Hello all! Don't worry, Hermione will reveal herself very soon. I know you're all waiting for it-I'm just as excited as ya'll are! But first, they have to go on their date! Here goes...

Hermione stood in front of her mirror, inspecting her appearance. Her nerves were shot. She pulled her mass of curly hair—deep mocha brown, not her own honey brown—up into a ponytail, trying to keep her breathing calm. She wiped a smear of mascara from her eyelid and heaved a great sigh. She turned to the side, eyed her outfit, then faced forward again, before finally ripping off the blouse she was wearing.

"What am I doing?" she bemoaned.

She tossed the blouse onto her bed and approached her closet once more, sorting through her clothes with a clack clack of the hangers slapping against one another.

What was I thinking? She asked herself for probably the hundredth time that evening. What was I thinking, agreeing to go to dinner with Malfoy?

She finally settled on a soft gray, fitted sweater and she pulled it over the white tank top she wore. Looking in the mirror one last time at the jeans and gray sweater she now sported, she nodded with approval. This is fine, right? Of course it's fine. I look fine. This is not a big deal. It's just a date. A date with Draco Malfoy. A date with Draco Malfoy who thinks you're someone else. A date as someone you're not.

Shaking her head, she released her hair from its ponytail and fluffed it before setting out for the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Tea, a nice relaxing cup of tea—that's what I need.

As she passed the decorative mirror in her hallway, she paused. Curse it all, she thought, picking up her hair for the second time that evening and starting to braid it. She continued braiding as she arrived in the kitchen, and paused only to fill the kettle and put it to a boil. When she finished braiding her hair, she glanced at the clock on her mantle.

7:26, it read.

She had ten minutes before she needed to leave for the bookshop, where she had planned that afternoon to meet Draco. From there, they would go to dinner.

"Are you sure you don't mind if I leave a little bit early?" she'd asked Marion after Malfoy left.

Marion gave her a knowing smirk. "For heaven's sake, Joan. Go on your date. Have fun. Don't worry about the shop, I've been doing this for many, many years before you arrived."

Hermione had nodded. "Of course, of course. I'm sorry. It's not that I think you're incapable, or that I think I'm so important to this shop, I just…I just feel bad for leaving early. You're certain you don't want me to stay and help you close, though? I can. I can reschedule dinner. I wouldn't mind. I could—"

Marion had given a great laugh at that. "Joan Spinner. You go home right now. Go home right now, have a cup of tea—I know that will help soothe your British nerves—and get ready for your date."

"Wait, you want me to leave right now? But it's not even five yet! I don't have to be anywhere until—"

"Joan! Go home. Relax. And tonight, I want you to have fun. In fact, have as much fun as you can. I don't want to see you at this shop tomorrow until at least noon, if you get what I'm saying."

Hermione produced a scandalized shriek. "Marion!"

Marion had only shrugged, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Go home, Joan. I mean it. And darling, try not to worry so much. It's only one date." She'd patted Hermione's hand reassuringly, then disappeared behind the bookshelves.

Presently, Hermione sat statue still on her couch, waiting for her tea to steep. Her hair was braided, her outfit perfect, her makeup touched up. She bit at her lip, incredibly uneasy about the hours she had ahead of her.

I have to tell him, she realized as she caught her reflection in the mirror across the room. Dark hair, hazel eyes, marble white skin, round cheeks—these features did not belong to her. I can't do this—I can't deceive him. It isn't fair.

She liked Malfoy, and she knew that he liked her. She even wanted him to like her. She enjoyed talking with him, she liked seeing him, and she didn't want that to end. She'd seen a radically different side of him that she never knew existed and she wanted to keep getting to know him. So it came to this—she knew what she had to do. She had to be honest.

But…how?

Hermione ran through scenarios in her head during the entire ten-minute walk to meet Draco, fingering her coat button nervously as she did so.

"I have to come clean, and I hope you won't think of me differently," she mumbled aloud, trying to formulate some kind of speech. "Yes. I hope you won't think of me differently, but I understand if…" She shook her head. "No… Draco," she began again, "I have to come clean about something. Just hear me out before you say anything. I'm…not the girl you think I am. I'm not…who you think I am?" She groaned. "I'm actually someone you know from a long time ago. I'm…I'm…no. Okay. Draco, I need to admit something to you. I'm sure you'll be angry, but please hear me out. I'm… I know you think we met two weeks ago…" Merlin, had it really only been two weeks? "Okay. Draco, I know you think we met two weeks ago, but you've known me since you were eleven. It's me, I'm Hermione… No, that is so stupid! Okay. I have to admit something to you. I'm…I'm…"

"What are you mumbling to yourself about?" came a familiar voice, dripping with amusement.

Hermione gave a start, looking up to see Malfoy leaning against the front window of the bookshop with one hand in the pocket of his gray trousers. He was wearing a white dress shirt with the top button undone. He looked very relaxed, polar opposite of her. She looked around, confused. She had arrived already? Merlin's beard, she hadn't even noticed! She eyed Malfoy warily.

"Oh it's…it's nothing. Um…hello," she greeted him weakly.

His face melted into his trademark smirk.

"Hello, yourself. You ready to go?" he asked, pushing off of the wall and walking towards her.

She began to nod when he leaned down and kissed her cheek. Shocked, she froze, her cheeks beginning to turn a rosy pink color. She hated that her body could give her away like that.

"I really love that blushing thing you do," he told her.

She lifted a hand to touch her cheek where he had kissed her. "Err…thanks…"

"You're welcome," he said, still smiling. "Shall we?"

She nodded again. "Yes. Let's go. Um…where exactly are we going?"

He pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. "I could tell you, but it would ruin the surprise, so I won't. I will tell you that it requires driving, though."

She blinked, staring at him dumbly. "Driving?"

He nodded as they stepped off the curb and into the road.

"Do you mind?" he asked, glancing at her and looking slightly confused. "If we drive, I mean."

"Err…I'm sorry. No, I don't mind. Driving…driving a car?" she clarified.

He chuckled and gave her a look like she was the crazy one. Her! Malfoy was driving a Muggle car, and he thought she was crazy?

"Driving a car," he confirmed. "You've…you've heard of those, haven't you? Maybe seen a few of them around town? Four wheels, made of metal, typically square shaped, but there's these weird German ones that look kind of round. They make these whirring motor sounds, they honk sometimes…" He was teasing her, but there was no malice in his voice.

If someone had told Hermione thirteen years ago that Draco Malfoy would be driving her to a date in a car while he teased her good-naturedly, she would have insisted they seek immediate medical attention. And yet, here they were.

"I know what a car is!" she defended.

He laughed. "Okay, good. I was just making certain."

She scoffed.

"You just sounded kind of unsure there for a moment," he said with another shrug.

"I wasn't, I'm just…" I'm just kind of floored that you, Draco Malfoy, a pureblood wizard, want to drive in a car, she wanted to say. But she couldn't exactly say that, could she?

She settled with saying never mind, instead.

Malfoy gave her a curious look as they proceeded to cross the street. Hermione followed his lead, her eyes wandering down the street at the cars parked along the road. She didn't have to wonder which car belonged to him for more than a moment. She guessed which one it would be before he even approached it. He pulled out a keychain, pressed a button, and the headlights blinked as the locks softly clicked.

"A Maserati?" she observed bemusedly, feeling no surprise whatsoever. "I should have guessed." It looked to be brand new—which, knowing Malfoy, it probably was—and the sleek, glossy, silver car glinted under the streetlights.

Malfoy frowned. "Why should you have guessed?"

The smile she was currently sporting dropped from her face and she looked away quickly, pretending to admire the vehicle. "I…I… you just…you seem like the kind of guy who likes nice cars," she said with what she hoped appeared to be a careless shrug.

"Oh, you know me so well already, do you?" he chuckled, opening the passenger door for her. She slid into the black leather seat and he closed the car door, and walked around to the driver's side.

"You have no idea," she mumbled under her breath.

The drive wasn't too far, but it was right in the very middle of downtown, on one of the oldest streets in the city. He parked just down the street, and as they crossed the narrow road, Draco took Hermione's hand.

She hid a smile as she watched a compact car cross in front of them.

They approached a tall white, old-fashioned building with dark blue shutters. The ground floors of every building on this road were stores and restaurants—there was a pharmacy, a clothing department store, a café, a sushi bar—and there were two and three stories of flats sitting above them. Malfoy opened a large glass door for her, and she read the sign above the door that said Le Comptoir des Saveurs in big, green, cursive writing.

"I've never heard of this place," she noted.

Malfoy looked ever so pleased at that. "This is one of the highest ranked restaurants in the city. The chef has won an assortment of awards. I've been here before, and I read through some reviews on the internet, I thought it sounded like a good place for you to try."

Hermione really had to get used to the fact that Malfoy used Muggle tools like the internet—but it was so weird hearing him talk about it so casually.

A petite young woman with bright red hair greeted them and led them to an intimately small, round table. She reminded Hermoine, with a pang, of Ginny. As they took their seats, she handed them each a small wine menu.

"Can I start you two off with a wine listing?" she inquired.

Draco looked up at Hermione from the menu. "What kind of wine do you prefer?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I like everything."

"May I suggest a light wine, then—perhaps a Pinot Noir. We have a a wonderful Pinot Noir from Bourgorgne featured tonight."

Draco glanced at Hermione, who nodded, and Draco turned back to the waitress. "Yes, that will do nicely—thank you."

The waitress nodded and departed.

Hermione's eyes wandered around the restaurant. The lighting was dimmed, and she could hear the faint sounds of violin music in the background. Rich blue curtains were hung over the large windows that stretched across the front of the restaurant, and she watched the city move through the night—cars driving by, pedestrians crossing the street, couples walking hand in hand along the sidewalks…

Her eyes fell back to Malfoy, who was watching her with his head tilted slightly to the side. The corners of his lips twitched slightly as if he was fighting a smile.

"What?" Hermione asked, touching her hair self-consciously. Why was he staring at her like that?"

Draco shrugged and shook his head. "You look beautiful tonight. I like your hair like that. It's nice."

A smile blossomed on her face. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Malfoy glanced around the restaurant, looking thoughtful.

"There's no menus," Hermione observed.

"Nope," he acknowledged. "The chef prepares whatever dishes he wants, and that's what they serve," he informed her. "They'll probably ask us about food allergies, but other than that, it's all up to the chef."

Hermione frowned. "Interesting. That sounds very posh," she commented with a silly grin.

"Do you have any food allergies?" he asked her with a smile.

Hermione shook her head. "No allergies at all."

He nodded. "Me neither."

She'd figured. Wizards and witches had unnaturally good health, due to their magical abilities. They rarely got sick, they lived much longer than Muggles did—it was very common for a magical person to live to see their 150th birthday—and she'd never even heard of a witch or wizard who was allergic to anything before.

The waitress arrived with a bottle of wine, two crystal glasses, and a cheese plate. She announced the different cheeses—Saint-Nectair, Chevre, and Bleu d'Auvergne.

She set the items in front of Draco and Hermione before rattling off the featured dish of the evening. She asked them if they wanted one starting dish or two, and how many main dishes and tasting dishes they wanted. Malfoy had been right—she did ask them about any food allergies the chef should take into account. She looked very pleased to hear they had no allergy concerns.

Draco requested two of everything. The waitress thanked them and moved to another table.

"How will we ever finish all that food?" Hermione asked him with a laugh as she eyed the plate before them.

"Don't worry, each dish has only a small amount of food. The courses are more focused on taste and quality. They pair every dish with a glass of wine that compliments the course. Just have one or two bites of everything, don't try eating it all."

"So when did you become a connoisseur of French food?" she asked, amused.

"Well, I traveled here often with my family when I was younger, and my mother loved French food. I've always been fond of France, and I've lived here for a little less than a year and a half now. I have a lot of business meals with the corporate crowd," he told her with a roll of his eyes, "and if businessmen love one thing other than their money, it's fine dining. So I kind of have to know what places are good or not."

"Interesting. Have you eaten here often?"

He shook his head as he took a drink of his wine. Hermione tasted her wine as well and found that it was delicious—crisp and perfect.

"I've been here once with a German couple—a CEO and his wife." He forked a bit of Bleu d'Auvergne into his mouth.

"Huh. So business," she stated curiously, sampling the Saint Nectaire cheese herself. "Mmm," she marveled. "What exactly does your work in business entail?"

Malfoy watched her eat with a glint in his eye and a smile on his face. "Stocks, trade, financial advising—the works. It's really rather boring when I go into detail, trust me. I'd much rather talk about you," he told her, leaning forward over their table. "I'm sure you're much more interesting for discussion."

Hermione swallowed nervously. "I…I don't really enjoy talking about myself."

Malfoy chuckled. "Well that makes one of us," he said. "Why don't you like to talk about yourself?" he asked curiously.

"Err…"

"Madmoiselle, Monsieur," the waitress interrupted at what could not have been a more convenient moment. Hermione sighed with relief. The woman set two starting dishes down in front of them, clearing away the cheese plate.

"Noix de Saint-Jacques with an orange and carrot puree topping," she announced, setting a small plate before each of them. "And petit filet de cabillaud served on a bed of light risotto. This will pair nicely with your Pinot Noir," she told them with a smile.

Hermione eyed the beautiful dish. "This looks amazing," she told the server in French. "Thank you."

The server nodded to both of them before leaving them to dig in. Malfoy had been right—the servings were very small. But they were perfectly presented, and they tasted delicious.

"This is the most amazing risotto I've ever had!" Hermione hummed after the first bite.

Malfoy smirked as he ate his food. "Good," he said. "So where were we—ah, yes. You hate talking about yourself. How come?"

Hermione shrugged as she forked up so more food. "I prefer listening to others, I suppose. Why don't you tell me more about you?"

"I'd be willing to trade an answer for an answer," he offered, eyeing her confidently.

Hermione swallowed her food. "I suppose that's fair," she agreed begrudgingly.

"Where in England are you from?" he asked.

"Islington," she answered before she could remember to lie. Damn it, Hermione. You're supposed to be from Hertford.

"London?" he exclaimed, his eyes going wide. "Really? Interesting."

"And you?" she quickly asked, wanting to shift the focus off of her.

"Wiltshire," he said before setting down his fork.

Although Hermione had been taken to the Manor, she'd had no idea it was located in Wiltshire. The snatchers had apparated them to the front gate, but she had been too distraught by their capture to notice anything other than the ominous Manor looming over them. She shivered at the memory.

"Why did you start doing business here in France? Why not stay in Britain?"

His face darkened at the question. "My family's business was suffering. My father…my family had a lot of enemies in Britain. I had no choice but to relocate our services to another country."

Her eyebrows rose. "Ah." She knew all about his family's enemies. She'd been one of them for most of her life, she supposed. This made her cringe, and she was hit with another wave of guilt at the reminder that she was deceiving him by sitting across from him here at dinner. She bit the inside of her cheek. "Well, you seem to be doing well now," she offered.

He nodded, relaxing only slightly. "I am. I've made a lot of changes to my family's company and branched out to a…different community now. We're prospering again."

Hermione didn't know what else to say. There weren't any further questions she could ask under the pretense of Joan Spinner. She focused on the food before her. She took one more bite before setting her fork down on the plate and resting her folded arms on the edge of the table.

Malfoy gracefully dabbed at his mouth with his black cloth napkin. "What about your family?" he asked. "Are they still in Islington?"

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. "No," she said quietly. "My parents died almost four years ago."

Malfoy slowly reached out and touched her arm lightly with a finger. She jumped at the contact and looked up at him in surprise. His expression was stoic.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he told her. "My father died last year. So I know…at least somewhat of your loss."

She was caught off guard by this new bit of information. Last she'd heard, Lucius had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. She had no idea he was dead.

"He did?" she asked.

Malfoy nodded. "Although I'm sure I don't understand exactly how you feel. My father and I…had a somewhat complicated relationship. We were on horrid terms the last few years. I hadn't seen him in two and a half years, actually. He died in prison."

Hermione gaped. "I'm…I'm sorry that happened."

Malfoy shrugged, withdrawing from her. "My family is better off without him," he concluded.

Hermione didn't prod any further, letting the subject drop.

The main dish arrived a few minutes later—rabbit stuffed with escargots, which Hermione boldly consumed, and to her surprise, enjoyed—followed by agneau in a tangy sauce atop a bed of steamed vegetables. They ate in easy silence for a while, and between the two of them, finished an entire bottle of Pic-Saint-Loop wine.

The conversation reconvened about half way through the main dish, and soon they began to laugh and enjoy light-hearted topics once more. By the time the topic of their previous schooling came up, Hermione was too buzzed from the wine to be bothered about it. Hermione was too buzzed to be bothered about anything. Gone were her reservations and her frazzled nerves. She was completely relaxed and finally able to focus on simply enjoying Malfoy's company.

"I went to a boarding school in Scotland," Malfoy told her. "It was a really great school, I enjoyed my experience there—well, mostly. There were certainly some…tough times. Afterwards I took some business classes, but that was all the extent of my schooling. What about you?"

Hermione smothered a giggle at his understated tough times at school. Tough times indeed!

"Umm…Private school," she lied. "I graduated with high honors. I started medical training initially, but then I came here."

Malfoy looked perplexed at this. "Medical training? I wouldn't peg you for a doctor."

Hermione shrugged, her eyes on her dessert as she spooned syrupy pears and chocolate into her mouth. "I was quite good at it," she admitted. And she had been. She'd done very well in her training at St. Mungo's. No one had been surprised, least of all her trainers. Her reputation for being intelligent was known by pretty much everybody in the wizarding community. She'd finished training four months earlier than they had planned, and she was set to take independent shifts at St. Mungo's the day before she left Britain.

"I considered going into the medical field myself," he informed her.

"You did?" She hadn't known that!

He nodded. "I didn't have the temperament for it, though. My people skills were…not as developed when I was younger as they are now."

She had to agree with that.

"So if you were quite good at it, then why did you leave?" he asked after swallowing a bite of chocolate mousse.

At this, she sighed. "I was unhappy." That was the easiest answer, wasn't it?

"Unhappy, huh?" he repeated, nodding thoughtfully. "I can understand that."

Their eyes met. "You can?" she asked in surprise.

"Sure. Been through plenty of unhappiness myself," he laughed.

She tilted her head, leaning over the table towards him. "Do you think I'm crazy for leaving a medical profession to become a bookshop girl?" Even she thought it was a little crazy. Florence's jaw had dropped when it come out that Hermione had previously been training to be a healer—well, she'd used the title doctor—but had abandoned her career.

"Hey," Malfoy said, pointing his spoon at her with a stern expression, but a twinkle in his eye. "You're the best damn bookshop girl I've ever even heard of."

Hermione giggled at this. "I do know a bit about literature."

"You know everything about literature!" he clarified a bit too loudly, his arm reaching outward to emphasize his words.

An elderly couple sitting at the table beside them threw him a dirty look, and Malfoy had the decency to look embarrassed. "Oops," he whispered, leaning over the table and closer to Hermione.

Hermione's giggle turned into a full-blown laugh. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that," she said. "That's a pretty bold statement."

"I'm a pretty bold guy," he said, as his eyes drifted downward to her lips. She realized their faces were only inches apart, and her stomach jumped at the thought of kissing him. Her face warmed and she looked downward to hide a shy smile.

Malfoy watched her for a few moments longer, a lopsided grin on his face, before leaning back in his chair. "I'm stuffed," he said.

Hermione nodded rapidly. "Me…me too," she agreed. "I couldn't possibly have another bite." She fingered her braid absently as she spoke.

He looked around before raising a finger to flag down their waitress. "Want any coffee?" he asked, turning back to Hermione.

She shook her head. "It's far too late in the evening for me to have any. Thank you though."

The waitress approached them.

"Everything was delicious," Malfoy told her. "Give the chef my compliments. Can we please have the check?"

The waitress nodded. "Of course."

Hermione reached into her purse for her wallet.

The waitress brought them a black folder with the check and set it on the table. Hermione and Draco reached for it at the same time. Their eyes met, and Draco frowned, looking very confused indeed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Paying for my half of the bill," Hermione answered, like it was obvious.

"What?" Malfoy laughed. "No you're not," he said, like it was the most absurd thing he'd heard all week.

Hermione bristled. "Don't laugh at me! And why ever not?"

"Because this is a date."

"And?"

Draco's eyes roamed down her face, looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. His lips quirked up into a half-smile. "You are…you are very different than anyone I've ever met before," he told her with admiration in his voice.

Hermione blinked. "Thank you…I think. But that compliment is not going to convince me to let you pay for all of this." She tugged at the folder containing the check.

Malfoy didn't release his hold on it. "I invited you to dinner. Therefore, I'm the one who's going to pay. It's basic etiquette."

"Basic etiquette?" she scoffed. "According to whom?" She tugged on the folder, nearly pulling it from Malfoy's grasp.

"Will you…" He looked a bit surprised by her firm pull. "Will you stop this?"

"No," she stated matter-of-factly.

He tried pulling the folder away, but she wouldn't let go.

"Seriously," he said, his tone sobering. "Let go."

"Oh, stop being such a prat."

"I'm not being a prat!"

"Stop being prideful, then."

"It isn't a matter of pride!"

She threw him a pointed look.

"Well… maybe it is. But only…a tiny, teeny bit of pride. Come on," he said, tugging on the book once more.

"Will you stop making this such a big deal?" she asked, frustration coloring her voice. "I want this to be fair!"

"Alright, alright," Malfoy said, holding up his free hand in surrender. "How about a compromise then?"

Hermione pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. "What kind of compromise?"

"Hear me out," he began. "I asked you to dinner, and then I chose the restaurant. I was taught that it was my responsibility to pay for the check under those conditions. So I am formally and respectfully—very respectfully," he emphasized, "asking you to allow me to pay for the check, and I will agree to let you pay for the check on our next date. Is that fair?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "What makes you think there's going to be a next date?" she teased, her smile giving her away.

His arrogant smirk was back, and his eyes roamed over her, head to waist, with a look that could only be described as hungry. "I'm pinning all my hopes on it. We can discuss books the entire time, if you'd like."

Hermione laughed. "So accommodating," she chuckled, but she still did not release the folder.

"And…and we can grab tea at a café after this," he continued, glancing at the folder they were currently playing tug-o-war with. "I'll even get biscuits, muffins, whatever you want. You can pay for the entire thing."

Hermione pursed her lips before deciding that wasn't a bad offer. "Alright," she agreed, letting go of the folder.

Malfoy assumed a very smug expression as he took the folder in his hands. He put a card into the folder before turning to watch Hermione with great fascination. "That was kind of hot, for some reason. I'm very confused now. I don't quite know why I liked that so much."

"Hot?" she repeated. "I didn't do it for you," she laughed. "I was only being fair."

"Hey, whatever you're motivations are, you keep doing what you're doing. I sure won't stand in your way."

They sat there, exchanging heated, suggestive looks until the waitress brought back the folder. He signed it, returned the card to his wallet, and rose.

"Tea?" he asked, offering her an arm. "Your treat, of course," he said with a mocking smile.

"Sure," she agreed, her insides turning a bit melty as she wrapped her arm in his. I'll tell him later, she thought fleetingly. I'll tell him who I am later.

And with that, they were out the door.