"Is there a shop you've always loved, a shop which you've walked around but never bought anything?" Draco's words had caressed Hermione like a lover's touch. "Then please, if such a place exists, take me to it."
After leaving the Swedish nightmare that was IKEA, Hermione had directed Draco to the one store which she would always associate with her childhood: the John Lewis on Oxford Street.
"John Lewis." Draco read, as he stared around the home department of the centuries old shop. "Guy sounds like more of a tosser than IKEA."
"Takes one to know one," Hermione lightly quipped.
The store had a similar open plan design to IKEA, but instead of façade rooms, John Lewis was arranged by product, the quality and price increasing the further you explored. Polished tables and embroidered sofas stretched over the expansive shop floor, like rich offerings to the gods of commercialism. Hermione smiled to herself; she had a feeling Draco would like it here.
Only five minutes later Hermione realised she was right, Draco did like it here. She, on the other hand…
"I don't see what's wrong with this coach." Draco let out an erotic moan as he flopped on to the large leather sofa. Then he pressed his face into the leather and gave a long, loud sniff, not dissimilar to a pampered lapdog smelling its favourite dish of steak.
"Malfoy," Hermione hissed, "Don't smell the sofa!" Draco gave another muffled moan and buried his head further into the cow hide. "Draco, please. People are going to start looking."
Draco gave a stifled huff and rolled over. He propped his head on an arm rest and fixed her with a disapproving gaze. "Let them look, dear. I have nothing to hide."
"Just get up."
Draco's finger languidly stroked the leather cushions. "I have to try out if I'm going to buy it," he said, with exasperating smugness. "Now come," he patted the tiny slither of sofa beside his outstretched body, "and join me."
Hermione gave a dry swallow. "You have got to be kidding me."
"We must also check there is enough snuggle room." She just knew that Draco was using the word 'snuggle' as a euphemism for some other horizontal activity.
"No," Hermione reiterated with exasperated patience, "I don't have to check anything, because we are not buying this sofa."
"Why not, pray tell?"
Because he looked far too good sprawled out on it like some debauched sex god, and I really am jealous of the way he's fondling that leather, is what she didn't say. "Because," she hesitated, "because it's green."
"Oh, dear Granger. A touch of Gryffindor pride coming on?" He smirked. "But I thought you'd like leather. It's very practical."
"How so?"
"Easy to clean, hardwearing and," he paused, letting his gaze run over her body, "leather doesn't stain."
It was so easy to slip back into his routine with him. The dialogue that slipped over the edge into innuendoes; or, she wryly thought, the poor words that Draco bullied and used in his debauched rhetoric. They hardly had stereotypical conversation, but over the past week their rapid fire of repartee was becoming familiar. "Get off the coach," she lowly muttered. Perhaps too familiar.
"You're right, this isn't the sofa for us." To Hermione's relief, he rose and left a Draco-shaped dent in the sofa.
"Thank God."
"We need a much bigger sofa, for much bigger activities."
She wished her heart wouldn't jump at the serpentine curl of his lips when he flashed her that grin.
"Of course you'd choose brocade," Draco said, eyeing the floral sofa Hermione sat on with obvious dislike. "It is so middle class of you."
"My grandmother had a brocade cream and gold sofa set," Hermione informed him.
"And my grandfather had a green leather chair," Draco parried. "You don't see me getting all teary eyed about it."
"I happened to like my grandmother."
"Ah," Draco said, "there you do have a point Miss Granger. I'm going to regret this." He winced. "Get the brocade monstrosity. If it makes you happy."
"And the matching chairs?"
Draco's eyes were screwed up, as if submitting to her interior design ideas was physically painful. "Yes," he said between parted lips, "and the matching chairs."
"Were you close to your grandfather?"
"I may have embellished the bit about my grandfather."
"You lying cad."
"I know," he sighed, "and isn't it wonderfully freeing."
"Ah, the bedroom department. Finally, we are at my favourite bit of the shopping excursion," Draco cheerfully informed her.
Hermione found she couldn't agree with him.
Draco sank down onto a mattress, causing the plastic covering to crackle and bulge under his weight. He looked up at the ceiling and gave a contented smile. "Come and cop a feel Granger."
"Excuse me?"
"Of the mattress," Draco said, looking up at her through pale lashes. "Although if you do wish to grab my behind. I won't object."
Hermione seethed, but she sat on the edge of the plump mattress. She heard Draco sigh, and suddenly he grabbed her arm and pulled her down, so she was lying next to him.
She let out a very unattractive squawk.
"Now that's better," Draco said. His lips were close to her ear. "You, like this," he propped himself up, so he could admire her, "on the white sheets, with your hair spread out like a dark halo. Well, it's an angelic sight."
Hermione immediately sat up, rising from the bed like a cursed mummy from the tomb.
"Err…how many bedrooms does this house have?" she hurriedly asked.
"Four," Draco said. He shuffled back so he was propped on the bed's expansive headboard.
"And we'll have separate rooms?" She felt this need to get a verbal clarification on this, if not written.
There was an awful silence, only broken by the static of the shop's tannoy speakers.
"If you so wish it."
"Do we truly need seven different types of candles?" Draco complained, as he watched Hermione thrust two more candles into his outstretched hands.
"They're scented candles," Hermione said, considering this to be a just explanation.
"They all burn the same way, do they not?"
"Are you afraid that they'll light up the economical void that is your life?" She let her words fall like drops of ink off the nib of a quill.
"Whose money is paying for said candles, by the way?"
"I guess I better get another three then, as you are graciously footing the bill."
"This is some sort of feminine punishment?" Draco said, and unceremoniously dumped the candles into a discarded trolley. "To make everything smell like," he reached down and picked up a candle at random, "Jasmine, Bergamot and a hint of Cedar?" He pressed his face to the candle and sniffed. "Actually, that's not bad." He smiled at her. It wasn't a Malfoy smirk or a grin, but a genuine soft smile that crinkled and formed soft dimples. "Puts an entirely new perspective on the phrase 'coming out smelling like roses'."
"Too plain." Draco said as they passed yet another dining table. "Too woody. Too much glass. Ah," he paused at a huge dark monstrosity of a table, "finally some Teak!"
Draco practically lay across the table, his face close to the wood. Goodness, Hermione thought, he looked like he wanted to lick that table and then make love to it with strawberries and cream.
"Sir!" a stuffy voice cried out, "Please remove your person from the table." A little man rushed towards Draco and his table-like-lover. When Hermione saw the little man she instantly thought of a penguin. He had a shuffle-like walk which made it seem like his trousers were sewn together, dark grey hair which was neatly parted and a pair of wide framed amber spectacles. He blinked profusely behind the thick frames.
Draco propped himself up on the table, like a beached seal, and beamed at the fusty floor manager. "I'll take it," he announced. "And whatever else my fiancée wants." Draco turned to Hermione. "Do you want these chairs?" he asked, referring to the matching dining chairs, "Or shall we order some in a different colour?"
"The chairs are fine, Draco." She shook her head slight in amusement. She was learning to take Draco as he came, impetuous and slightly deranged though that may be.
"Take it?" the man faltered in his funny steps.
"Absolutely," Draco asserted. "I intend to place a very large order." He slipped off the polished table and insinuated himself next to the little man. "And I want to talk about a very generous discount," Draco leaned down and checked the man's name tag, "Nicholas."
An hour later, they left the shop. Draco had haggled the man down to a twenty percent discount and, like the IKEA chair, he'd arranged to have everything delivered to his Muggle townhouse next week.
"I would have got thirty percent," Draco moaned at her, "if you hadn't been there looking forlornly at your scented candles."
"But you said you'd walk away," Hermione commented, confused. She was holding a huge scented candle against her stomach.
"Granger, it is a basic rule of haggling to never look like you want something too much. Always threaten to walk away."
Draco automatically fell into step besides Hermione, as she weaved and dodged along the streets. Now that she and Draco were done with their mandatory furniture shopping she wanted to get back to her shop. Assess the damage one wizard might have done in a morning.
Draco suddenly gave a queer look at the candle she clutched. "Do you want me to carry that?" he offered. She silently relinquished the candle, and Draco tucked it under his arm. "Why did we have to take this with us now? Why not have it delivered next week?"
"It's for my mum," she replied, cryptically. Hermione bit her lip and nibbled. It was like she was trying to hold onto her secrets, as if the physical act of shutting her mouth could stop her from spilling them.
Draco peered at her, his brows creased. "Go on," he coaxed. "You've met my mother. I doubt your story is as reprehensible as mine."
"Every year we - my parents and I - would go to John Lewis. It was our Christmas tradition. Dad would distract me with a trip to Santa's Grotto in the main foyer, while mum snuck off to get my Christmas presents." In spite of herself, Hermione smiled. She'd loved those times with her parents. They'd walk along Oxford Street, the cold air turning their breath to misty clouds, while Hermione would rub her mittened hands in anticipation of sweets, presents and Christmas cheer.
"After shopping, we would get hot chocolate in the café on the top floor." Hot chocolate might not mean much to Malfoy, but with her parents' strict sugar-free diet the Christmas hot chocolate had been a rare, and lovely treat.
"Granger, pardon my interruption, but this sounds sickeningly idyllic," Draco commented, but he was smiling as he said it. Well, sort of smiling. More of a strained grimace.
"It was," she admitted. "La Vie en rose," she murmured.
"La Vie en rose?"
"Le Vie en rose. Looking at life through rose-coloured glasses. It's a very famous French song by Edith Piaf." She gave Draco a rueful smile. "Surely you came across it on your visits to Paris?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "I think both you and I know I didn't do much sight-seeing. At least," and now he smiled, "not what you would call sight-seeing. But enough about me - the candle?" he prompted.
"At the end of the day, my mum would drag us to the home department and she would pick out a scented candle. A huge candle, the size of a dinner plate. Mum would light it on Christmas Eve and it would be lit until the end of the holiday season. The house would be filled with the smell of cinnamon, oranges and cedar." She trailed off, lost in the old memories of her childhood home.
"I hate to break it to you Granger, but Christmas isn't for a while yet."
"I know that."
"Then why- "
"It's a peace offering," she blurted.
"Why do you need a peace offering?"
"We don't go to John Lewis anymore. I hadn't been there for over a decade until today, with you. I haven't spent Christmas with my parents for years, not since before Hogwarts. My mum…my dad, after the war they." The words kept rushing, tumbling out of her mouth like water down a mountain side. "They never forgot what I did. They forgave me," she choked, and a sob caught in her breath. "They love me, I'm their daughter, but they never forgot." Hermione's babble of words was halted when Draco suddenly caught her arm.
"Hey," he soothed, "hey, it's alright." He pulled her into his chest and wrapped his free arm round her back. He mumbled a few nonsensical phrases into her hair as his hand rubbed patterns on her back. She barely noticed the street traffic, the rumble of motors, or even the presence of people passing them on the crowded pavement; so intentwas she on the feel of Malfoy.
Her eyes prickled. Her throat felt thick, as if she had a swallowed a golf ball. She let herself lean into Draco's body. He felt strong and steady. She, on the other hand, felt like a dried leaf shaking off the branches of a tree, one gust of wind and she'd fall.
"I'd like to meet your mum," Draco said, "your dad too."
Hermione gave an uneven smile. She was pleased Draco couldn't see her face. She was sure her eyes were red and rimmed. "That's good," she said. "because we're visiting them tomorrow."
"Is your father the type to take offence over my not asking his permission before getting engaged to you?"
"No more so, than your father taking offence over our future children being half-blood."
"Touché."
They started to walk again. They both pretended they hadn't noticed her slip up of 'our children'.
They'd walked in silence back to the Leaky Cauldron. Not a silence that crackled with tension, like the pressure of an impending thunderstorm. No, this silence was more like a sickroom hush; neither wanting to speak in fear of disturbing the uneasy peace between them. Without asking, Draco had pulled out his wand and tapped the appropriate bricks that revealed Diagon Alley. Then, he'd wordlessly followed her as she'd led their way to the side road which held her bookshop. But that's when Hermione stopped, and Draco in surprise crashed into her back.
"Oh Merlin," Hermione said, hurrying a few steps forward trying to get a better view. "What's happened? Do you think there's been an accident?" Hermione and Draco couldn't get within ten metres of her shop, Miss G's Emporium, because of the hundred or so people blocking their way.
To Hermione's astonishment Draco smiled. "No, my sweet," he said, taking her hand in his, "I think this is what success looks like."
"You mean…all these people are here to visit my shop?"
Draco gave her a wry glance. "I think more than visit. Look." He tipped his head in the direction of a young man, who having fought his way through the crowd, had staggered out and clutching to his chest was…
"A book," she said. A book. A Muggle book. "The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway," she read the cover aloud. "I can't believe it. They're buying my books."
"I can't say I'm surprised," Draco said. "I mean, consider how many job applications you received. Now come on." He tightened his grip on her arm. "Let's see how young Dennis is holding up."
"Hermione - sorry- Miss Granger," Dennis Creevey was positively jumping with excitement. "Thank you for hiring me. When Mr. Malfoy offered me the job I wondered if I was up to it. I mean it's you!" He smiled, a large smile that showed off the slight gap between his front teeth. "You! I never dreamed that Hermio - sorry - Miss Granger would ever want me to work for her!"
Dennis Creevey was a lean man. His slightly built shoulders and delicate wrists betrayed his young age. His hair was cut short, and only a few wisps hung in front of his milky blue eyes. His colouring was a shade darker than his older brother's had been; whereas Colin had been rosy cheeks and floppy blond hair, Dennis was brown. Light brown hair and skin nutted with the summer sun, his freckles spattered like damp soil on his ruddy cheeks. His summer bronzing probably complemented Demelza Robin's rosy cheeks and dappled chestnut hair.
Draco clasped his hand on Dennis's shoulder, and Hermione was surprised the slight boy didn't topple with the weight of Draco's friendly embrace. "You are welcome, Dennis," Draco said. "Hermione and I are very pleased to have such an," he paused - as if looking for a word to describe Dennis' hyper enthusiasm - "eager employee." Draco looked at her, waiting for her to confirm his statement, but Hermione's mouth was gaping like a fish.
There were so many people. So many wizards and witches who were in her shop, flicking through books, reading the back covers, joining the queue that snaked its way around the shop and ended at the open door.
"As you can see, Dennis," Draco said, swooping in once more when he noticed Hermione's wordless shock, "my fiancée is a tad overwhelmed."
"Oh yes! Congratulations!" Dennis spluttered. "I could hardly believe it when Demelza said you were getting married, but then the announcement was in this morning's Prophet."
"Thank you," Draco said, "And I hope you and the charming Miss Robins will accept our invitation to the wedding?"
Hermione swore Dennis's feet left the ground for a moment. He was vibrating with pride. "Yes Sir!" Dennis shouted.
"And how have you been handling your first day?" Draco asked. "Very well by the looks of it." Hermione internally agreed with Draco.
The queue was large but well-ordered, as Dennis had drawn a plaque that directed which way people should wait. The bookshelves were decidedly empty, but Hermione noticed that Dennis had taken the initiative and already started moving stock from the backroom into the main shop. The receipt ledger was open on the counter, and she could see each of the appropriate columns were properly filled out in Dennis's neat copperplate hand.
"Dennis," Hermione said, breaking the masculine dialogue for the first time. "You've…what I mean is…" She looked at Draco, waiting for him to butt in with one of his sleek and perfunctory remarks, but he said nothing and only gave her a lopsided grin. "Dennis," she restarted, "you've done an admirable job. I hope that you will consider taking this position permanently?"
Dennis's smile widened to an impossible distance that caused his eyes to crinkle and bunch. He nodded, his head bobbing like a jack rabbit.
"Wonderful," Draco smoothly said. "Then we shall leave you to it Dennis. I believe we have kept you from your work for long enough." He gestured to the ever-growing queue.
Dennis did a comic double take at the rapidly lengthening line. "Gee," he said, "whenever I look away there seems to be more of them."
Draco laughed. "Perhaps, if we ask Miss Granger nicely she'll consent to hiring you a colleague."
Hermione threw Draco a dirty look and then plastered on a smile for Dennis. "Maybe," she quipped. "Let's see how tomorrow goes. There is such a thing as a one hit wonder." Yes, she thought, while everything might appear to be shining through those rose coloured glasses the novelty of a Muggle book might wear off as quickly as it started.
"As ever," Draco said, "my fiancée is the level headed one."
The irony of Draco's statement didn't escape her, becoming his fiancée was hardly a level headed decision; it couldn't even be described as a sane one. She'd been so caught up the night Draco had come to her with his strange proposal. She had been swept away on the current, captured with the halcyon grandeur of the hotel and the attractive, attentive man sitting opposite her.
The ever changing colour of his eyes, sea-like in their depth and intensity; even now when she looked into his eyes, she knew she'd never know all his shades. This morning, when he'd kissed her his eyes had been dark, possessive and hungry. Hermione had never seen, or felt, such a gaze directed at her. That raw desire, a desire to possess, a desire to claim. He had in some way: the brand of his ring, the frequent referrals to he ras his fiancée, and even the little mark on her neck; all displays that she was his. But it didn't seem enough, not if his reaction after their kiss was anything to go by. It worked on you, did it not. Such a childish jibe, and to her shame so like the words she'd been hurling at him.
The realisation broke over her like a wave and clung to her, like remnants of surf on her bare skin. She'd hurt him.
That was why he'd lashed out. That was why he'd verbally attacked her, in the basest and most effective way possible. She'd hurt him. But how had she hurt him, had she just offended his pride, his lothario vanity, or was it something more?
"Hermione?" The call of her name pulled her out of her cogitation. "Hermione?" Draco repeated.
"Sorry," she said. She raised an embarrassed hand and curled an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry. I was distracted."
Draco gave her a queer look, as if she was a puzzle that had once again evaded him. "Nothing," he said. "I just asked if you wanted to go? Dennis seems to have everything in hand?" While she'd been absorbed with her thoughts, Dennis has slipped away and started to serve the customers. Hermione watched him as his unending smile as he greeted each new customer with the same enthusiasm as he had the last. Draco had been right in hiring Dennis, even if Draco's highhanded methods were debatable.
"Oh," she said. "I just need to check some things first." She regretted saying that the moment the words were out of her mouth, knew the elusiveness of 'some things' was bound to pique Draco's curiosity. Without looking at him, Hermione quickly turned away and walked to the back of the shop to her cramped office.
Her office looked exactly as she had left it. She let out a sigh. Thank God, Dennis had been too busy to even give this room more than a cursory glance. Hermione walked the few pacesto her desk and started rummaging through the papers, bills and miscellaneous bits of parchment she hadn't gotten around to organising. Where was it?She opened the top drawer of the desk, rummaging through the ink bottles and quills. Nothing.She rammed the new drawer open. Still nothing.Hermione felt desperate now. Getting onto her knees she searched the last drawer.
"Granger," Draco's silky drawl caused her to jump and whip her head around, "not that the sight of you on the floor isn't one to appeal to my more depraved instincts, but what are you doing?"
Hermione got to her feet and felt unexpectedly guilty. "I left my manuscript in the bookshop," she confessed.
"Ah. I see." Draco grinned at her and fished from the inside of his leather jacket her battered notebook: her manuscript. "You mean this little thing?" He flaunted it in front of her.
"Oh. Thank God." She stepped towards him, her hand outstretched.
"I didn't think you'd want young Dennis finding it." Draco didn't hand her the book.
"No. Thank you, that was very considerate of you." She swallowed, her eyes never leaving her manuscript. "Did you read it?" she asked.
"No," he said.
Relief flooded her. "Really?" It came out like a breathy sigh.
Draco kept smiling, his eyes locked on her face. "No."
"You just said!" she huffed. She told herself she shouldn't be surprised, this wasDraco Malfoy after all. He couldn't keep his slimy nose out of anything.
"I only read the first page." He merrily assured, holding the book just beyond her reach. "Only a little bit about the brooding Duke Grant and the pretty Miss Butler. Not a throbbing head in sight."
"Draco give me that book!" Hermione desperately lunged at him, her fingers scraping the edge of the book before Draco thrust it higher into the air. She tried again, scrabbling up his body and using his shoulders to steady herself, then she jumped. Her legs automatically wrapped round his hips, and her chin brushed the top of his head. Suddenly, Draco stilled. The arm holding her book ramrod straight and tantalisingly out of her range.
"Errr Granger," Draco said, his voice muffled. "Not that I'm complaining but my face is very close to your breasts."
Hermione looked down. Between the valley of her breasts was Draco Malfoy. He was grinning and looking very satisfied with himself. She started. Letting go of his shoulders she tilted backwards. Draco dropped the book and grasped her waist with both of his hands, steadying her.
"Woah." It came out as a whistling sound between his teeth. "Don't be in such a hurry, I don't want to drop you."
"Let me go," she panted. She started to wriggle, heedlessly attempting to break his grip.
"God don't jiggle like that," Draco said, and his voice was bordering on a growl. "Be still. If you had my view, then you would be bouncing a lot less." Even with the gravelly tone, Hermione picked up on the suggestiveness of his words. She stilled, every muscle clenched.
"Let me go," she hotly reiterated.
Draco adjusted his grip and slowly lowered her, her shoes making a slight noise as he settled her back on the ground. Hermione could feel every strong pane of his chest and stomach, pressing into her softness. He seemed as affected as she was. He was panting, and the muscles beneath her hands were bunched. She realised she was fisting the fine material of his top and pulled her hands away as if she had been burned. Without looking at him Hermione scooped up her manuscript, hugging the worn book to her chest.
Draco cleared his throat, breaking the uneasy silence. "Dinner?" he asked and took a purposeful step away from her.
Dinner was awkward, and Hermione considered that this was the only time that had been mutually awkward between them. Oh, there had been arguments, bitter words, and even after he'dkissed her this morning it had been her who had felt uncomfortable and Draco who had wanted to talk. Draco Malfoy didn't have awkward small talk, or strained silences; he was smooth talking and an easy conversationalist, and charm was as natural to him as breathing. But here he was, sitting opposite her, looking to all the world like a teenage boy on his first date flummoxed to what to say. If she hadn't felt so damned bumbling herself, she might have found him endearing.
"How is your meal?" she said, as she poked at her chicken.
Draco lowered his fork. "I find myself not particularly hungry for food." He decisively pushed his plate away from him. Like her, his meal was barely touched. The wizarding restaurant was small but crowded. It seemed to be the local haunt for many of the patrons, as costumers familiarly called and chatted to the servers while dishes of piping hot soup and roasted meats floated through the air. She and Draco had been thrown a few cursory glances, but overall, they had been left alone with the minimal amount of fuss.
"I hope the chef doesn't take offence at us not eating," she said.
"I'll give a generous tip," Draco said, with almost perfunctory irrelevance. He played with the fringe of his napkin, aimlessly picked at a stray thread before dropping the cloth on the table. "Do you care nothing for me?" His question hit her like a surprise blow to the gut, knocking the wind out of her.
"Sorry?" she said, her voice quiet with breathlessness.
"Do you care for me?" This time his voice was harsher, as if it physically hurt him to ask her this. He'd been looking at her, boring her face with his dark pupils but now he closed his eyes, not wishing to watch the kaleidoscope of expressions on her face; in case, he didn't like what he saw.
Hermione exhaled a long breath. "I don't know what you mean?"
"It's a simple question: do you care for me?" Hermione wished he'd open his eyes, but he stubbornly kept them shut.
"It's not that simple."
"Yes, it is," he insisted.
Hermione quickly glanced around. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, but this public restaurant hardly seemed the place to have this conversation.
"I don't know," she answered honestly.
His eyelashes quivered, delicately brushing his pale cheekbones. "Yes or no?"
"Persistently asking won't make me give you any less of a monosyllabic answer." She tried to keep her tone measured, but something of her frustration must have come across because Draco frowned.
"No, then," he curtly said.
"No, it's- "
"No, as in you don't care for me?"
"Will you let me finish?" Draco opened his mouth, wanting to answer back but he closed it again. He inclined his head, hinting for her to continue. "I don't like you Draco," she started, hurrying through the words, "You are high handed, conceited and arrogant."
"Anything else?" he bitterly asked.
"Yes," she snapped. "You are also intelligent, witty, and on occasions, kind. To answer your question: No, I don't like you, Draco Malfoy. But I do admire you, and I think you and I could do a lot of good in this world."
Draco finally opened his eyes; the pupils were wide and the irises liquid pools rimming the black. "You admire me?"
"I do," she said, and softly smiled with closed lips. "Sometimes," she wryly added, "and other times you can be an unconquerable ass."
"I aim to please," he acknowledged her smile with one of his own, although his was small and tight. Then he frowned. "I apologise." He gritted his teeth. "I shouldn't have hired Dennis without your permission. You are right, it is your shop, your business and your dream. I shouldn't have," he paused, seeming to chew over the word, "interfered."
"Dennis was a good hire," she mollified. "I'll be happy to accept any of your advice in the future."
"And I'm sorry I said that bit about money and…I know you're not the type of woman to be bought." Draco spoke quickly, at a gabbled pace. "To you, money is useful, but you would never lower yourself to be a commodity." He looked at her, his silver eyes bright under lowered brows. "But, I am not sorry for kissing you. And I never will be. So, if you want me to apologise for that too, then you're out of luck."
"For someone, who I suspect, just gave what was their first apology, you did remarkably well," she said, a teasing note to her voice.
"Less of the lip, Miss Granger." He smirked, and she'd never been so pleased to see that cocky curl of his lip. He stood up and offered her his hand. "Come on, let me see you home."
Hermione decided she much preferred walking in the moonlight with Draco, than flying down Diagon Alley. For one thing, her stomach didn't lurch, she didn't have to worry about wind hair and there wasn't the uncomfortable feeling in her belly that she got when her body was pressed to Draco's. While moonlit walks were romantic, they didn't hold the passion of a close broomstick ride.
As before, Draco escorted her home, accompanied her up the stairs and waited patiently for her to open her front door. He gallantly passed her the large candle he'd lugged around all day and she briefly left him at her doorway to put the candle safely into her flat.
"Thank you, Malfoy," she said, "for seeing me home." She leant against her doorframe, the door in one hand and the other hand balanced on her waist.
"You are welcome, sweet." His teeth kissed the endearment 'sweet', causing her to focus in on his mouth. He noticed, and as she watched he smiled, his firm lips slinking into a seductive smirk which reeked of practice and past misuse. Her stomach did a little flip, half acknowledging the charm of his smile and also its abusive power. He was trying to beguile her, as she was sure he'd done with many other women.
Hermione purposefully danced her gaze from his mouth, to his eyes and then back down to his mouth. There was a palpable crackle of electricity between them, and the fine hairs on her arm prickled and stood erect. She sweetly smiled and teetered on the balls of her feet, swaying towards him like the motion of a Newton's cradle.
His breath fanned her lips.
"Goodnight, Draco," she whispered and swung the door shut.
Hermione would always treasure the memory of Malfoy's expression when she closed the door in his face.
"Hermione!" Draco shouted through the door. Her door shook slightly as he forcefully rapped the wood. Knock. Bang. Pound.
Hermione confidently watched the vibrating door, knowing that it would hold. She was after all the brightest witch of her age, and she didn't deserve the title if she couldn't keep Malfoy from knocking down her door.
"Don't you dare shut this door on me," he called, composure gone.
Bang.
"I'm a Malfoy."
Pound.
"No door is closed to me."
Whack. Whack. "Alohomora…Shit. Of course, that wouldn't work. Duh!"
Knock.
"Come on Granger, don't leave me hanging."
There was a high-pitched yell from down the stairs.
"Hey! I don't give a damn if you were asleep," Draco yelled back. His banging seemed to have woken her downstairs neighbour. Oops, Hermione thought, well she'd never much liked the older witch anyhow.
"My fiancée has just locked me out," Draco continued, still shouting at her neighbour.
He paused, listening to the reply.
"I didn't do anything!"
Pause.
"What do you mean by, 'I'm a man, I must have done something'?"
Pause.
"That is a very cynical view of the world, madam."
Pause.
"Then your husband is a fool. I don't even have to see you to know that you must be an intoxicating creature."
Pause.
Was that a female giggle?
"A bed for the night? Why, what a generous offer," Draco crooned, Hermione's door long forgotten.
Pause.
"And breakfast in the morning. Madam, you spoil me."
Pause.
"Eggs, bacon and sausage. I am partial to a bit of sausage in the morning."
Pause.
"Why madam, you make me blush." He gave a low chuckle.
Draco gave her a triumphant smile, as Hermione ripped the door open.
Draco's eyes were a little wild and his hair was mussed, as if he'd been running his hands through it. Hermione suddenly had the white-hot urge to bury her hands in his hair and pull and twist the fine locks between her fingers.
"You shut the door on me," he said.
"Yes?" she said feigning a polite inquiry, as if it was everyday she had a handsome wizard trying to break down her door. "Can I help you?" God, it felt good to put Draco on the receiving end of a smirk.
"Let me in." It was not a request.
"You know," Hermione stretched her arms and gave an exaggerated yawn, "I'm feeling pretty tired."
"I don't care. Let me in."
"I- "
He didn't wait for her to give him another excuse. Draco grabbed her by the waist, his large hands spanning her sides. "If you won't let me in, then you'll come out," he growled and tugged her out of the comfort of her flat.
"Draco!" she squeaked in alarm. Her hands automatically came up to press against his chest, but he crushed her to him, pinning her hands between her own breasts and his chest.
He locked his arms around her body. "Kiss me."
"I won't." She shook her head, trying to doubly assert her resolve.
"Yes, you will."
"This is hardly the way to woo me," she scoffed.
"I don't need to woo you. You already want me."
"I most certainly do not."
"Liar," he whispered. "Now kiss me."
"Draco, this is hardly appropriate." She tried for a different tactic. Draco's chest, only covered by his thin top, felt wonderfully real under her palms. He was radiating heat like a second sun and his warmth was sweeping through her body, lighting each nerve end.
"I'll tell you what isn't appropriate," he said, drawing her attention to his lips. "The way you check me out when you think I'm not looking. I can feel your eyes."
"I do not!" How did he know?
"I can practically see the drool."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"And when I kissed you this morning. You. Liked. It. A lot. So much that it frightened you, because you haven't felt anything like that in a long time. If ever."
"You are awfully conceited."
"True. But at least I'm not lying." If possible,he squeezed her body closer. His hip bones were jutting into her belly. "You may not like me. But you want me," he finished with almost childlike glee.
"No."
"Prove it." He traced a circular pattern on her back. "Kiss me. And if you can tell me you didn't feel anything, I'll let you go."
"Easy."
"Go on then."
If Malfoy hadn't been holding her, Hermione would have squared her shoulders and flicked her hair back with a cool and sophisticated air. But as it was, all she could do was confidently tilt her chin and glare at him.
"I'm waiting," he mocked.
"I hate you," she lied.
"I highly doubt that."
He smirked, and she did the only thing she knew to wipe that smile from his face. She kissed him.
Thank you to my beta Sunshine Katz