and holding onto it for his life.

Hermione, Hermione, Hermione …

And there it was: the pitch. Draco could make out the six large goalposts, weakly glimmering behind the veil of mist. As soon as he shot past them, a subtle, warm gush indicated his passing the grounds' wards. Hopefully, they were strong enough.

Draco reached the Manor in next to no time, dismounting the broom and entering the estate through two massive double doors facing the terrace. He didn't care that he left a trail of dirt behind, nor did he mind the loud thuds of his footsteps.

'Draco?' he heard his mother's voice, coming from the conservatory. She poked her head out of the door, spotting him and his dishevelled appearance. 'Draco! What happened?'

Narcissa strode towards him with all the grace she could muster, clearly resisting the urge to gather her skirts and run; the woman would never lose her poise.

'Mother,' said Draco, still clutching his Nimbus Cloudburst, 'How strong are the wards?'

'Wards?' echoed Narcissa. 'Draco, what are you talking about?'

'Dementors,' he replied. 'Lots of them.'

His mother's eyes went wide.

'Here? On our grounds? That's impossible!'

Draco shook his head.

'No, not on the grounds. They're roaming the forests. Now, are the wards strong enough?'

'Without a doubt,' drawled a third voice from behind Narcissa – Lucius Malfoy was strutting towards them. 'What happened to you?' He squinted his eyes and regarded Draco intently.

'Dementors,' repeated Draco curtly.

'Dementors …' echoed his father in a condescending tone. 'Clearly, you can be a little bit more specific?'

Draco closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath.

Don't get upset. It's not worth it.

'I chased the Snitch past the grounds, and I found myself surrounded by them,' he explained. 'I didn't see anything, but I am certain they were there. I felt it.'

'You … felt it? That doesn't mean anything, now does it?'

'I am perfectly capable of telling the presence of Dementors, Father,' said Draco, squinting his eyes in response and furrowing his brow.

'So you're an expert now, are you?'

'Lucius …' interjected Narcissa, appeasingly placing her hand on his forearm.

'No, Mother, it's fine,' said Draco, still not breaking eye-contact with his father. 'I suppose with a heart as cold as yours – you wouldn't feel their presence even if they were right in front of your face.'

'Draco, that's enough!' cried his mother, looking first at him, then at her husband. 'Stop it, both of you!'

Draco and Lucius only stared at each other, clenching their teeth; neither of them said another word.

'Now, Draco,' began Narcissa, breaking the silence, 'you didn't see them?'

'No. They were right there, though.'

'So you didn't fight them?' she asked, upon which Draco shook his head.

'No. But … it's not like I can cast a sodding Patronus –'

'Language, Draco!'

'… thanks to this,' he continued, ignoring his mother's rebuke, as always. He cocked his head towards his left arm. 'So I just flew back as fast as I could.'

'Dementors … right on our doorstep,' whispered Narcissa, clutching her chest. 'And neither of us can produce a Patronus …'

'Even if I did, I could hardly do anything without a wand, can I?' said Lucius through gritted teeth. Draco withheld a comment on how he had brought that particular sanction to himself.

'I heard the Ministry offer a protection service for those who can't,' said his mother, but Lucius only huffed derisively.

'I am not going begging for help,' he said. 'I still have some dignity.'

Draco stifled another comment.

'Are you saying you'll put dignity over your life?'

'I'm saying that I will be waiting this out. No use for me to get out there. This house is among the safest places on earth, with wards as strong and ancient as your late aunt's … although I assume it's Potter's now. If Draco hadn't been so careless as to leave the grounds …'

His father sneered at him, and Draco responded with an equally intimidating look; he'd clearly learned from the best. Just as his mother opened her mouth to reprimand them again, a pop indicated the arrival of a house-elf.

'A message for young Master Draco,' he croaked, holding a letter aloft. Draco put down his broom and took it gingerly, muttering his thanks before the elf disappeared again. Who would write him on a Sunday, except for Theo and his mother? He turned the envelope around and swallowed hard, eyes growing wide. He knew that handwriting.

'What is it, Draco?' asked is mother softly, but he didn't respond. Draco tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter, directing all of his attention at the delicate hand of Hermione Granger.

Draco

Thanks to your funding, I have made some progress already. Since you seemed so interested in house-elf rights, I thought you might want to meet up and hear about it. Are you free Wednesday afternoon? If it suits you, why don't you come by my office at 4?

Awaiting your owl

Hermione

Draco read over it twice before folding the letter and shoving it back into the envelope with slightly trembling hands. Now that was certainly unexpected.


x x x


'Come in.'

Draco turned the doorknob, entering the lion's den and instantly spotting the unmistakable chocolate-coloured mess that was Granger's hair.

'Hello,' she said cordially, smiling at him. Draco only raised an eyebrow in confusion.

'Hello,' he echoed, unsure of how to act towards her. He closed the door behind him and gave the witch the once-over – she was wearing that pencil skirt again, this time paired with a light yellow blouse through which he could subtly see the outline of two black bra straps. Great, now he'd have to concentrate even more so on not looking at her.

'What's wrong with me this time?' she chuckled.

'What? Nothing,' said Draco, uncomfortably aware that he'd been staring. He cleared his throat, raking his fingers through his hair.

'Don't you want to sit down?'

'Oh, right,' he said, walking up to her desk and taking the familiar seat.

'Do you fancy a cuppa?' she offered and pointed at the tea tray sitting on a sideboard to her left.

'Yeah … thank you,' he said hoarsely, watching as Granger picked up her wand, swishing it at the tea set.

'Milk, no sugar?'

'Um – yes. How do you know?'

'Lucky guess,' she shrugged, pursing her lips adorably. Draco quickly averted his gaze. Why was she so friendly all of a sudden?

'You know, I would have come by your office, but you don't have one, do you?' she asked, sitting down.

Draco reached for his cup and took a purposefully long sip of the hot liquid – it never failed to calm his nerves. Placing the cup back onto the saucer, he answered, 'No, I don't. I work at home.'

'Interesting,' said Granger, crossing her legs and nursing her tea. 'And where would that be?'

'Why do you ask?'

'No reason,' she said innocently. 'I was just wondering where Draco Malfoy lives these days, is all.'

'Diagon Alley, if you must know.'

'Oh, me too!'

'It's not that big of a coincidence, Granger,' commented Draco dryly, 'Most of us who work in London live in Diagon Alley.'

'Hang on,' said Granger, knitting her brows, 'You just said you worked at home; you didn't say anything about London.'

Shit.

'Well, no – I mean – yes, I work at home,' he sputtered, 'But I visit the Ministry often.'

'That I have noticed,' she said, taking another sip and never breaking eye-contact.

Wait … did she just wink? No, she couldn't have. He must have been imagining it. Wishful thinking, that's all.

'You didn't ask me to come by so that we could exchange our addresses, did you?' he asked eventually.

'Of course not! I was just trying to make small talk. Now'– she set her cup back onto the table –'I have started conducting my research for the establishment of wand-bearing rights for house-elves – that is, if you're interested in hearing about where your first payment went.'

'Course I am,' nodded Draco. 'Go on.'

'Alright,' she said, shifting in her seat; Draco had a hard time not following the movements of her legs. 'I happen to know a wandmaker – she's working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation – and she's agreed to help me. I'm paying her, of course. Our first step was to purchase a few regular wands, made for witches and wizards, but give them to house-elves. One of them is Topsy, our house-elf representative here at the Department – you might remember her name from the article – and I've asked McGonagall to enquire in the kitchens whether there are any elves interested in working with us; they're being paid, too. Not too many elves seem to be keen on receiving payment, sadly, but some were indeed intrigued by the premise of performing magic with a wand. Their magic is more powerful than ours, naturally, so they don't need one per se. However, I argue that a lack of necessity does not legitimise an altogether ban of wand-use.'

Draco nodded and hummed his agreement, indicating that he was following her.

'So we set up a room entirely for the purpose of house-elves practising magic with wands. It's fascinating, really. All of their spells are silent, as you probably know, but they're incredibly powerful. We reckoned the wands would have an enhancing effect, but the results so far have been unexpected, to say the least.'

'They're not making the spells stronger?'

Granger shook her head. 'No,' she said, 'Not yet, at least. We have to take into consideration that they are using a wand for the first time, so that may require some getting used to. Only long-time studies will show, I suppose. Furthermore, we plan on initiating the second step: making custom wands for house-elves.'

'I suppose your friend will take care of that? The wandmaker?'

'Ayano, yes,' confirmed Granger. 'She's brilliant. It'll take a while, though. Crafting a wand is a time-consuming business, especially when considering the different parameters of elf-magic as opposed to our magic. She will probably try out different wand-woods and cores because of it.'

'I must say, Granger, I'm impressed,' said Draco, pursing his lips.

'Why, thank you, Malfoy,' she smirked. 'Have you ever considered calling me by my given name? Aren't we past the whole last name thing?'

'I don't know, Granger, you tell me,' answered Draco with an equally amused grin. 'Are we past it?'

She only rolled her big, brown eyes in response, crossing her arms and evidently trying to suppress the smile that was tugging at her lips. Draco's gaze momentarily wandered down to her neckline – her arms were pushing up her breasts ever so slightly … had the top buttons of her blouse been open the entire time?

'So, Draco,' said Granger, snapping him out of his temporary trance. 'I was wondering …'

She leaned forward, and Draco forced himself not to break eye-contact, all the more harder when she took a deep breath.

'I think I want to take you up on your offer.'

'Offer?'

'Have you forgotten already?' asked Granger, lips pouting in – most likely – mock offendedness. Merlin, could this woman become any more attractive? Besides, what was she talking about? The only offer he could think of …

Oh.

'Are you saying,' he began cautiously, raising an eyebrow, 'are you saying you've reconsidered?'

'I have,' she said, flashing him a gentle smile. 'What do you say – dinner on Friday?'

Draco couldn't believe his ears. He must be dreaming. His chest inflated, making space for his ever faster pounding heart.

'Sounds good,' he screwed out at last – speaking was difficult with his throat all tensed up.

'Excellent! There's this place near Piccadilly I thought we could go to, if Muggle London is alright with you.'

'Sure … when shall I pick you up?'

'So you know where I live now?' chortled Granger.

'What? No'– Draco cleared his throat –'I just thought you could tell me, is all.'

'Why don't we just meet outside of the Cauldron, on the Muggle side? It's not far from there.'

'Alright,' nodded Draco. 'Half seven?'

'Sounds good to me.'

She was still smiling, making his insides melt. Draco shoved back his chair and stood, nodding curtly at her and saying, 'See you Friday, then.'

'See ya.'

'And thanks for the tea.'

With that, he turned around and made towards the office door. On his way out, Draco quickly counted the days in his head, the realisation making him dizzy. He had just agreed to go out with Granger – on Valentine's Day.


x x x


Draco was early – unnecessarily early, but then again, upper-class manners had been ingrained in him very early on in his life. "Never make a witch wait" his mother used to say and hence, he wouldn't, cold winter weather and all – thank Merlin for Warming Charms. He might not believe in pure-blood supremacy anymore, but that didn't mean he'd lose his gallantry.

Charing Cross Road was crowded with couples that night, walking hand in hand down the street on the way to their respective date location. Draco felt his pulse quicken with anticipation for his own date. Granger had asked him out – him. It was too good to be true, but here he was, waiting on her in Muggle London on Valentine's Day. He shoved his hand into his coat pocket, fidgeting with the Sneakoscope he'd recently purchased. Unsurprisingly, the demand for the small Dark Detectors had gone through the roof ever since the revelation of the Faceless. The tool wasn't perfectly reliable, but still better than no warning system altogether. Draco had tweaked his a bit, however, making it vibrate instead of whistle in case of any close-by, untrustworthy activity.

At precisely half past seven, the doors to the Leaky Cauldron swung open, revealing her. She was wearing her hair up, neatly braided on the sides and pinned back into a low bun; a few rebellious flyaways escaping the chignon making the look all the more charming. Draco was about to wave in recognition when she spun her head around to look past her shoulder.

'Hope nobody saw me leave,' said Granger as she turned towards him. 'Hi, Draco.'

'Hi, Gr-Hermione,' he muttered, eliciting a smile in response.

'See? It's not so hard, is it?' she winked, snaking an arm through his. 'Shall we?'

She led the way, Draco taking smaller steps in consideration of her petite frame and hence shorter strides. Granger, however, didn't seem to appreciate the gesture.

'How old are you, 80?' she teased, practically pulling him through the streets. 'Come on, chop-chop – I'm starving!'

Draco couldn't resist the smirk; her light-heartedness soothed his nerves immensely. 'It's called manners, Granger, but I don't assume you'd know much about that.'

'Back to Granger, are we, Malfoy?'

'It'll take some getting used to,' he replied candidly – it was indeed strange. As Leon, he'd called her by her given name all the time, however, calling her that as himself still made a difference. Although it definitely helped that it appeared to make her happy.

'Why were you worried someone saw you leave the Cauldron?' he asked. 'I hope not because of me.'

'Well …' drawled Granger, pursing her lips innocently. 'Partly because of you,' she admitted. 'But not for the reasons you think – honestly! I simply don't care for being spotted tonight; anywhere, with anyone. That Skeeter woman will probably be on a look-out for any Valentine's Day gossip she can get her ugly hands on.'

'Right,' nodded Draco. 'That does sound reasonable. I suppose that's why we're out here?' He cocked his head towards the crowds of Muggles scurrying across Leicester Square.

'Hm-hm,' was all he got for a response and Draco decided not to dwell on it.

'You know, it's funny,' she said after a few minutes of walking in silence, 'I thought I'd be spending this day much differently.'

With "another" man, you mean?

'Different how?' he asked, feigning ignorance.

'Oh, you know … I was seeing this guy … no'– she shook her head –'Godric, what am I doing, talking about someone else on a date?' She looked up at him through her dark, long lashes, sniggering. 'A date! Can you believe it? Us on a date?'

'It is strange, isn't it? What will your friends say?'

'Oh, what they don't know won't hurt them.'

'You're not going to tell them?' he asked, although he couldn't pinpoint why it bothered him so much. It wasn't as if he fancied facing the wrath of Potter and Weasley … but, after all, she didn't hesitate to tell everyone about "Leon" right away.

'All in good time,' replied Granger. 'All in good time … oh, here we are!'

She stopped walking abruptly, Draco almost running her over. They stood in front of a white house with two wooden doors and a red sign above, which read "Brasserie Zédel".

'A French place,' observed Draco, feeling slightly giddy.

'Yep.'

'Why French?'

'Why not?' countered Granger. 'But seriously – I love French cuisine. And France. Anything about France, really. Is it not alright with you?'

'Hm? No – no, it's fine,' said Draco absentmindedly. She couldn't possibly know something, could she? No … how could she have found out anyway? He was being careful, after all.

'Do you want to wait until we take root? Come on,' jibed Granger. She had already let go of his arm, pushing against one of the doors.

'Course not,' he mumbled, following the witch inside; a waiter greeted them once they'd entered the venue.

'Good evening. Table for two?'

'Yes, please – we have a reservation, for Granger.'

'Ah, Mrs Granger,' said the Muggle as soon as he'd scanned his list, 'Mr Granger'– he nodded at Draco –'if you would follow me, please.'

Granger snorted into her hand, poking his ribs with her elbow.

'Will you stop laughing?' he said through gritted teeth.

'Mr Granger,' she tittered, working on her buttons.

'Right, very fun –'

But Draco broke off quickly, instantly forgetting the snarky comment he had on the tip of his tongue. Granger had taken off her coat, revealing a stunning red cocktail dress that made his skin crawl.

'Wow, you,' he cleared his throat, 'you look – you look nice.'

'Thank you,' she smiled at him, taking a seat at the table the waiter had led them to. 'So do you.'


x x x


The downstairs of the Brasserie Zédel was a gorgeous place. Marble pillars supported the ceiling, richly ornamented with golden stucco; large mirrors covering each wall and giving the illusion of an endless room, somehow reminding Hermione of the luxurious dining halls as shown in Titanic. It made her wonder …

'Have you ever seen a movie before?' she asked Draco, who was currently enjoying the last bites of his onion tart – at least Hermione assumed he was enjoying it, judging from his silence.

He finished chewing before answering, 'These Muggle moving-images-things? No.'

'I thought so,' she giggled. 'I can't picture you going to the cinema, to be honest.' When Draco shot her a questioning look, she added, 'It's a place where Muggles go to watch movies on a big screen. But you can also watch them at home, on television; only recently I saw this one film with my mum, You've Got Mail. It's about two people falling for each other, but without knowing it's them – they're practically penpals, you see; he finds out about her true identity first, and then he tries to make her like him … anyway, it's complicated. And I suppose explaining the concept of chatrooms and e-mail is a bit much for now.'

'Maybe some other time?' suggested Draco with a lopsided smile; the look he gave her was one of endearment. It reminded her vividly of … well … technically speaking, it reminded her of him. Hermione had been dropping allusions to his persona all night. The restaurant in and of itself, her mentioning "that guy she'd been seeing", and just now a reference to a mistaken identity rom-com. She could have sworn to see him tense up every time. Perhaps she could push it even further …

'This place reminds me of Paris so much,' she said innocently while picking up what was left of her ratatouille. 'Have you ever been there?'

As expected, Draco's brow furrowed ever so slightly. Oh, he was trying so hard not to appear agitated!

'Yes,' he replied cautiously, 'ages ago. My family have roots in France.'

'Do they now?' smirked Hermione.

'On my mother's side.'

'Oh right, she's a Black – "toujours pur".'

'Don't remind me,' said Draco, disgust etching across his features. 'Mental, that's what they were. I can't believe I ever called you –'

'Don't,' interrupted Hermione, wagging her head. 'Don't say it. You don't have to.'

Without wasting a single thought on it, she reached over the table and covered his hand with hers, instantly feeling him relax upon her touch. It was nice – soothing him felt much better, much more gratifying, than irritating him. As his silver eyes met hers, Hermione could tell her cheeks were turning pink; she recalled all the times he had looked at her like that before, the only difference being the colour of his iris. It had always been him, underneath the cover. Never "Leon". "Leon" was just a name, nothing more.

If someone had told her mere weeks ago that she would be going on a date with Draco Malfoy on Valentine's Day, she would have told them they were completely and utterly barmy. She would have been certain something like that would never happen. Curious. Certainty was such a fickle thing.

'Would you like pudding? A coffee, perhaps?'

The waiter was back at their table, and Hermione let go of Draco's hand. She looked at him, tilting her head questioningly, and Draco responded with an approving "why not"-shrug.

'Pudding would be nice, thank you,' said Hermione, accepting the menu. 'Do you want to share, maybe?' she suggested. 'I don't know if I can manage much more.'

'Alright. What about …'– he skimmed the menu as well –'This one?'

He pointed at one of the dishes, Hermione nodding approvingly.

'One tarte au citron meringuée, please,' ordered Draco, upon which the waiter gave a curt nod and left.

'Your pronunciation is really good,' commended Hermione. 'So natural.'

'Thanks … like I said, it's a family thing.'

'You know, that bloke I mentioned earlier –'

'I thought you didn't want to talk about him.'

'Yes, but …'– she tugged a loose strand of hair behind her ear –'I feel like I need to tell you, because when you asked me to have lunch with you – I was going out with him, you see.'

'Does that mean you were considering it back then? To say yes?'

'Um … I cannot deny that I wasn't confused at first, but essentially – yes, I was considering it.'

'So, that guy,' began Draco, averting his eyes, 'you're definitely not seeing him anymore?'

'Definitely not. You know, I was beginning to see his true colours, anyway; he turned out to be rather …'

Don't. Don't say it.

'… two-faced.'

'What? Two-faced?' Draco's slight frown quickly turned into a scowl. 'What do you –'

'Tarte au citron meringuée for the lovely couple.'

'Hm, that looks delicious,' said Hermione, as the waiter placed the dessert between them. 'Thank you.'

'Hold on,' said Draco, 'what do you mean, "two-faced"?'

You bloody fool – you shouldn't have said that.

'Not important,' she replied, trying to sound as nonchalantly as possible. 'Hmm'– Hermione shoved a forkful of lemon tart into her mouth –'this is sho good.'

'If you say so,' said Draco cloudily, yet his eyes and tone belied his words. When he'd been merely uncomfortable before, he was outright suspicious now.

They ate the rest of their pudding in silence, not staying for coffee. Hermione felt terrible. She shouldn't have said all those things; she knew what it would make him feel and yet she'd done it. What use was it anyway? What was she trying to accomplish? Revenge? For what? For being nice to her – liking her? Hermione's heart beat heavily against her ribcage – she had to tell him.

'Draco?' She looked up at him. They were standing outside of the restaurant; he was gazing vacantly at the night sky as she buttoned up her coat.

'Hm?'

There it was again; that look. Only this time, it was mingled with confusion … and something else she couldn't quite place. Wistfulness?

'I'm sorry for what I've said before. Would you like to go for a walk still? And a cup of coffee, maybe?'

Draco's mouth curved into a half-hearted smile. 'Gladly,' he said, this time offering her his elbow right away – just like he'd always done it. Hermione took it, and they began to saunter about the streets.

'This way, really?' asked Draco when Hermione turned left and into a small, abandoned side alley. It was only dimly-lit, showing no sign of nearby Muggles.

'Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark.'

'Course not, I –'

'Draco?' Hermione had let go of his arm, facing him and gently pressing a finger to his lips. He stopped talking immediately, eyes growing wide at her touch.

'I have to tell you something,' she continued. 'I … I was in Paris two weeks ago.'

'Paris?'

'With my parents – as a birthday gift for my father, you see. The point is, I met someone there.'

'You … met someone,' stated Draco, evidently puzzled.

'Yes. Not just someone. I mean, I met you, but it wasn't you – Merlin, I'm terrible at this. Draco'– Hermione inhaled deeply, bracing herself –'I know. I know about you and … well, the other you.'

There. It was out. Miserably put, but out all the same.

'Say it,' snarled Draco, suddenly meeting her eyes with an unnerved glare. 'Stop beating around the bush and say it out loud.'

Hermione swallowed heavily. Every fibre of her body was trembling.

You're a Gryffindor, pull yourself together!

'You – you're,' she sputtered. 'You're Leon.'

Draco's expression went from agitated to outright furious in the blink of an eye.

'Damn it, Granger, you know?' he shouted, and Hermione instinctively took a step backwards, colliding with the cold brick wall behind her. 'You knew, and you didn't tell me?'

Draco's features were completely contorted with rage. He brandished his wand, and for a split-second, Hermione thought he was going to hex her.

Don't be ridiculous, she chided herself. Unfortunately, Draco hadn't missed the nervous glance she'd shot at his wand.

'What?' he spat. 'Think I am going to do something to you now? For your information, I just cast a Silencing Charm, on the both of us – I'm not a sodding creep!'

As much as Hermione knew that she shouldn't have teased him so much, she felt a sudden wave of anger rush through her in response to his change in inflection.

'Stop yelling at me,' she said hotly, 'Why are you the one who's cross with me now anyway?'

'For Salazar's sake, Granger! Don't turn this around! You've known for two weeks and you never even once considered telling me?'

'No! Not for two weeks! I didn't know it was you; I only ran into … well, that Muggle, René –'

'René, is it now?'

'You didn't know his name?'

'What for?' growled Draco. 'I don't give a shit about his bleeding name – anyway, that's beyond the point!' He took a step towards her. 'Since when have you known?'

Hermione quickly counted the days in her head.

'Since last week,' she said meekly.

'You've got to be shitting me …' Draco groaned exasperatedly, running both hands through his white blond hair, ruffling it entirely in the process. 'How did you find out?'

'I – um – I saw you at Gringotts, with Theodore Nott …'

Hermione had thought it physically impossible, yet Draco's eyebrows knitted even closer together.

'What? How?'

'Harry's Cloak,' said Hermione hastily. 'And when you walked home after that –'

'You were following me?' he yelled. 'And POTTER KNOWS? This is un-fucking-believable … you could have fucking told me, Granger! Speak with me, like a normal person! Bloody nosy Gryffindors, you always got to snoop around, don't you?'

'You could have spoken with me, also!' cried Hermione.

'Believe me, I wanted to,' snorted Draco. 'I didn't choose all of'– he gesticulated between them –'this … but you … this entire charade tonight,' he laughed bitterly. 'Tell me – was it fun? Did you enjoy seeing me sweat?'

'No!' objected Hermione. 'No, I didn't! I thought I wanted … I don't know. I wanted to beat you at your own game … but now I realise, torturing someone, even like this, is not fun at all.'

'Trust me … I know.'

He still scowled at her – shards of ice piercing her eyes, yet at least he'd stopped yelling.

'Why didn't you tell me you were going to Paris?'

'You broke up with me, remember?'

Draco merely grunted in response, kicking frustratingly at the ground. The memory of that particular day arose a question Hermione had been asking herself for a while now.

'Why did you,' she began carefully, 'always avoid – you know – kissing me?'

Draco laughed humourlessly, first looking heavenwards, shaking his head, and then turning his attention back to her.

'Because despite what you might think, I'm not a sodding prick,' he said, drawing even closer to her so that she had to tilt her head up as to be able to look him in the eye. 'How could I kiss you after seeing you with that bastard at the Ministry? You consented to kissing … well … Leon. Not me. I would never do that to you.'

Hermione's face went blank. That's what it's been about the entire time?

'So what do you say?' queried Draco.

'What do you mean?'

He was so close now their noses almost touched. Hermione's breath caught when she saw the change in his eyes; they were liquid silver.

'Can I fucking kiss you now?' he growled through clenched teeth – a hungry predator being denied its prey and waiting for the kill command.


A/N: Ohhh I'm so sorry I'm being mean to you guys! It's just that this chapter is long enough as it is. Let's just say that the lemon tart is meant to be a foreshadowing device ;) Prepare yourselves to – as Miriam Margolyes once so charmingly put – cream in your knickers, ladies. And gents, respectively – yeah.

I am happy to announce that my lovely beta – MalfoysMuggleMrsjust placed first in the Spring Dramione Awards with her story Obsessed! I'm so proud! Thank you so much for everything :) Kyonomiko, we'll just rock the awards next time ;)

Another big thanks goes out to my mum (ja du Mama!) – she's reading Faceless now (her first fanfiction ever) and she loves it! She has so many ideas for the story, some of which I am definitely going to use. I turned my mother into a Dramione shipper – my mind is officially blown.

Kudos and credits to Goose the Guest, you now not only got mentioned, but I implemented your comment into the story! To the other anons as well as all you silent readers – as I can't write you personally – thank you!

Before this A/N turns into a chapter on its own: until next time!

Cheers, Phinoa