Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Chapter 12 - January 8, 2004

Draco lay in his bed the next morning staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, watching shadows move across it as the sun rose higher outside the closed curtains. It was still early, too early to get up, but he couldn't go back to sleep. His mind had woken before his body was ready to, and now refused to fall back under.

The last thing he could remember was lying down after he dropped Hermione at her flat. Before that he had taken her to a small pub that he had discovered within the first week of moving to London. So far, they served the best hot chocolate and sticky toffee pudding that he had found. Neither compared, of course, to the hot chocolate and pudding he had been served as a child, but this pub came damn close.

Hermione had been pleasantly surprised to discover the reason for visiting this pub. And even more excited when Draco divulged the menu options he had brought her there to share with him. As soon as both plates and mugs had been set down in front of them, Hermione dug in, waxing poetic over the rich, buttery pudding and creamy cocoa. Draco remembered the satisfied smile that graced her features as she licked chocolate from her upper lip.

Hermione set her mug down on the table and spooned another bite of pudding into her mouth. "This is delicious."

"It is. I'm glad you like it." Draco agreed, and wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth.

"Was this your favorite dessert growing up?" Hermione asked, eyeing Draco as he sipped his cocoa.

"It was. Actually…" Draco paused. Hermione didn't know too much about his past. He considered for a moment if he should tell her. And how much.

She was also still unaware of the fact that he had been standing outside her office when she and Ron fought last week. He was curious, of course. He was a Slytherin. And Slytherins gathered information to use for their own benefit, whatever that benefit may be.

He wanted Hermione to know that she could confide in him. Not because he was trying to get information out of her. Because he felt that she needed someone on the outside of all that was happening in her life to talk to. Someone in a neutral position.

Draco needed that someone, too. And unless he opened up first, Hermione would probably never confide her deep, personal feelings to him. Was that his goal, though? Was this desire to provide support coming from sympathy he felt for Hermione? Or because they had somehow forged a kind of friendship in the preceding months?

"When I was growing up," Draco began again, "my parents fought quite often. Not violently, but there was always a lot of yelling. And as a child it frightened me. I didn't understand why my parents were so angry with each other. It woke me at night and I would go downstairs to the kitchen to sit by the fire. Our house elves kept it burning all night and it was bright and warm."

Hermione felt her heart clench. Not because of the mention of house elves, but because Draco had grown up in that atmosphere. Having to listen to his parents yell and shout at each other. She reached across the table to lay her hand on his.

"I'm so sorry you had to hear that, Draco."

Draco shrugged. "I knew they weren't shouting in hate. I could tell that much. They were both honestly angry and frustrated. I didn't understand why until I was older. But, whenever I was woken up in the middle of the night by it, our house elves would always have a cup of cocoa for me and some sticky toffee pudding. I had several nice conversations with them." Draco smiled and spooned a bite of pudding into his mouth, then followed it with a sip of cocoa.

"That's a lovely end, Draco. Even if it did have sad beginnings."

"I don't hate house elves. I never have. They raised me more than my own parents did at times. I was never cruel to them the way my father was. I couldn't be." Draco hung his head. He had invited Hermione out for a nice evening and comforting food, and he was sitting there lingering on old, miserable feelings.

Thankfully, Hermione picked up the reins of the conversation and they began to discuss books and favorite topics and theories. This morphed into the talk of food and Hermione promised to make good on her claim of excellent banana bread.

They walked back to their building side by side, as they had the last time they went out, except Hermione wrapped her hands around Draco's arm and leaned in to him for warmth. He could smell the sweet fragrance of her shampoo and feel the softness of her hair on his arm. He would be lying if he said the closeness of her body didn't make his heart beat a little bit faster.

When they arrived at Hermione's flat, she paused and turned to face him. "Thank you for tonight, Draco. I needed this."

"As did I." Draco agreed. "Life has been a bit…"

"Overwhelming." Hermione finished, understanding.

"It has." Draco smiled briefly, and a brief awkward silence fell between them. "I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"Till then." Hermione leaned up and kissed his cheek, lingering when she felt how warm his skin was. Just as she began to pull back, Draco turned and pressed his mouth against hers.

Hermione let out a muffled sound of surprise, but found herself melting against Draco's body as his arms wrapped around her back and pressed her closer. Draco pulled back first this time, eyes still closed. He blinked them open to find Hermione's still closed as well, her expression one of peace and content. He would even go as far to say that she enjoyed it. Hermione blinked her eyes open seconds after Draco did, and gazed up at him. Pink filled her cheeks as the corners of her mouth turned up in an embarrassed smile.

"Well, that was unexpected." Hermione whispered.

"I'm sorry. I…"

Hermione pressed her index finger to his mouth to silence him. "I'm not complaining."

Draco felt his eyes widen in understanding. So, she had enjoyed it.

"Good." He whispered back as Hermione removed her finger from his lips.

"Good night, Draco." She turned to her door, stopping just inside to wave briefly, and then disappeared behind it.

Draco turned on his side to check the clock on his nightstand, It flashed 5:30 AM at him. He rolled onto his back with a groan. Still too early to get up. He touched his lips where Hermione had pressed her finger last night after their kiss. He swore they still tingled. He had enjoyed the kiss as well, and that didn't surprise him as much as he had been expecting. Draco had already admitted to himself, (several times in fact), that he was attracted to the muggle-born witch. She was intelligent, witty, sharp as a new quill…And her looks were nothing to complain about either.

To him they never had been. Well, at least since Fourth year. And only because he had been too blind to notice until then. He had been attracted to her fierce determination and obvious intelligence in First year. She had been a tough witch to compete with. Her never ending streak of high scores had impressed him. The only reason he never acted on any of this while in school had been sheer cowardice. The things his father would have said to him had Lucius Malfoy found out his son was crushing on a muggle-born witch.

Even now he hadn't made the first move. She had.

Hermione continued to make the first move until yesterday when he finally asked her out.

And their date had gone better than he had hoped for. Draco couldn't describe what had come over him after stopping outside Hermione's door. He just suddenly needed to hold her. Kiss her. She had been soft and warm, and her lips sill carried a taste of toffee pudding and hot chocolate. He could tell she had been tentative to deepen the kiss, leaving the decision up to him. So, Draco had taken it.

Not only had the kiss felt good, (and left him more than a little hard), she had felt good. She fit perfectly in his arms, and she had let him run his hands over her waist, hips, back and arms.

He slept more peacefully last night than he had in months. Their snog had given him a way of letting out some of his pent up sexual frustration. Now he had to figure out what this could mean for them. Would they continue to go out on more dates? Snog more? Snog on his couch maybe? Would they move it to the bedroom at some point?

Draco groaned and turned again. He wanted to let his mind wander. To finish their kiss from last night a different way. (Taking Hermione into her flat and shagging her senseless against the nearest flat surface would be ideal). But he couldn't let his mind go too far down that path. Their snog could have been a mistake, (a very nice mistake), but still something that may never be repeated between them again.

Would this change things between them at the Ministry? Draco wasn't sure if he wanted to think yes or no on that. It would be a relief if their current relationship was not affected, but if Hermione's attitude toward him changed even a little he wouldn't be surprised. He doubted Hermione would view him in a negative light now. Even so, Draco knew he wouldn't be able to handle that. Not from someone he had come to care for as much as he did.

His thoughts turned back to the night of the New Year's ball. He had never seen Hermione so affected like she had been by Lavender's words. He still had not confirmed or denied what he suspected had happened to her and Weasley. In conjunction with what he had overheard at the party, though, it was not difficult to surmise that Hermione had suffered a miscarriage. Even without her telling him directly and knowing for certain the knowledge still tugged at his heart and Draco felt an overwhelming urge to comfort her every time he saw her now.

But he suppressed it. He wasn't supposed to know about it, and he also was not about to admit that he had eavesdropped on the very personal conversation that she had been having. That would certainly change her attitude toward him, if nothing else did. He wasn't going to lie to himself and think that watching her walk away from that fight with Weasley hadn't made him panic. Not knowing where she was going, what she was thinking, or what she would do.

When he saw her again a few days later she seemed like the same Hermione. If Potter had caught up with her, whatever he did, said, or offered in assistance (if Hermione had taken any of it), had helped immensely. She smiled freely at him and eagerly accepted his invitation to go out last night.

That had been yesterday?

It felt like so long ago, and it was less than twenty-four hours.

He was thrilled that she wanted to go out with him. And also nervous. Because the joy that went through him when she said yes made him realize the path his feelings were going down. Surely, he wasn't falling in love with her Hermione Granger. He did care deeply about, no for, her. Seeing her smile made him smile. Knowing she was upset made him upset. Draco didn't like it when she was hurting, and he craved her presence whenever she wasn't around.

Their lunchtime sessions together had become cathartic for him. It was the only time Draco spoke about his past and confided his fears, hopes, and desires. Well, until last night when he had told her about his house elves growing up. It felt good to talk to someone about it all. Draco knew he could trust Hermione, just like he knew he could trust no one else with all of the things he had told her in the past months.

However, he hadn't told her everything. He'd never brought up his father and the fact that Lucius Malfoy was currently lying in St. Mungo's close to death. He had recently been treated with muggle medicine to see if it would make a difference. By now, his body was so weak that it did not even process the medicine.

Draco sighed heavily and turned onto his side, facing his window, as his mind changed course. He began to consider what would happen should his father die. Would his mother want him to move back into the manor? He would inherit the Malfoy estates and be responsible for them and the family's finances. But Draco didn't know if this was something he was ready to take on.

Come June he would only be twenty-four. About the same age his father had been when he became Head of House. But that had been under different circumstances. Abraxas, Draco's paternal grandfather had been too old to continue in the responsibilities as Head of House and had passed it on to his son. He died a few years later from Dragon Pox, when Draco had been just a toddler. He barely remembered his grandfather. But the stories his mother told him gave him a pretty clear picture of the man Abraxas Malfoy had been.

If Lucius Malfoy did succumb to his illness, Draco realized, he may have no choice. It would be necessary for him to move back into the manor. As Head of House he would have to live there. Draco pushed the thought aside, along with what he would do with his London flat (keep it, obviously).

With a shake of his head, Draco finally rose to start his day. He showered, dressed and ate a buttered piece of toast as he stepped into his fireplace and Floo'd to the Ministry. After setting down his bag in his office he grabbed a cup of tea from the communal pot, hoping to see Hermione. But she had either been over for her tea already, or had not come in yet.

Draco returned to his office and set to work for the day. He still had two reports to finish and his final assessment of the next excavation to present tomorrow. The team would be leaving on Monday and he needed them all briefed and up to speed before they set out via Portkey. Around noon he began to feel the lack of sleep from the night before and his eyes crossed over to the cabinet in the corner of his office.

After a moment's contemplation, Draco got up and walked over to it, pulled open the glass door and took out one of the phials he kept in there. He pulled the cork off and downed the Invigoration Draught without thinking twice. He made the habit of keeping these and sleeping potions (just in case he stayed late and did not have the energy to go home). But he needed something right now to get him through the rest of the day. His mother had asked him to come to St. Mungo's and stay with her for a bit. Draco already knew he was going to be there most of the night. It would be easier to come back to the Ministry and make up a cot for himself then to go home and risk not getting up on time.

The stress of his father's condition had also been affecting his sleeping habits. There were many nights now where Draco lay awake lost in thought, or just tossing and turning. The days that followed those nights were the ones when he also forgot to eat. He would try so hard to distract himself with work that he barely thought about anything else. Draco knew, though, that he could not let these habits continue indefinitely.

He had just returned the empty phial to the cabinet and shut the door when a knock on his office door made him turn. Hermione stood there, lovely as ever in a chocolate brown dress that stopped just above her knee. She wore her Ministry robes over it, but Draco could tell it hugged her curves in a very flattering way. She wore cream-colored heels and no jewelry. A simple palette today. One glance at his own wardrobe choice told him they matched, a bit.

He had chosen a dark brown suit with an off-white button down, and golden yellow-colored tie. His own Ministry robes hung on the coat rack behind his desk. He never bothered with them, unless he had to.

"Afternoon." Hermione smiled at him. "Lunch?"

"Um…in a bit?" Draco asked, finding his voice again.

"Ok. I had a question first anyway." Hermione walked in and Draco noticed the letter she was carrying in her hand. "This is what I was telling you about. I had completely forgotten about it until I was going through my notes this morning and found it. Would you still be able to translate for me?" She asked.

"S…sure." Draco stammered a bit, but recovered and walked back over to his desk. Hermione handed him the letter as he sat down and, after locating them underneath his journal, slipped his spectacles on. He watched Hermione smooth the back of her dress and her robes as she sat down in front of his desk. She crossed her ankles and waited for him to start.

"The Irish goblins are asking after your progress on the property in question. They are insisting on a determination soon. They state that their claim to the lost property should not even be in question and that they have to wait at all is an insult." Draco put the letter down and pulled his spectacles off.

Hermione sighed heavily. "I figured as much. The case is stuck right now in deliberation between the Irish and Scottish representatives."

"So, tell these goblins the truth. Just be honest."

"I don't think that's going to be enough for them." She stood from the chair and collected the letter as Draco handed it to her. "Thank you."

"Any time, Granger." Draco tried to smile, but thought it came out as a sneer. "I'll meet you in the cafeteria in a bit."

"Oh, right." Hermione blinked a few times as though coming out of a trance and nodded at him. "See you in a bit."

She turned to leave, and just as she opened his office door, Draco stood. "Hermione," he called, and she turned back to him. "I had a really good time last night."

"I did, too."

"Well, if you would like to…I'd love the privilege of cooking for you myself. At my flat."

"Are you asking me over, Draco?" Hermione's smile was coy.

"Yes, I think I am."

"Then I accept."

"Brilliant. Tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night." Hermione confirmed. She smiled over her shoulder once more and shut his office door as she left.

Draco slumped back into his chair and let out a breath. That had been easier than he thought. A slow smile crept across his face as he realized he had just successfully asked Hermione Granger out for a second date. And at his flat, no less. He had blurted out the invitation before he had the chance to fully develop a plan in his mind.

He could cook, yes. But what would he prepare for Granger? He knew some of her likes and dislikes. But not all. He wanted to be able to surprise her, and if he asked her what she preferred that plan of action went out the window completely.

"Oh, Draco, you fool." He cursed himself as he let his head fall on to his desk. "What were you thinking?"

There was no use feeling bad about it. Not when the fact that she had said yes, again, made him feel so empowered. "You just need to be creative. She likes that. She likes originality."

Draco picked his head up and shuffled some papers around on his desk before finding his journal. He grabbed a quill and began jotting down a list of groceries he would need to find time to purchase in Diagon Alley within the next twenty-four hours. Hen then stuffed the journal into his satchel (so it wouldn't go missing again) and pulled his report back in front of him, determined to finalize it.

His renewed vigor, he told himself, burgeoned by the Invigoration Draught, and nothing to do whatsoever with the idea of Hermione Granger having dinner with him tomorrow night.

No, nothing at all.